2020-10-1 The path of the Balance Moon is always hard to walk.
The path of the Balance Moon is always hard to walk.
Participants: Sandy Paola Addison Flynn Lucas Ikal
Location: Heart of the Caern
Date and Time: October 1st, 2020 5:30pm
Summary: A Rite of Accomplishment to recognize the Honor of Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh
As whispers have been to streak through the Sept that Protects The Fallen was performing a ritual of accomplishment, the warriors of the Smiling Angel begun to pile in eager to be witness to such an event. The tall visage of the Crinos form is wearing her sleeveless ceremonial white robe with gold stitching detailing her accomplishments in the form of glyphs. As she moves around the great statue, her ears perk upwards at the sight of the steel angel and she gives the iconic piece of art a respectful bow.
<< Come brothers and sisters and gather around the fire! I have been sought out to recognize the most honorable of accomplishments for one of our very own, Her Wounds Are Fresh of the Uktena! >>
Before the statue is a large bonfire in a steel drum, burning brightly in flickers of yellow and reds. As she approaches it, she dips her hand into her robes to fetch out a small leather bag, opening it with a twist of her claws. As she gives a flick of her fist forward, she sends in a thick pocket of dust that causes the flames to rush up higher in a cascade of rainbow colors: Blue, green, purple and gold! It's almost as if the room just suddenly grew both warmer and darker as her eyes gleam from behind her hood.
<< Her Wounds Are Fresh. You may step forward! >>
Lucas arrives as others have but he stays back, simply there to act as a witness of the event, a smile on his features lingering.
Ritual events call for ritual behavior, and the Ritemaster wears the Crinos skin in recognition of where they stand. He is simply a bystander, here to witness the ritual and the accomplishments of the young Guardian. Word had spread about Flynn's dealings with the Firebird, but whatever had occurred seems to have passed as he seems his normal self save the faintest lingering odor of something like an electrical fire about him. As the flames burn in a rainbow sheen, there's a quiet chuff of both amusement and appreciation for the site before he turns to look for the Philodox Of Honor.
Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh had been crouched in a shadowy corner of the room, waiting for the moment to be called. Like Protects-the-Fallen, she is dressed in ritualist regalia, which consists of opossum furs and body paint for the most part. She rises tall, her body thicker and hairier than she is usually seen, wearing the near-man form of Glabro. She moves to approach the Galliard, her eyes on her elder as if the rest of the room doesn't exist. Those flames cast her in a rainbow of colour, flickering around her and causing a multitude of her shadows to leap and dance across the back of the cavern wall behind her.
Ikal lingers at the edges of the cavern in the glow of the bioluminescet fungi. He listens, head tilted, as Protects-the-Fallen addresses those gathered with words he doesn't quite understand. But it's clear that with what she says, the ritual has begun. As Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh steps forward, he hesitates, but then the Kinfolk can't help but shift in close to catch a better glimpse of her.
Addison steps up after Ikal, tense with anticipation. The taller man would stoop occasionally, whispering to the Kinfolk explanations of what was happening. Behind his glasses his eyes shine, catching the fire's reflexions as he watches the Ritual proceedings.
Lucas watches carefully, if any kinfolk near him require a translation he offers it in soft quiet tones so as to not interrupt.
As the Metis approaches, Protects The Fallen watches her carefully, then gives a motion of her furry hand. << Take your birth form, my sister. Let us celebrate together in the bodies Gaia gave us. >>
As she reaches into the fire pit, the Galliard retrieves a ball of fire in her paw, letting the rainbow colored flames leap about in a swirling orb. She pulls her muzzle back into a bit of a smile, then leans forward to blow on it as it becomes a puff of colored smoke and ash to sprinkle along the chest and face of the mule before her. << Brothers and sisters! Today we honor our sister of the Uktena in her deeds of honor! I have known Her Wounds Are Fresh for sometime now and one thing I do know about her, is that she is one of our most loyal and hard working Guardians this Sept has ever had! While the rest of us may rush out in seek of glory and to wet our claws, she is the one who stays behind, serving at the Warder's side to ensure our bawn is protected! She is selfless and committed to our Caern's safety and has proved as such month after month! >>
As she circles the statue slowly, she reaches out to give the angel a gentle pat. << I am sure that we all agree and no one here can dispute this! If any does, by all means, find some courage to speak up in protest. >> With that, her ears perk, waiting.
