Rocky Beach(#22RJ)
A small, narrow beach of sand and sun-warmed rock stretches out along the eastern shore of Lake Arthur, marking a break in the forests that border the clear water. The lake's smooth surface spreads outward from the waterline like a sheet of tinted glass, sparkling in the midafternoon sunlight; the bright rays pierce the darkness below, illuminating some of the granite boulders that litter the sandy floor, and occasionally glinting as they touch a passing fish. Trees line the edge of the water, the limbs of the shore forests reaching out to shade the northern and southern ends of the beach.
Just to the east, the stony ground slopes gently upward to a large meadow; north and south of the beach, thick forest shrouds the lakeshore in a veil of leaves and wood. The water of the lake spreads out westward, the wooded far shore visible in the blurred distance. The island rises from the lake almost due west of here, a rocky oasis resting on the glassy surface.
Contents:
Dane, Layne, Fights-For-Hope, Golden-Eyes, Valoran, Suu (OOC), Apocalypse, Eamon, Nightfire, Storm-Singer, Susan
Obvious exits:
Into the Water Meadow

[Additions to the Beach : At one end of the beach is a stool set in front of a semi-circle of rocks, logs and other places to sit. Next to the stool is a large torch - perhaps five feet tall - that blazes with light, and wood for a bonfire has been carefully arranged between the stool and the semi-circle. At the other end of the beach is a wide variety of food and drinks: raw meat for the lupus, an assortment of fruit, cake and pastries, some grilled chicken and enough alcoholic drinks to make an entire tribe of Fianna proud.]

Susan gives the stragglers a few minutes to wander in. "While we are waiting, feel free to help yourself to the food." Nightfire gets a deeper nods when he arrives, and she grins at Valoran. "Clean seats even. Just for you."

Apocalypse, spotting Valoran, gives the other Fang a wild, cheerful wave.

Valoran grins and nods.

Fights-For-Hope arrives when it suits him, neither early nor late nor on time. Once arrives he approachs Susan quickly and yuffs a warm greeting to his would-be packmate. ~Good luck Sister.~

Storm-Singer shifts back to homid form and returns to wear he was half-sitting, half-leaning on a large rocky crag.

Dane looks for a convenient place to perch and watch.

Three-Blades slips out of the lake further down the beach, shaking off the excess water before loping over to the gathering. She stays at the fringe.

Nightfire remains on the outskirs of the gathering. The food and booze seem to hold little interest for him.

Eamon looks around, glad he got food before the Gnawers got here. He waves to Cam and Bree.

Susan glances over the assembled crowd and smiles, looking pleased. "You honor me by your presence," she says sincerely. "Before I begin, I have a question and a comment. The first..." The woman switches to the gutteral language of the Garou. ~Are there any here who do not understand the human tongue?~

Layne can be seen trailing up along the shore, boots crunching rocks and sand. Hands pushed into pockets, bright hair pulled back from pale eyes, the Fianna regards the gathered quietly, moving in. Her gaze settles unblinkingly upon Susan, all anticipation, lips quirking faintly.

Nightfire glances around to see if any speak up.

Three-Blades blinks once, but indicates she understands just fine.

Fights-For-Hope too has little interest in the food, bulge from his lupine stomach showing that he recently gorged on a meal. Ears quickly perking for an answer as Susan asks her question he then turns and heads back to the chairs, finally taking the homid form and a seat.

Golden-Eyes comes up on the bank, giving herself a rough shake before she continues up the shoreline towards the small party forming on the rocky beach. She catches Susan's comment and bobs her head in understanding.

Cameron follows Aubrey, also in the lupine form. He skulks along in the manner of unsavoury folk everywhere, who suspect they're late.

Catching sight of her arriving tribesmates, Layne beckons to the pair of wolves.

"And, the comment." The Ragabash looks up at the just-rising full moon. "I tell a story tonight. Please try to not be alarmed by the method that I choose to employ in the telling." Susan then looks to Eamon and Nightfire. "Is there anything you wish to say before I begin?"

Three-Blades earperks. Story? The Gnawer is listening.

Nightfire looks around at everyone. While Ever-Grinning is the final judge in whether or not the story was sufficiently well-told, your own praises, or lack of them, will likely make the difference. Bear in mind that this is a challenge, and maintain the respect it deserves.

(( From afar, to the room, Susan is, BTW, puppeting her entire pack tonight. Andrea will be here shortly, but Patrick is busy moving, and Elan and Touch Deer couldn't make it. ))

A lupine Aussie Theurge turns his head and winks at his very-nearly-packmate; a far-too-human grin on his muzzle. This should be good.

