July 09, 2005
.07.09.05. - opening howl [july moot pt 1]

[opening howl - forums]

(Copied from below post)

James Wagner, Master of the Howl, Fianna elder and beta of the Quick stood a step ahead of Yu Gan when it was time to begin.

His handsome Homid form rippled into his Crinos form. Looking left, then right, he lifted his muzzle to the sky and belted out a Fianna's beautiful howl.


(cheza llwelyn)
Cheza Llewelyn, Splinter Cell, stood as a black and tan crinos, with a glossy pristine coat, fur patterns form markings, like a Doberman, over a lean, muscular frame; the dark shadowy impressions of large wings (Owl's gift to his children) hang across the Glass Walker's back, only appearing when she crossed into the umbra to announce her howl.

She stood amidst two other Garou. The Rite's Mistress, Cliona and the Shadow Lord, Milo. Together, they formed the Watchmen, children of Owl.


(kirk)
Kirk rears his head to the sky and howls with his pack. Fairly small in size for a Crinos, but his shaggy, mangy fur seems to give him added presence, as if his horrid stench didn't do that already. Black body, white paws, white face, but blue atop the head. Something one would expect from a Glass Walker rather than a Black Fury.


Present and howling:

Silence, Crinos, formidable and grey, standing with his pack with his hands wrapped around the shaft of his grandfather's axe, a blaze of white across the massive shoulders and down the muscled chest.

Relentless-Foe, Hispo, limping from savage bite wounds, a chain of skulls knocking hollowly against one another on his shaggy neck. Sitting on his haunches beside his twin, his eyes yellow and gleaming.

Perpetual-Motion, Lupus, a wolf so lean his ribs showed through his silvery pelt, tail wagging furiously as though some part of him always had to be moving. Also with his pack.

Sevastian de Valois, who had no deedname and apparently needed no deedname, also Lupus, also a wolf with fur as white as snow, long-legged and lean, but with a certain hungriness to his stare that was unsettling. At the side of his Alpha, unless of course Josephina sits with the Council. In that case, he sits with the remainder of the pack.

Cliona:
She has flown with the Crows. She has flown with the Dragonfly. And now, the Theurge with something of a proclivity for flight, it seems, now flies under a new totem, The Owl. With a fookin Shadowlord, o'all things. This was new. And bound to have some sort of detrimental effect on her personality, to be sure.

None the less, she is here, she once again feels the familiarity of pack, and she, as one with The Watchmen, howls.

AnneMarie:
Standing with the Eagles, tall and lean even in Crinos, and ever silent, she howls in her own way - feetpaws stamping, adding her own din to the rising cacophony.


(kristopher)
*Kristopher makes the decission that many cars and an empty area may leave questions so he arives by flight, landing than shifting into homid steping into the Umbra.

He is wearing only a pair of sandles and loose fitting cloth pants, leaving his silver jewlery at home out of respect for the gathering. His tattoo's being his only adornaments. A Celtic Knot armband decorating his left arm, a half sleeve tribal tattoo decorating his right, a tribal image of the Sun around his navel and a 4 leaf clover on the back of his neck. Though he stands within the gathering he stands away from the packs keeping silent because a Corax has no howl*


Aurelius, the lean ivory figure, is present. The Caller of the Wyld sits still and quiet among his pack and yet when the moment arrives to howl, the clear cutting sound rises swift and sure with the rest of the Sept.

Foxfire, a multi toned figure in Lupus form of varying hues of brown dusty to dark, is also there with her pack of ragtag Garou. She sits among them, occasionally wagging her tail, peering around frequently with wide curious eyes, a long howl given forth, high pitched and excited.


Aodhan, the Fianna prince . . . he sits on his haunches, a white wolf with gray tips, at the side of his alpha - a bard, the bastard son of countless generations of heroes, mystics, judges and yes, even tricksters. Aodhan Salto, of the Irish Saltos howls out low and long, a mournful, moving sound.


Bram Reinhardt stood alone. He had no pack, no family of his own, but the modi Fenrir howled with the rest.

Moots....blah.....nontheless Kemp was there with his pack. Ready for a grand ole brain killing, ass numbing wonderful time.
Tilting his face up towards the sky to howl with the rest of them. At least when he howled he got to blow off some steam.

(vast)
Some might notice that while James Wagner was looking left and right, Sevastian de Valois had already begun to howl. Indeed, the Silver Fang Galliard's howl is the first one to pierce the night. Simple oversight -- a faux pas brought on by youth and overeagerness? Perhaps.