<< A Guardian is one who puts Honor above all else. >> Agrees Circuit Tracer from where he stands in a brief but spirited howl. << To dedicate their life more than any of us to the caern over themselves. Any who doubt that should serve and learn the truth! >> On this point of Paola's achievements, there is clearly no dispute from the Ritemaster.
Ikal tilts his head in to catch Addison's words that come from behind him. He nods, appreciative of the explanation. But his gaze never wavers from Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh. He can't help but smile off at her as he catches the explanation of Protects-the-Fallen's words.
There is a flash of hesitation on Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh's face, but she clears it quick enough that one would need to be paying close attention. She tenses in on herself, her muscles rippling and hair growing thick and voluminous until she is covered in reddish-brown hair--her Crinos fur markings are not unlike that of Protects-the-Fallen, in patterns most closely associated with the Mexican wolf. She towers now, on clawed feet with bristling muscles which--even though they are terrifying in presentation, do not compare with the others sharing the same form--in fact, in comparison, she looks small and weak. But that, nor her rack of antlers, are the most noticeable thing about her war-form, the form of her birth. Rather, it is that, unlike the others, her head is not that of a massive wolf, with many toothed jaws and sniffing snout. Her face...well...it is her face, the one that everyone has seen. At the top of that towering body and at the end of a hunched, elongated neck, is a girl's face, Paola, surrounded by a thick, curly mane of blackish-brown fur. She keeps her eyes on Protects-the-Fallen now, not looking anywhere else in the entire room as they all see her twisted war form.
Addison looks on unafraid as Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh assumes her monstrous birth form. He stands up straighter, rising out of his stoop from translating to Ikal and explaining the proceedings in a simplified fashion. "This Sister of my Tribe shows her Honor Apparent in caring for this place, the ancestral home founded by our people, as it were a living thing. There is not a crack she does not know, a wound that she doesn't care for and work to heal so that the body of the bawn remains strong against the sickness of enemy corrupters and destroyers."
The shape of the mule's crinos form does not bother the Child of Gaia in the least. If anything, she simply gives her a warm, approving smile on her face. If anyone in this room would understand, it would be her.
<< Our sister has also dutifully performed numerous, exhausting chores month after month upon the bawn and the caern! She works side by side with Smoke On The Water in helping maintain the environment to ensure that it is respected and to keep the spirits that visit us happy and pleased. While we all pitch in, Her Wounds Are Fresh dedicates most of her day to these chores and the spirits have whispered in my ear how happy they are to feel respected and welcomed! >>
As she sweeps past the fire once more, she dips her paw in to pull forth another glowing orb, lobbing it from one to the other as if she was the Goblin King. As her long claws curl around it, she blows it out once more towards the Metis, offering her a toothy grin.
<< Her Wounds Are Fresh has recently been appointed the Warder's protege for all her efforts! Truly an honorable take! The Warder himself trusts this young daughter of Uktena to act in his place and to speak in his voice! Can we all agree that in itself is worthy!? >>
Ikal goes quite still as Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh takes on her warform. He gazes at her with a wide-eyed stare. He almost doesn't quite seem to register Addison's quiet explanations before he gives a small nod. And as the Ragabash speaks up for her, a soft smile returns to his features.
Afraid? No. Circuit Tracer has seen the form-frozen face of Paola before. Still it's jarring to see when one is used to lupine faces, and the Lupus cannot help but note the absence keenly and the conflict of human expressions with a wolf's body language. On an instinctive level, it's like the Metis was speaking two languages at once. As he refocuses on the words of his packsister, the Theurge chuffs once. << A high honor, for a Metis and Cliath. Too high? Many septs would never give it, but we are not many, and she was chosen over many others. I have not seen her take that honor for granted. >>
As she continues to circle the angel of art, Protects The Fallen glances upwards at the statue with bright gold eyes. With a smile towards her packmate, she bobs her head. << Exactly. >>
Once more she dips her paw into the fire as she passes the steel drum, lobbing it upwards into the air as it explodes in a bright burst of rainbow light and glitter that sprinkles over the Mule's head.