Golden-Eyes gives her companion a light nip before she swings her attention towards the storyteller for the evening. Her ears splay forward as she lowers her flanks.

Jamethon sits attentively and nods calmly when Susan and Nightfire speak, silent till needed he visually considers Susan for a deal of time.

Eamon looks up, having just bitten into a chicken leg. "Hmm?" He quickly chews and swallows the chicken, then stands and clears his throat. "In case you're wondering why you're here, I'll remind you. Susan here challenged me for the rank of Fostern. I accepted, the terms of the challenge being that she is to compose an epic song or poem detailing the downfall and subsequent re-taking of the Caern of the Hidden Walk. If I am satisfied with it, she succeeds. I'll expect the full gamut of emotion: laughter, tears, all that good stuff, as befits a good Fianna epic. I suggest you get some food, we'll probably be here a while. That's to be expected, of course. I'll also be watching the crowd's reaction to the epic, to judge its effectiveness, so keep that in mind. So, without further ado, here's Susan!"

Dane chuckles and takes Eamon's advice. No sense turning down good food. Or good drink, for that matter.

Jamethon does, at this, decide to go grab a bottle of whiskey and brings it back to his seat near the front. Yes. The whole bottle.

Susan takes a seat and gestures for everyone else to arrange themselves so that they may see. As soon as everyone is as settled as it seems they are going to get, the Fianna begins. "Every tale that is told must have a beginning. Unfortunately, the first threads of a story are not always as clear the storyteller would like, and oftentimes we are called upon to simply choose a beginning from the countless ones presented to us." Her rich and lovely voice flows out over the crowd, and she pays each person more than a passing glance as she speaks. "We do not know the true origins of this tale; they may be lost to us forever. And so we are forced to pick up where we can."

The sound of a wolf trying to snicker as a human would, half-chuffing, half-wheezing, it sounds more like a sick hyena. Stands-the-Charge seems to find amusement in the manner of Eamon's introduction, but clears his throat and settles down to rest his head on his paws, as Susan begins.

Three-Blades wrinkles her muzzle momentarily, the memories of the caernfall too clear still.

Apocalypse sprawls out comfortably, eager eyes on the storyteller, head propped up in one hand. She grins like a delighted child ready to hear Mom read from her favorite storybook.

Eamon sits back down with his bottle and his food, then turns his attention to Susan.

Layne remains on her feet, arms braced across her chest, eyes locked on Susan as the no-moon begins her tale.

From somewhere above the center of the group, Patrick drifts down and finally takes a seat with the rest of the Garou.

Her voice alters, becomes harsher and the growling cadences of the street supplant the lyrical accent of her tribe's homeland. "The caern fell. Imperfectly defended and overwhelmed by more Black Spiral Dancers than many of us had ever seen in our lifetimes - let alone in one force - the caern was lost to the Garou of the Hidden Walk. Our attackers wet their claws in the blood of one of our cubs, and although we took several of their forces down, we were forced to flee. Robert gave up our Pathstone to Sepdet, and she carried it to safety - a small ray of hope in a time of darkness."

As Susan utters the word "darkness" a shadow billows out from the center of the assembled Garou and covers them all in a shroud of blackest night.

From Cameron, the lupine equivalent of, "--the fuck?" A faint chuff of surprise.

From Rides-Fire, who stands near Nightflash, comes a deep-throated growl as darkness billows out.

Layne's brows flicker at the shadow effect, gaze sweeping up to follow briefly.

Golden-Eyes snarls softly at Stands-Charge before she lies beside him in the same fachion; with her head on her paws. The young claith no sooner has her head up again. Her ears lying flat against her skull.

A slow, deep chuckle comes from somewhere in the group. It doesn't sound pleasant.

Nightfire chuffs reassuringly to Rides-Fire. It is the work of the Many-Faced-One.

Dane jumps a bit in surprise, but makes sure he doesn't drop his food.

Susan says "Darkness fell over the caern." The voice of the Fianna cuts through the Shroud. "But rage burned in the heart of Gaia's warriors, and the light of that fire called the Garou of the Hidden Walk to war." The blackness drops away as Susan plunges the torch into the waiting bonfire. Flames leap up, illuminating Susan as she looks calmly out over the assembled Garou."

Jamethon is silent throughout the show, having expected as much. His eyes ever watchful and attentive he seems to miss no detail.

Apocalypse's gleam gleefully with reflected firelight.

Eamon arches an eyebrow and looks around at the shroud. He nods and sits bac to listen.

Three-Blades reacts accordingly, blinking with the sudden blaze of light straight after the darkness.

Susan's voice slips back into neutral tones as she says, "The Garou began to ready themselves for war."