But this seems less and less likely as the Fang matches James' Crinos with his own terrible Hispo, taking on the larger form's increased lung power to give his voice an extra ounce of power. Though not the same ethereal beauty as the Fiann's howl, the Silver Fang had a note of pride, of kingly thickness and timbre, that went somewhat beyond. The Fang's howl stretches on, and on, and on, clearly trying to outlast the Fiann, or at least give him a good run for his money.

There's a note of mockery, of heckling, in the howl. A note of contempt and challenge. Given all that's gone down between the stag and the falcon, one might think Sevastian had it out for James for whatever reason. Or worse, that he enjoyed hounding the Fiann.


Jack Salem arrives just in time, taking his place...where? His one and only packmate is nowhere to be found, naturally. Dark eyes scan the assembled Garou, looking for anyone he may recognize as "friendly". No one. Fantastic.
And so, he stands as alone as one can be when surrounded by pack animals. Form stretching, tendons audibly popping and cracking as he assumes the War Form. The monster inside comes out, but controlled, subdued by the prescence of so many other monsters. His markings are similiar to those of a timber wolf, his fur unmarked by scar or age. Snout lifted to the air on cue, a long, low howl sent into the air at the appropriate time. Watching every step internally, praying that he doesn't screw up his first moot in his new home...

Josephina de Valois-Montreuil : Virago

Sevastian's preemptive howl is joined by that of the Fianna, the two sounds melding in Virago's ears, her lips twisting in a wry admission of amusement. She glances at James the moment before she shifts up, white fur replacing the silk and synthetic that she wears, rippling across her form. Then head lifted, her own pure howl soon joins that of the Master of the Howl and her packmate in a trio of voices, a rank that swells in sound and volume again and again as others join them.

Who of the Silver Fang and the Fianna galliards lasted the longest may just be unclear within that added symphony of sound.

Natasha Kružíková : Twilight Judgment

So much like her twin's changed form, the similarities that cannot be when they are homid, are completed when they shift. She but a smaller version of him rears as she howls, pure black fur replacing the sight of skin and leather. Solid black where all the eyes can see, their one distinction from other such wolves would be their eyes. Twin in likeness and whole of the gold only hinted at in their homid gaze. Metallic and resonant, streaked through with amber, they seem to glow until lids are lowered to the rising strength of her howl.

Vanessa Wu : Bambi

She is much like her packmates in her restlessness - and soon they would be the one group of garou that just seems to constantly be moving. Not necessarily from boredom (though perhaps that could seem a part), but just ... fidgetting. Whether it be fingers on clothes, in hair, lower lip caught between teeth then released, then caught again - only a second it takes before a part of her is doing something different. Much the same when she shifts to crinos to howl, not quite as high-pitched as Riss - but near enough - it still bears a control, and a length, that is testament to her auspice.

And while at it? In her hands rhythm sticks, dwarfed by her crinos hands, upon which she impishly breaks out some beats. As soon as she finishes, she's switching back into homid, but for a few moments more and as long as the last howl remains, the beats playfully continue - interwoven with Anne-Marie's stamping.


Trey Bishop, Mends~the~Bridge stands with his pack, The Knights, head held high and proud after his long absence.
And when the Howl begins, he shifts to Crinos, tan fur covering his body, muzzle held high to the sky as he joins with abandon, belting out every emotion he can in that seemingly small space of time. No clothes other than his bonded jeans, and a gold locket around his neck. Small remembrances mean more to some than others.


(esther garroty)
Newly arrived to the city, few would have noticed her quiet, reserved presence. In homid, she is demure, innocent, hardly anything to notice, though her rage shimmers about her as if a righteous cloak. Her eyes are large, dark, solemn; taking in the visage of each of the arrivals, from the intense, to the already bored, and all the variations in between.

She slips umbral with the rest of them, and she goes to her knees, facing where Maelstrom resides. As the call of the Wyld begins, she takes a lace veil from her bag, and covers her head with it, face partially hidden. The call continues, and she her rosary appears in her hand, obsidian beads clacking slightly as she listens.

hail mary, full of grace, blessed art thou among women

The Howl begins, and she shifts, still kneeling. Fur jet black spills from the child become warrior, her form much more noticeable now as she rivals some of the largest and fiercest in size. She comes to her feet in a single fluid move, her arms opening wide as she lifts her muzzle to the sky, her howl the pure soft sounds of a Galliard, strength backed by faith.

Esther 'Hail Mary' Garroty, Cliath Black Fury Galliard, howls.


Yu Gan stood with his pack mates, in his long limbed Maned wolf form. The Uktena elder throwing back his narrow muzzle and howling to the sky when the others started. The red and black fur mixing in with the shadows and the night, but his pure tone echoing out eerily around those already singing.