<< Let's get to the meat of things now, shall we? Did you know that our sister once oversaw an argument between the Sept and the Wu Glass Walkers? She was able to calm down such a heated moment and offer words of wisdom that brought the two groups together for what has been considered a historic meeting! Even the Adren involved came to me to talk about how she was able to calm the moment down, and ensure that both sides had a chance to meet in the middle! >>
Throwing her arms outwards, her robe rustles along her large frame, then gives her paws a firm clapping once, twice, three times, sending showers of rainbow dust into the air.
<< Not only that, but recently she delivered critical information about the enemy that is known as the gray matter! While most may hoard such knowledge to themselves, she chose the honorable way of servicing the Sept with her wisdom. To know our enemy and how it dwells and breeds will allow us to combat it easier! >>
Addison again speaks up in favor of the Metis. "She is more than honorable and more than worthy. She has proven her worth by protecting this Sacred Place with the care it deserved, where the Grandmother's heart beats into the world. Without the Caerns, the land around them would blight and die. It is perhaps not just that she had more to overcome than the rest of us, but she has overcome nevertheless. I am glad that every day I wake up is a day that I can stand shoulder to shoulder with Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh and call her a Sister of my Tribe. "
Ikal starts a little with that bright burst of rainbow light. But he soon grins as the glitter cascades down. Despite her deeply unsettling appearance, Ikal manages to smile off at Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh with quiet warmth as voices lift to sing her praises. He tilts his head, watching her.
In her warform, where other Garou would have wolfen ears, animated with expression, Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh only has hairless, fleshy earlobes...but they still flick to and fro as if they were canid. She does not turn her human face to anyone but Protects-the-Fallen, her eyes widening sometimes at the way her deeds are described. She even starts to bow her head when the story about the conflict between the Sept and the Wu Glass Walkers is retold, but then lifts it up again to keep her focus matched. She crouches slowly, her movement appearing more...easy...and natural now, than it ever does when she wears human and near-human skins. Balancing herself on three limbs seems to be a comfortable state of rest.
Bringing up the tensions between the sept and Bunker Hill has Flynn's ears tipping back ever so slightly, but the Theurge's words hold more relief. << There is still a lot of path to run, but it was good to see my tribemates again standing with us. It takes courage to stand in the space between. >> As he shifts his stance to resettle his weight, the Ritemaster's next words are spoken with more force and ferocity. << Sharing news of the Wyrm is a duty we all must perform. A Garou who keeps it to themselves is aiding the enemy with their selfishness. >>
Giving a nod of her head, Protects The Fallen listens to the others speak, then gives one last circling around the angel as her robes billow and ripple along her body. She gives a throaty rumble in her throat. << The last thing I wish to speak on is recently at our last moot, Her Wounds Are Fresh performed the role of the empty seat of the Truth Catcher and maintained civility throughout the moot! That in itself is quite an honor! It is no easy position to maintain and wield in the heart of the moon's rage! >>
With that, she gives a motion for the Mule to stand before the statue, then lets out a loud clear of her throat. << Brothers and sisters of the Sept! I now call upon the spirits to seek their thoughts as well! We have all spoken and deemed her worthy! Hopefully, we have been able to convince those that host our caern! I call upon Coyote! I call upon Lion! I call upon Uktena himself to cast judgement upon our daughter! >>
With that, she scoops both of her paws into the fire, holding them for a moment as she takes in a deep breath, closing her eyes and waiting.
Addison has remained in his homid form to translate to the kinfolk nearby. He'd spoken before of his Tribemate's honor, and he stands up straighter to do it again. "The path of a the Balance Moon is always hard to walk. Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh always walks with honor in intentions to our ways. She keeps our traditions alive and embodies the spirit of what our tribe holds dear, presenting herself with honor to seek resolution between peoples of disparate persuasions. The middle path is not simply balance but it is justice."