Her voice drops again into a harsh growl, and she begins to pace in front of the audience. "Waiting wears on our nerves. Waiting stokes the fires of our Rage. Those Garou who make their home in the city and who use the tools of the Weaver against our foes took the fight to the Dancers. Kaz called them out, using her gifts to compel them to come to the sound of her howl." Susan pauses, then shifts up into the warform to howl a challenge to the sky. ~The Garou of the Hidden Walk called out their challenge,~ she says when the last of her howl has died away. ~And the Spirals responded.~

Stands-the-Charge watches on, with slightly widened eyes, and doesn't tear them away from Susan even as he manages a low, deep-throated growl to his packmate. This is better than the moving pictures.

Jamethon seems almost taken up in the howl himself with the moon this full and has to hold back from joining it. Regaining his composure quickly even he returns to just listening.

Golden-Eyes narrows her eyes at the sudden blaze of light from the fire. Then her ears flicker with emotion to the changes in Susan's tone and expression. Shh, she seems to rumble lowly at the lupus at her side. She does, however, give a faint canine smile.

Three-Blades shakes out the building suspense at the howl, forcing her muzzle to clamp up so as not to interrupt with a howl of her own. Her eyes and ears remain fixed on the storyteller. She remembers that raid.

The Aussie grumbles indignantly a little. Something about spoiling sport. This time Tempered-Blade's howl is sharper, nastier. A streak of fire hurtles from the top of the cliff and plunges into the sand at her feet. Three more arrows - equally ablaze - follow in rapid succession. ~Arrows flew out of the darkness at the Bone Gnawer's call, striking Gaia's Warriors. The Spirals cloaked themselves in blackness, hiding like cowards from the claws, teeth and weapons of our sept. ~

At this last, Layne is finally moved to snarl--a curiously feral sound coming from her homid throat. That battle is never far from memory.

Three-Blades holds her tail stiff behind her, eyes narrowing and ears turning back. She was on many of the raids, and hasn't forgotten the arrows that struck the fighters alongside her.

Jamethon growls slightly, even from homid throat a violent and primal sound.

Jarred's dark eyes visibly burn at the memory of this outrage. His jaws clench at the storyteller's words.

Shifting back down into her birth form, Susan steps around the bonfire so that she is backlit by the blaze. Face hidden in shadows, she says softly, "Our forces fled. With Owen and Seeker acting as rear guard, the Garou of the Walk retreated after a brief exchange of gunfire. Victory was not to be ours that day."

Golden-Eyes snarls in the back of her throat, barely audible come the words: Catiff, caern-stealing bastards. Her ears slicked now back against her skull.

Susan remains in front of the firelight, and her voice drifts back once again to the harsh tones of the street. "Plans were made. The garou began to prepare, to gather information, to ready themselves for a strike. But the Spirals struck first." She snarls low in her throat, an odd sound from the homid form, before continuing with the tale.

"Black Spiral Dancers launched an attack on the Walker Safehouse," growls Susan. "The Wyrmspawn reached up from the sewers and invaded the house. Down in the depths of the basement, a bane materialized from chemicals mixed by the Dancers; Anneka, Alicia, and Kaz lead the cubs in a fight against it while Leonard, Kristine, Roger, and Yi went for the throats of the Dancers, taking at least two of our foe and returning them to Gaia. In doing so, Roger lost his own life."

Susan says, "Rather than risk a veil breach, John decided to take down the Walker safehouse." Putting her hands behind her, the Fianna gives a self-mocking grin. Though it is hard to see in the half-light, it rings out in her tone of voice. "Now, as I'm hardly a Walker, I can't exactly tell you what he did. But if you walk by what used to be a safehouse, there's nothing left. All I can imagine is that it was one hell of an explosion." Those paying close attention can see the ragabash toss something onto the fire. With a crackling rush, the fire bursts into a blaze of brilliant colors and burns brightly for several seconds before fading back to normal. Then a wash of fire sweeps out from the flames, passes silently and painlessly over the Garou and then fades into a sparkle of lights.

Three-Blades growls, a tinge of sorrow coloring her tone when Roger is mentioned. When the fire comes she ducks reflexively. When it passes, the Gnawer no-moon snorts.

Rides-Fire shivers his coat as the fire passes by. Andrea merely stands, even when bathed in flames.

Eyes dancing wildly as the colored flames, James lets it pass over him almost feeling the warmth from the vividness of it all.

The initial rush of illusionary fire seems to have shaken the ragabash, but she regathers her composure quickly. When silence, unbroken except for the crackling flames, once more descends upon the beach, Susan takes a step forward and chants softly, "But the time was coming. The time for action. The time to take back what was stolen. The time was coming."