Hyde Three Fingered was standing with the eagles in his birth form. The massive steel gray Crinos looked about as the others started and finally threw back his anvil shaped head and cut forth a bellowing howl to add to the raising sound.

William Avian had been there for a while, but in his raven form as he attended these Garou meetings. Sitting off on a perch out of easy snack reach he hops from foot to foot when all the doggies started up. Ruffeling his feathers and adjusting the red band around his left foot.

New to the caern the Glasswalker shows up with his new Alpha. Waiting till others had shifted and started howling Scratch-N-Sniff did likewise. Shifting up to Crinos. His fur glossy and dark, black with dark gray markings. The bone is more clear in this form and more advanced. Bone spurs shoot forth from his shoulders.. from his elbows and along the back of his arms. His hands, knees, wrists, ankles. There are bony protrusions across his chest and even up the top of his muzzle to between his eyes. Little ridges of bone over his eyebrows and spiky ones down his back. After the painful transformation was complete, he raised his head to the night and let out a higher pitched almost digital sounding howl. Contribution to the caern, the Garou here and their diminutive new totem spirit.


LeRoy stood behind his packmates. Towering over them nevertheless, eyes presently upon those newest standing with him. For the howl he shifts his form, a foot taller, then another glabro suddenly cracks into Crinos. His howl is long and loud. He too was present.
Behind him though rested a now smoking grill. If he couldnt party with the other 'Garou' during the 4th, he'd bring the 4th to them. Albiet belated. Ribs smoked in the air, sizzled against their bones behind him. If Nelly was doing her part, a keg would be wheeling up soon enough. Though much of this was for afterwards should any care to linger and be social.

Syndel stood alone, watching for a moment of the others howling before her form began to shift to Crinos. Dark silver fur covered her form, streaked with dark wood brown streaks. Standing tall and proud, her arms stretched out slowly while she howled out. Loud, deep and long.

Green duffle bag slung upon her back, black cowboy boots, Daisy Duke cut off jean short, dixie flag bikini top... could only be Nelly Bell. Cowboy boots was one of two of her hallmarks. The second was hidden under a 1950 boy's black floppy cap; the bill ridden low upon her brow and only two thin tendrils of white blond hair drifted out from underneith to frame her face.
The southern gibbious indeed had a metal barrel on the roll. It had gained momentum from the fence edge till about half way up hill where it gravity took effect, causing her to push harder. She made it eventualy into the assembly area and quickly set the keg in place. She knew eventually Harold and Barny would be along with the large platic garbage can and bags of ice to set the beer keg inside.
So, leaving the barrel untapped, she slipped into the umbral side of the meeting hall. Her form sliding up next to Trey and LeRoy, the bag slid from her back to rest at her feet. Then her bone cracked, skin receeded to make way for odd colored fur sprouting all over her body. Fur the color of a army city camoflauge. She took crinos and bellowed into the air, giving her own deep honey voice to lift with pack and Sept mates.

*she stood by her packmate. The Glasswalker Alpha in wolf form, fur all blonde with hints of black, bounced about in hyperness of a caffeine high til the howl began. As the ripple of the howls came her way, Jedi lifted her head high and howled out loudly with Scratch-n-Sniff.*

Jody lays down with her pack in Lupus, howling when the time comes.

The Sandman's brow furrowed as Sevastian had the insolence to mock him, but he did not respond with physical recognition of the Silver Fang's actions. Instead, James being the professional vocalist and musician extraordinare, held onto the note. It was in every ounce of his being as Fianna, musician, and most of all Galliard. His lungs were more practiced at such things than, he suspected, the boy.
Needless to say he outlasted Sevastian, and continued on for some moments, and when it was finished he strode over to Josephina and jerked a thumb at her.
We will have words. Now.
His eyes were narrowed, and restraint was obvious on the Sandman's face, and he strode off without a word to one of the many bonfires being lit.


Josephina gives the Fianna elder the slightest smile, no surprise in her gaze at his sudden and unexpected approach. Her reply to his suggestion? It is polite, respectful, but there is a glimmer in her eye that he would well recognise as amusement. That, mixed with the further inflection of expression - something else he may also, very well recognise. For him alone.
"Of course, Sandman-rhya. But perhaps this could take place after the moot?" she murmurs, her voice calm and throaty, that smile moulding the tone. "I would not wish to have the rest of the Council wait for us. Unless, it is important?"
A blonde brow lifts inquiringly, but he would not be fooled by that innocent question. He would know she is aware of why he approached.
And then she adds softly and barely audible, "You may also find that it is no longer necessary for us to talk, by then."