Cubs may joke about the position of stick-runner until the first time they're cuffed to the ground for their ignorance. Circuit Tracer does not dispute the honor of being Truth Catcher, and his grave and reverent expressions indicate such. << Honor is sacrifice. It is courage in failure. It is finding victory in the smallest places. If Glory is Survival, and Wisdom is Memory to the Garou, then Honor is our Hope. Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh reminds us of our duties and to find that hope through truth. >> And as the spirits are called, he raises up his head to sound out a howl. It is not a full summoning, but he knows the spirits here and calls them to witness his agreement with the honorable ways of the Philodox.
On four limbs--four limbs that are meant for the way she moves, the Crinos Garou with a girl's face lopes from where she was waiting to settle before the statue, lifting one paw to settle. There is an undeniable grace in the easy way she moves that always looks awkward or even just inhumanly grotesque when she moves that way in Homid form--there is so much ease in her movement that she rarely carries outside of this form. The girl looks up, her face shadowed now with the fire at her back, and her tail thumps heavily on the ground behind her as she looks up at the statue and mutters a quiet prayer in a foreign language.
As the Ritesmaster casts the first howl, Protects The Fallen lifts her muzzle upwards as well and calls to the spirits with her beautiful voice born from her moon's birth. The Galliard lifts her hands upwards from the fire as streaks of rainbow colored flame licks upwards along her arms and swirling around her scars.
Once the Metis is in place, she rumbles out a loud call to the Sept. << The spirits have spoken and have found her worthy! >>
Turning towards the Uktena, she throws her hands forward, striking her with the flames that leap from her paws. Instead of burns, the Philodox may feel a warm rush of excitement coursing through her. To the rest of the Sept? They can see even if for a moment, a pair of rainbow angelic wings stretching out from behind Paola, just to flicker away into stardust and sprinkle their way to the ground in a shimmer.
<< The Sept of the Smiling Angel recognizes you, Her Wounds Are Fresh of the Uktena! I recognize you! The spirits recognize you! Go forth proudly and hold your head up high, for you are a Garou of honor and worth! >>
As the smoke settles around the pair, the cavern begins to lighten now that the ritual is over.
<< Enjoy the tacos >>
As the ritual seems about to conclude Addison steps forward and away from Ikal. A sharp intake of breath is drawn into his nose and out through his lips. So sharp that his chest heaved with the very motion. With the exhaled breath there's a barely human ritualistic bark of noise. With that his lips peel back to reveal bared teeth that grew longer and sharper with every passing second. The homid-born Garou doubles over as the cracking of bones, stretching of muscle, and tearing of flesh was every bit as painful as it sounded. His Crinos shape tears out of its human confines. A new coat of skin quickly regrows and is filled in with a bristling coat of hair. The beast knocks back his slender snout and howls out in honor and praise of Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh in a peeling wail that human translation could not do justice.
As the caern shivers with the glow of the flames and the presence of the spirits, Circuit Tracer's howl turns from asking to celebrating. Loud, boisterous, and jubilant; hie lets his voice join with the others and help carry the good news through the tunnels of the sept. << Her Wounds are Fresh is made greater! Praise her for her honorable ways! >> Amongst the various tunnels and even within the cavern, several other voices rise. Loudest of all are Paola's fellow Guardians, sounding out congratulations with all of the explosive jubilance of those who often live short, violent, but exciting lives.
Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh too, with the coloured fire--and wings--crackling around her lifts her body from where she was crouched before the statue and howls as loud as she can in reverence of the spirits who have recognized her, the Sept, and of course Protects-the-Fallen who conducted the Rite. Her howl is not the voice that a human throat would make, but it is also not the depth and breadth and beauty that a wolf throat can create--it is something in between, low and heavy and rising into a peal, but...wrong somehow--it stands out amongst the others for its strangeness. When the howl is done, and both Rite performer and Master of Rites announce the Rite successful and complete she stands and howls again, this time toward the ceiling of the cavern and then drops down on all fours to dance around in a circle, swinging her rack back and forth as she does.
Ikal closes his eyes the Heart of the Caern fills with the Garou howls, sending goosebumps across his arms and down his back. And then he's standing there at the edges, just watching as Her-Wounds-Are-Fresh dances. Entranced.