Stands-the-Charge shudders a little.

Layne almost seems to share in a silent exchange with the illusionary flame, a strange light lingering in her eyes, even when the display has dissolved.

Golden-Eyes quivers lightly as the flames pass over her. As soon as they pass she looks after then with a light blink of her eyes. She draws up her body as she takes up a sitting position on the ground.

Susan's voice rolls out over the crowd, lilting Irish accent strong once again, "Ouroboros was ready. With talens crafted by Drinks-Deeply with aid from one at the Sept of the Western Eye, we prepared ourselves to venture into the caern and see what was to be seen. Faces-Shadows took the air, and I to the front, and we crept into the territory which our Sept once held." The woman vanishes completely and utterly. No sound, no smell, nothing betrays her as the firelight flickers in the wind from the beach.

Eamon looks around at the reaction of the crowd, taking it into consideration. He nods and listens to the story again.

Jarred lifts a brow at this.

Three-Blades blinks. And blinks again. Confusion crosses over the Gnawer's splayed ears. Wow.

Dane decides now would be a good time for a drink. That trick is always unnerving.

Jamethon is only offering a bemused grin now, and takes a good long swig of whiskey from the bottle till now he hasn't touched.

The Aussie Theurge ruins the silence with a sudden, loud yelp of surprise. He virtually shoots up into the air with a yipe of startled indignance, and sniffs the air around his rear, furiously, yet also in vain. She pulled my tail! The grey, black-faced wolf turns a few times on the spot, scowling.

Jamethon can't help but let out a heartfilled laugh at this, mainly in appreachiation for Susan's showmanship, er showwomanship.

From the behind the crowd, Susan's voice rings out again. "In silence we crept, invisibly past their fomori snipers. We heard the noises of their destruction - the chainsaws and the machines. I saw the traps that they had set and, we judged the time right to return. And as we were creeping back..." Her voice drops as she walks quietly back to the circle of firelight. "...and as we were creeping back, we heard them. Voices of patrols, conversations between the Spirals. And names - the names of their warleader, their theurge and others. We learned of their plans, overheard when they would strike and when they would seek to turn our caern into their Hive." She spits upon the ground at the last.

Three-Blades twitches, ears swinging towards the voice, eyes going that way as well. How does she do that? she wonders aloud.

Golden-Eyes seems to scowl darkingly at Stands-Charge. Then bites the air in his direction. Sit down, she growls softly. She listens in the direction of Susan's voice, her ears flickering.

Layne's focus lies directly ahead, pinned to the spot Susan disappeared--until her voice picks up behind the crowd. While not particularly surprised by the illusion, the halfmoon's attention is rapt.

Suddenly aware of eyes around, Stands-the-Charge grumbles and moves to a slightly more alert sitting position.

Jamethon looks back towards the fire now, lost in thought at those whose names we heard.

"Two others went into the caern's umbra the next night." Susan looks up at the moon briefly, then returns her gaze to her listeners. "Chaser Never Rests and Little Bear decided to test their gifts against the umbral guardians set by the Black Spirals. They made their way onto the Umbral bawn, moving until Chaser-Never-Rests could feel the strengths of her gifts failing. She turned back while Little Bear, although his gift too was waning, chose to race for the caern - trusting in his speed to carry him safe. At the edge of the caern, he saw it, a bane blacker than any we had ever seen before. Slick and vile, moving with the speed of our fastest wolves, it grew up before him. He named it Heart-of-Darkness."

Susan says, "Little Bear ran as fast as he could for he heard the howls of the spirals behind him. He slipped into the realm but was no safer there. He triggered one of the traps that the Spirals had set and again the Dancers gave chase. Leonard was fortunate, for he escaped to tell his story, but he was badly wounded by the silver from their snipers."

Stands-the-Charge rolls his eyes at that particular part of the story.

Dane takes a deep breath as he listens.

Jamethon sighs gently at Little Bear's foolish bravery, but this is in the past.

Three-Blades can't help but whimper softly in concern. The Wendigo, brave and crazy-headed as he is, is still her packmate.

Layne's expression sours noticeably at the mention of the darkness bane. A faint shudder follows.

Jamethon himself does not seem pleased at hearing of the darkness bane, hand lifting to touch his shirt where it covers the massive scar left behind by the darkness bane... James being the only one surviving its touch.

The Fianna's expression grows deeply troubled. "Before Little Bear's wounds could heal, the Sept was wounded once more, this time from an unexpected source. One of our Kinfolk was turned to the Wyrm and corrupted. She betrayed those of our people that she knew, and called out our Alpha to a deadly trap."