Cliona turns to look at the little disruption, a slim brow raising, her voice carrying toward the two, and intended for the Sandman as she moves past them toward where the next part of the moot will be.
"Yeh should know better'n tha' lad... Tis what th'Crackin tis for, innae it now? Dinnae dishonor th'traditions."
Disappointment colors her tone as she glances at her Elder, holds his gaze a moment or two, and then continues on toward the assembly area where the Cracking of the Bone will be held, where Garou air their grieviences, where they discuss threats to individials as well as the Sept as a whole, where they work through any and all problems in the proper fashion.

Justin comes running up to stand behind LeRoy. It looks like the guardians have been giving him a hard time again. But, he made it through, just like last time.
He's never been to one of these before. Not knowing what to wear, he chose the simple black jeans, and black t-shirt. (everything matches black)
Since he's one of the last he shifts into Lupus (it's the only form he knows). He has a light tan coat ranging from an almost off-white near his head to a reddish-tan on his rump. He lets loose with a very energetic joyful howl. Full of spirit, and wonton exuberance. This being his second time as a wolf, the feeling is still new and fresh to him...


Yu rose to 4 legs when the howl was over and watched as his packmate approached the silverfang. His ears flickering back in a momentary sign of displeasure. Cliona was right. There was a time and place for that sort of thing. Fianna passiona ran high though and it didn't really surprise the normally quiet Uktena elder that James had went straight on over.
Moving fluidly with a grace and dexterity that no earth bound wolf could ever acheive, Yu slides over on 4 silent feet and slips between his Beta and the silverfang.
One look up to James. No words. No totem phone. Just a look. 'wait'. Then a look to the Silverfang. Ears flipped forward. Dark eyes finding hers. Held there for a long pulse.
Yu was ragabash, he knew full well the silverfangs had baited his packmate. His look meets the Fang's and they know he knew it too. To bait somone during the opening howl was also rude. That's not what the howl was for. If it went too far it'd be the pack alpha's setteling the matter for both the packs. Yu's look confirms if he had to, he would settel the matter all the fuck around.
A nod to Cliona, her words held true and he head buts James to get him going to the cracking of the bone. Such things would be resolved there.


Taxi shifted into her lupus form and howled. The Philodox's howl was high, showing her youthful energy but it was backed by mature understanding.

Ford stood alone and shifted into his crinos form. The ragabash let a deep howl emerge from him. His howl had a playful feel to it. Everything was just fun and games after all...


(vast)
As James loses his temper and comes stomping over, interrupting the moot, Vast is smirking. You can tell, even in Hispo. When Josephina replies, dignified and quiet, his smirk widens. And when Yu Gan stomps over too, his smirk is veritably ear to ear.
Baiting? Sure. Dishonorable? Sure. But what did he care? He was Galliard. His Honor was in the negative after that incident with Tucker; his rank? Still untouched. If anything his wisdom went up, though really, what he had was cunning.
His voice, more than anything else, was his weapon. And my, my, my, did it work.
Pink tongue licks silverywhite chops. His silvery-gray eyes follow Yu Gan and James all the way back to their little encampment. Then he sits on his haunches and looks up at Josephina. Up, but not by far. In Hispo, the Silver Fang was huge, sleekly muscled, the tips of his ears almost as high as the top of Josephina's head. And the woman was tall. Taller still, in those goddamn heels she insisted on.
Don't say anything more. The Warder's glaring. I'll take care of it during the Cracking.
He leans over and nips her on the shoulder with his small front teeth. Small by a direwolf's standards, anyway. His affection draws blood; his enmity draws more. This may be a metaphor for everything Vast has ever done. Opening his jaws wide, his tongue curls in a yawn, and he bares all those big white teeth for everyone, but especially James, to see. Animals sometimes yawn to make a threat. Maybe he was making one too.

===

Decker's smirking too, having returned to Homid. Dwarfed in size by all the Crinos around him, he's far from being dwarfed in presence. In sheer rage, beating from him like a electromagnetic field from an inductor. Beating from him like a black heart.
The reason's different though. Mentally nudging Kemp, Think tha teacher's gonna make 'em stay after 'n write 'I will not interrupt tha moot' on tha board 200 times?

(josephine)

She doesn't look down at him, not even when he nips her shoulder though there is a flicker of chagrin on her face at the imagined (as yet unseen) stain on white clothes. Not to mention potential tearing. No matter. She ruins more clothes when its new moon.
But though her attention remains on the gathering - one brow raised to Yu Gan after that gaze has moved on from James, then simply drawn to whatever occurs or whoever speaks next - across the totemphone:
I wasn't planning to, Sevastian. Really, if you want to challenge for position, its hardly going to look good if I do so for you, hmm? Now try and behave until the appropriate moment.
Wry and amused, at least she is not annoyed as she might be - given the unwanted attention the galliard's unorthodox methods had caused her.