A thundering chorus of whippoorwill calls erupts from several different locations around the Garou before trailing off into silence.

Dane chokes at that little sound effect.

Jamethon jumps a bit, looking up at the sources of the sounds, finally getting drawn a bit into the story. But only slightly.

Andrea raises her chin slightly in defiance of the calls, though she otherwise merely stands.

Three-Blades shoots her ears up, looking around swiftly even as the calls die out. After all, they didn't manage to kill all the Dancers in the final battle.

Golden-Eyes snaps her head around to the sounds of the whipporrwill calls around her. She haunches her shoulders and lies her ears back for a second before they flicker back forward again.

Stands-the-Charge simply makes do with grinding his teeth. Too creepy to be real... but then the original calls were /damn/ creepy too.

Rides-Fire, who had just started to soothe again, snarls at the scattered calls. Though he doesn't seem likely to tip over just yet, the pull of the moon is obvious in his reaction.

Nightfire leans against his packmate in a reassuring manner. You know this part of the story.

Susan pushes herself forward and says, "Andrea had gone to meet Glissa in the city. Elan and I took advantage of the time to do some shopping, so we were nearby when all hell broke loose." The no-moon's mouth twists in wry humor. "Our first indication that something had gone was Andrea yelling over the link that binds our pack. It wasn't terribly coherent - something about Dancers and silver - but that seemed urgent enough to get us out the door and on our way. We arrived to find a horde of people already at Glissa's, most of them in crinos."

Jamethon's mood blackens visually now, narrowing eyes and firmly tightened mouth shows displeasure at the situation revolving around Glissa.

She glances over the crowd and smirks. "Were I a galliard, I would tell you of the glorious combat that I witnessed, how the Garou of the Hidden Walk charged into the melee and vanquished all of our enemies in one fell swoop. Alas, I am only a ragabash. My alpha was unconscious in the middle of the battle, and so my only recollections are of dodging past my septmates - who were most certainly engaged in glorious combat - picking up Andrea, and dragging her out of the fight." Susan's voice twists with the bitter sting of rage and grief. "It was only later that I learned of the tragedies found in the house. In her madness, Glissa had slaughtered her son - an unchanged cub of the Silent Striders. She paid the price for what she did and fell beneath the claws of the Hidden Walk along with four others of the Wyrm's Garou."

Three-Blades fidgets in her spot, remembering that scene as well. And all the grotesque imagery that comes with it unbidden. Her lips pull back and she bares her teeth in displeasure. The gesture doesn't last long, but long enough. Remembering the stories of what had happened - in more gruesome detail - Stands-the-Charge flattens his ears and lowers his head. Feeling ill.

Dane turns a little green.

Eamon grits his teeth and shakes his head as he's reminded of the horrors of the Nicholson house.

Layne internalizes the no-moon's words, smoothing rage into some semblance of calm. She offers Stands-the-Charge a quiet glance.

"And as the moon turned from light to darkness, the hopes of the Hidden Walk also grew dark. Ouroboros brought back word from their scouting that the Black Spirals and the Heart-of-Darkness would seek to kill the Totem of Fog that had so long served our caern." Susan's shift is slow as she begins to move up towards the war form, passing through the glabro as she speaks. "Our Sept discussed ways to save our Totem. In the end, however, it was decided to allow Fog to choose his own passing." By now she has blurred up into Crinos, and her growling voice slices through the night. ~Storm-Singer saw a vision of Fog's last battle and told it to us. Fog struck against the dancers. He fought a battle doomed to failure, but he weakened our enemies during his last stand. Though not a spirit of War, he fought well and bravely, and I mourn his passing.~ Mist swirls around the Fianna's feet as she speaks of the fallen totem, and as she lifts her muzzle towards the moon and calls out with a mournful howl that echoes over the lake, she is nearly lost in a shimmering veil of white.

Dane says "Oops. And not back yet, eh?"

Impulsively, Rides-Fire joins the howl for the fallen caern totem. Andrea closes her eyes as the sounds ring out over the lake.

Three-Blades swings her head low, remembering those moots when Fog's touch had struck deep.

Dane pours out a little of his drink in memory of Fog.

Stands-the-Charge lets out hiw own mournful little howl forthe fallen totem, out of respect. And a lingering sadness. The hidden Walk's shame.

Layne pays silent respects to the erstwhile Fog, observing the mist as if it were the totem itself.

Jamethon drinks in the Ghost of Fog around him and a bit of whiskey in rememberance of the lost totem, guide, protector, and friend.

Tempered-Blade lets the howl drift to silence as she honors the fallen totem, and the illusionary fog falls away as she speaks once more. ~The time had come for action. In their scouting, Ouroboros had learned the names of four Spirals.~ She raise up her hands and the silver lines that trace her transformed tattoos glint in the firelight. ~ Charyss grants those who survive her flames knowledge of a rite that can send others to the purifying river. We give Her their names, and she sends the River to claim them. On the night of the half-moon, we prepared the Rite.~

Jamethon seems to have a particular intrest in the mentioning of the ritual, having had a hand in it.

Dane stares in surprise.....then slowly grins.

Three-Blades thumps her tail once on the ground, agreeing with the punishment to fit the sin.

Layne tilts her eyes to the moon, at this, recalling the chant and the twisted names.

With a snarl, Tempered-Blade spits out the names of the four Dancers who were called in the rite of the Silver Forge. ~Once the rite was complete, the Sept of the Hidden Walk, assisted by the spirits that had offered us their aid, launched an attack upon our Foes.~ The pacing of her voice picks up as the urgency of her tale increases. ~We charged for the caern with all speed and slammed our forces into the banes that clustered around what was once ours while Robert created a diversion in the realm.~

Tempered-Blade growls low in her throat as she speaks of the battle. ~Banes of fire, Scrags, twisted bats and whippoorwills. The spirits on our side fought as valiantly as any of the Garou and many banes were slain that night. It was during that battle that we saw the evil that Little Bear had named Heart of Darkness. It moved like quicksilver and glistened like death. It rolled over Thunder-Eater in the space of a heartbeat, and when it passed on, there was nothing left of the Get of Fenris.~ The no-moon stalks around the fire, tail lashing, and flickers of darkness and blood paint the night around her.

Stands-Charge shudders again, visualizing what he couldn't see. It's perhaps somehow worse, that way.

Dane lets out a soft angry hiss, remembering that night.

Layne shares a look with Eamon, this time, skin almost burning with the memory of balefire.

Jamethon growls lowly and starts breathing heavily with remembered rage at the reminder of the loss the Get of Fenris suffered that night.

Three-Blades shivers silently, remembering when she heard about the Get.

Tempered-Blade says, ~Then the Black Spiral Dancers came. Over the noise of the battle, we heard their howls and knew that our feint had worked its purpose. Into their midst, Bitter-Cup threw the talen of release that she had brought from Western-Eye.~ Tempered-Blade smirks with satisfaction as she continues speaking. ~With a rush, those spirits that the Spirals had bound into fetishes or talens were freed from their binding. The confusion allowed us to retreat safely. Reforged and Ouroboros stood as rear guards; Reforged standing until all other Garou had left the area for the gift granted to them by Unicorn would see them safely away.~

With a rush, Tempered-Blade returns to her birth form. "We had learned much," she says quietly. "We had seen their defenses, met the Heart of Darkness, and delivered at least three of them to the cleansing fires of Erebus. We knew the terrible battle that was to come, for we had seen the powers of the Heart of Darkness and heard the numbers of their howls. We knew that the fight would be fierce, but there was hope also, for Andrea had learned the weakness of the Heart of Darkness that guarded their caern. It was a spirit formed from all that was impure and corrupt, and it could not tolerate the purity and beauty of Gaia. With that knowledge, we could prepare ourselves."

Eamon nods to Layne, then turns back to Susan to listen, particularly to the parts he hadn't heard before.

Susan says, "Ouroboros went seeking a spirit of Purity." Swiftly, she bends down and scoops up a set of silver bells. Their melodic chimes fill the air as she speaks of the purity spirit. "We found it deep within the mountains, hidden away in one of the wild and peaceful places of Gaia. Even those of us who had been cleansed in the fires of silver stood in awe of the touch of this spirit." The chimes of the bells fade as Susan's voice grows more sorrowful. "We asked it to aid our cause, explained to the spirit what we faced and how it could assist us. The spirit responded, telling us how it would - should it survive the fight - be forever more changed. The purity and innocence of untouched nature would be lost to it forever. Though it tore our hearts, again we spoke to it of our need, and the Purity spirit agreed to aid us. Those of Ouroboros who had spent time in the purifying flames of Charyss' realm would carry it to battle, and honor it for its sacrifice." The bells fall silent as the Fianna quietly replaces them on the blanket in front of the fire.

(( From afar, to the room, Layne quietly changes 'balefire' to 'tainted fire-spirits.' :} ))

Rides-Fire's good ear droops slightly, as does his tail.

The tale of sacrifice leaves the Aussie Fianna stunned. He just... watches. Jaw hanging open slightly. This wasn't something he'd heard before.