(kemp)
Well at least there was something new already to look at. Nothing like bullshit. Not bothering to look at Decker with the question over the link, but he did shoot back a response.
Fuck me if I know or care. A mental snicker given They can lick each other's asses and whatever until the next moot as long as I don't gotta stick around for it.

(twinky's pc i've forgotten the name of...)
*Watching the two Garou squaring off, it catches his attention because the fighting usually dosn't start this earlyin the Moot. The bullshit usually waits till later. Shakeing his head he walks twards where the Cracking of th Bone and chuckeling*


Milo's dark-furred and nondescript Crinos form stands behind the two more socially inclined females that wear the same phantasmal wings he does. When the howling begins, two rows of pristine white fangs part and he lends his own call the rite's opening ceremony. Foot-paws flex to dig claws deep into Gaia’s flesh beneath as he sings the Nation’s fierce song, one similarly lethal hand holding a rosary similar to Hail Mary’s, the symbol held over his chest as Moves In Prayer joins his first moot at Maelstrom’s caern. The polished stones that make up its beads catch the moon and firelight, mimicking the Shadow Lord’s eyes.

(vash)
Enter the Stampede

There he was, not standing but still alone he was his gaze was shaded with those red tinteded glasses that he wore [even at night] Cause when you are this cool, the sun is always shinnin'.
What he was wearin' was not about to matter in the next few seconds cause from homid was now just a forgotten memory once this Fenrir shifted, he didn't even shift through the forms, just straight War-form. The rage crackled off him like lightning from the mighty Mjollnir when it struck somethin from afar. [presence felt]
The Iron Stampede stood tall, his coat of fur was brillant silver, he was a huge Crinos, and when he howled blood curdles. Howl that was filled with nothin' short of pure unbridaled hatred and Rage.
Silver pools, deep and threathin looked over to the fuss that was suroundin the Fangs and Fianna's looks like this was goin to turn into an old fashioned Get of Fenris moot anyway and the Modi was starting to love every minute of it.

Tashnaheca stood before his Alpha, or Alpha to be, as it may be, wearing his best ceremonial leathers, looking the part of the role he was to fill for this moot, his dark eyes unresting. He does not howl, for the Fenrir had removed such ability from him, so instead he carefully notes each person that does, and gauging their enthusiasm to this.


Kasche, however, attended the moot alone, in homid form, his silvered futhark markings readily visible. When the opening howl starts he shifts to the ungainly crinos form, adding an unearthly sound that is the battlecry of a scrag, using his Gaia given talents and mixing with a gift, thundering it as loud as his deep chest can produce it. Ungainly and scarred he was in that form.. most notably missing his right leg from above the knee.. a fetished replacement made of bone taking it's place, glittering dully, the toes and foot of which gleaming more brightly with a finished edge, looking more viscious even then the big bird man's black talons.

Mother's Riddle stands watching the going on's, waiting in silence.

(jukebox)
just as the Sept begins to raise its voice on chorus
the pre-emptive howl draws deep umber gaze to the right
carefully observing the Fang's..... dedication.... to traditional rite
For fuck's sake.... it's starting already??... somebody better have spiked the punch.....
for all of a split-second before Jukebox joins in the Opening Howl, himself

his song beginning in homid's brandy-warm tones
shapeshift the catalyst turning jubilant song to earth-rumbling war anthem
the Bone Gnawer's Crinos barrel chest amplifying.... harmonizing sound
[ Inspiration ]
the guttermutt stands with his Eagle packmates - fierce and proud
inexorably bellowing their vital connection to Chicago's bloody history

the Caern itself lives because of all their sacrifices - those who band together beneath the spiritual wings of the mighty raptor will not allow the memories of their own which sacrificed everything to be forgotten, nor will they permit the presence of those yet bleeding and breathing to falter from Gaia's gazing grace

James takes his place with the Council as cacophany echoes to thrumming shadow
once again homid stature dwarfed by the Elder Fenrir's unavoidable rage
deliberately casual semi-slouched sprawl on a lobster trap diminishing things further
even if, ironically enough, the beer-cracking raggedyman does seem stand out amongst the backdrop of fur and claws and teeth
at least his shaggy mop of dreadlocks awards style points for individuality
chuckling through the totemic link shared between packmates
How much you wanna bet they'll try to out-do each other scraping talons on the chalkboard before halfway to two-hundred.....

[cont'd in rite of the open sky - in progress]

Posted by james at July 09, 2005 12:00 AM