Dane blinks quietly, and his hand moves absently up to wipe at his cheeks.

Jamethon remembers that Purity spirit well for he would be dead were it not for Puppy.

Three-Blades saw the Purity spirit from a distance, only able to feel such high respect for the spirit's decision to make an ultimate sacrifice.

The silence holds for a few more seconds before Susan lifts her head and continues. "The tide was turning. We had damaged our foes with the attack during the half-moon. We had learned of their weakness and enlisted allies. Through our spirit allies, we knew when they planned their rite, and we felt the strength of Gaia in our bones."

"As the moon moved to full, Reforged and our new Warder took the fight to the Dancers. Near to the bawn, they howled out a challenge, calling the strongest pack of the Spirals to come and face them in honorable combat." Susan's voice is calm as she relates this part of the tale. "The Spirals came in answer to their call, and took up the challenge. It seems that even when corrupted and twisted by the forces of the Wyrm, the honor that strengthens our kind can still remain. I am told that the pack fought well, abiding by the terms set out in the challenge." Her lips curl into a satisfied smirk as she says, "But the pack of the Unicorn was stronger. Although all of Reforged were wounded in their fight and some badly, in the end six of the Spirals lay dead, and all our warriors returned to us."

Nightfire raises his head a little higher as Susan relates his pack's victory during the war.

Rides-Fire, also, straightens his posture. A quick lift of the lips shows teeth, then he sneezes decisively.

Ice and snow spring up around the storyteller as Susan turns to face the wind that blows from the lake. She tosses her heavy braids so that the breeze can blow through them. As she turns, the Fianna says, "In the years before the Europeans came to this land, Wendigo held this place and ruled over a caern of tremendous power. In time, those who held this place were slain and the caern fell dormant." The sparkles of snow and ice fade, melting into nothingness. " But Wendigo still remembered."

Susan says "The children of Wendigo, although never strong in numbers, were and are strong in spirit. One of them, Little Bear, conceived of a plan to bring the totem of his tribe to aid the caern that once He watched. With Sepdet and Sebastian, he summoned the spirit of the Northern Winds and asked the spirit of Wendigo for aid." Susan's gaze skims the crowd. "And Wendigo came. He asked for two things: that he be given the hearts of the fallen, and that Leonard and Sebastian attempt to see him placed as the new Totem of our caern when it is reclaimed. These terms were agreed upon by those who called Him, and now all plans were laid."

Layne tilts her jaw, regarding Susan interestedly as she tells of the challenge with the betrayer pack. She almost seems dubious, when 'Spirals' and 'honor' are mentioned together.

Three-Blades more or less remembers the Gathering that was given for the Dancers along with the mention of that victory. However, quickly the mention of Wendigo brings her back to the story at present.

Jamethon grumbles softly, taking another quick drink remebering Little Bear's promise.

Scooping up a small earthen pot from her feet, Susan begins to streak her face with the dark blue woad of her tribe. Slowly she blurs up to the warform. ~On the night of the full moon, we struck. Allies of spirit and air told us the night that the Dancers were to perform their rite. We gathered ourselves - two groups for the realm, two for the spirit lands - and went into battle.~

Tempered-Blade stalks in front of the listening Garou. ~I have already said that I am no Galliard. Storm-Singer gave me an eloquent recital of the nightmare that the Garou in the realm faced as they battled their way into the caern, and I will not attempt to repeat it, let alone to better it. Little Bear spoke bravely of the horrors that his pack faced while guarding Silverscales. Ask them if you would know all of the details.~ She looks up at the moon and barks laughter. ~Besides, the night grows old, and you may well grow weary of my speech. For my purposes, it is enough to tell you that the forces against us were great, and the hearts of our Sept were brave and true.~

Tempered-Blade says, ~We fought through their initial defenses, sacrificing much as we went. Those in the realm fought against those of the Spiral who had armed themselves with silver and other weaver-toys of destruction. In the umbra, those who stood guard over Silverscales faced a spirit born from the nightmares of the trees. The ones who traveled with Ouroboros battled scrags while Ouroboros took the spirit of Purity to confront the Heart of Darkness.~ The voice of the ragabash grows rough as she continues the story of the final battle. ~Gaia stood watch over us that night, for both groups - realm and spirit - reached the heart of our Caern at the same time.~

Jamethon seems to be moved by, not quite Susan's words themselves, but the memory evoked by them. He casts his head high, looking proud even with the sadness enveloped in his eyes.

Tempered-Blade gives a nod to someone in the crowd and then strides back to stand next to the firelight. ~The Dancers had thrown themselves into their ritual, and we threw ourselves into stopping them. The fate of the caern was in our claws, and with the help of Gaia, we would take it back.~

A thunderclap roars over the crowd - courtesy of the Shadow Lord - as a violent swirl of brilliant colors erupts from the heart of the fire and flashes over the crowd. With a roaring howl, Tempered-Blade greets the explosion of colors. ~The Wyld spirit that had aided our caern after the death of Saul ben Isaac had returned to us. The force of the Wyld consumed what remained of the Heart of Darkness, shattered the ritual and sent those few Black Spiral Dancers who has survived fleeing into the night.~

Three-Blades paws at the ground, ears and head high in remembering it all.

Layne stands stock-still, teeth clenched as she vividly recalls the final battle.

Jamethon remembers well, and it shows with the dancing light in his wide eyes, the mortal tangling with the foes of the caern.

Andrea's lips curve into a crooked smile, but she makes no other gesture as she watches her packmate.

The spectacle of colors fades, and the crinos shrinks down into her birth form. ~Every tale that is told must come to an end. Like beginnings, the ending of a story is often unclear, and it falls to the audience to choose what happens next.~ Susan looks over the assembled Garou as she says, ~Choose well and wisely. Much hangs in the balance, and your hands will shape the course of the next tale. May it end as well as this one did.~ And with that, Susan bows low and returns to her chair to see how her story was received.

Jamethon stands suddenly, shaken from his reverie that the story brought to him as it is ended.

Eamon oohs and aahs at the light show, then nods and listens as Susan ends her tale. He falls silent as he watches the reaction of the crowd to the story.

Rides-Fire yawns in satisfaction, then headbutts his packmate.

Dane shakes his head as he comes back from his memories of that night...

Golden-Eyes howls out with approval of Susan's storytelling. Her tail flickers as she looks out among the crowd. I've heard that Fiannas always spin the finest tales, reguardless of their auspice. She grins wolfishly, showing her whites.

With the completion of the tale, Stands-the-Charge shifts quickly into homid -- the Aussie feeling better able to express himself in this form with a two fingers pressed to his mouth in a piercing whistle, followed by applause and a rough ocker call of, "Go Susan! Woo!" There's always _one_.

Susan looks towards the Galliards in the crowd, curious to see their reaction her her story telling. She chuckles at Cameron's reaction, looking pleased.

Jamethon appears to be torn by different emotions, not sure what he is feeling... but he is obviously feeling something. All he finally is able to say is, "Susan. Well done... there is a bit of Galliard in you indeed."

Apocalypse sits up and beats her hands together with great enthusiasm. "Woooooooooooooot! Rock on, _sista!"

Three-Blades doesn't join in the howl, though her tail wags once. There is enough appreciation in her for the story just showing by the way she looks at Susan the storyteller. It was a tale well told in her mind, but all the same she looks to Eamon.

Layne wrests herself from her own thoughts long enough to congratulate the no-moon. "Well told, Susan." The words are sincere, expression one of weary satisfaction.

Through her woad-streaked face, Susan blushes at the praise, then looks towards Eamon.

Jamethon now looks to Eamon as well, awaiting verdict almost as nervously as Susan.

Eamon stands and walks around a bit, stretching his legs after sitting for so long and listening to the reaction of the crowd. Eventually he stops, nods and looks over at Susan. "Well, on the whole, I'd say that was very well done. Evoked emotion in the right places, good use of visual and audio punctuation. It may have been a little *too* close to the facts, though. A good Fianna story always has a bit of...blarney, let's call it, to spice up the telling. Exaggeration. But anyway, maybe blarney isn't appropriate for this kind of story. But it's obvious you put a great deal of effort and dedication into the story, getting details from many sources and perspectives to wrap it up into a complete tale. There are some details missing, but what's important is that the core of the story is there. Stories like this are important to the well-being of the sept. I see many people who never got all the details until now. More than that, it's history, and as we all know, those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. You have done the sept a service with this story, and your dedication to the tale and its telling shows me that you are ready to take the next step and rise in rank to the Fostern circle. Welcome, Susan Tempered-Blade, and congratulations!"

Jarred shifts to his war-form and howls his approval of the decision, inviting others to join.

Susan smiles happily and nods her thanks to Eamon. "Feel free to finish off the food and the booze," she says with a grin to everyone else.

Apocalypse bounces energetically to her feet and lets out a loud whoop of congratulations.

Three-Blades finally joins the howl of congratulations. And later, when all the hubbub dies off, steals some of the chicken.

Jamethon indeed does join to the lupine form at least and joins in the howl of congratulations.

Dane joins in the howl of congratulations.