[the caern - forum]

Full moon. May 4th. Weather is clear, and cool. Lake laps gently at the desolate shore. Umbralside, in the huge hangar with the gape-holed roof, the Garou gather for the first Moot of the new sept.

The Master of the Howl is the first to raise the howl. Fianna Galliard that he is, it's achingly beautiful, almost otherworldly, soaring like an arrow shot into the sun. For a second or so, he howls alone.

Then...

(Yu Gan:)
As the opening howl sounds it finds him in lupus. Watching he waits for the Grand elder to howl. 
A second after he does, the Maned wolf that is Yu Gan's Lupus form throws back his head and adds his eerie Uktena voice to the growing cacophony. Leading the Quick into the howl.

(Jaan:)

The silver furred beta of the Raptors pack waits for his alpha to howl and then throws back his head and joins as well. Though homid he's in his crinos form at the moment.

(Fastball:)

Sitting on Tuckers shoulders in his MicroCrinos form, the little bone gnawer waits untill both Tucker and Jo have started to howl and adds his little squeeking howl to the braying werewolves.

(Will:)

Will just stands over by Cliona and the crows trying to not TOTALLY FREAK THE FUCK OUT at all these barkin' dogs!! 

(Cliona:)
Will fidgets nearby, and gets a glance from the young Irish lass who listens to the cacophony raise in the anthem of the nation, lead by the Master of the Howl. A moment, he sings alone, and then she joins the others lifting their voice, stepping slightly forward ahead of her pack and lifts Crinos head to join in, leading the Crows to join the soaring song.

(AnneMarie:)
She cannot join the Master of the Howl, even after Gustav lifts his voice to add to the growing thunderous sound. Instead, the large crinos lifts her head, and stomps a foot in cadence to the undulating waves of her howling brethren. 

(Jo)
Jo stands in lupus with her pack. Once Tucker has started, she joins her alpha in the howl. 

(Kveta Novotny)
Kveta listens as the moot's howls begin to sound, as each collective voice if gathered. It was a sound she'd missed since coming to America. Lifting the Crinos maw, she added her throaty howl into the cacophony, leading the Ferret in. 

(Kris)
*Flying up into the rafters Kris picks a spot and lands, shifting into homid form and leaning back against one of the poles that are up there, looking down as the Opening Howel starts thinking to himself for a moment that this may be one of the few times that all of the Garou in the city actually get along < Pausing in thought than speaking quietly to himself >* "Yeah right" *chuckeling as he awaits the rest of the moot, looking down and seeing Will he waits untill the howeling is over than he uses the gift Mores to tap out a message, hopeing that he is close enough to a pice of the structure to hear it.* 

(Victor Yelsukov-)

Victor arrived shortly during the Opening Howl, and immediately shifted up to Crinos. Silver-grey fur rippling with gusts of wind softly, the Fist of Law raised his voice in the howl. He had not the talent for such things, but still the king's nobility allowed him to have some sense of dignity for howling. 

Arms folded over his muscled chest, he remained in Crinos for the moment, until the howl was finished, which he then returned to Homid.

(James Wagner-)

The Galliard knew a thing or two about music, putting it lightly, so it goes that he could howl particularly well. Semi-pale skin rippled into black and dark grey fur, as the Fianna lifted his wolfish voice in spirit with the sept's moot.

The Sandman stood beside Cliona, whom he gave a gentle poke in the side after he'd finished his little howl. Of course he made sure not to dig his talon into her ribs. That'd be mean. Heh. 

(Flesh of Fire)

The scarred Shadow Lord stands by her alpha, sturdy crinos form a mass of black, bristling fur and savaged, twisted flesh. When The Maiden's Bow lifts her head to howl, it is two beats before the philodox does also, the scratching strain of imperfect vocal chords ripping through the deeper-pitched sound.

(Virago)

The Alpha of the Carreau de Sang is lithe in her crinos form, the shiver of her wintry pelt a luxurious ripple as she shifts and stretches that pale silhouette out and out. With the tilt of sleekly lined muzzle in an elegant obeisance to the moon, her voice joins that of the others in high and pure note. It is but one moment apart, and she distinctive and vibrant, before the sound weaves into the primal symphony to join in one cohesive whole.

Shift down.

(Sister of Shiva:)

She stand amongst the packless, dark temptress in dark garb. Her ebon hair lending shadows to her olive toned features. Black almond shaped eyes scan the gathering of garou. As the others howl, she watches. Once the din of howls is almost excruciating, she tilts her head backward revealing the smooth planes of her neck, which ripples and stretches and sprouts midnight black hair as she achieves her warform. Her howl mingles with all the rest, lost in the mass of sound. 

(Vit Rättvisä:)

She stands with her packmates, a ghostly figure beside their solid forms. Her skin is the palest of pale pinks (almost white), and it is luminous in the darkness. As her packmates shift to their warforms, so does she. A white pillar amongst the various shades. Not the silver pride of a Fang, but the palest, chalky, ghostly white of an albino. Blood red eyes shut as her head is thrown back, and her howl is joined with those around her. Filled with rage, and despair. Filled with hope. 

(kemp)
He had never been to anything quite like this and really had no idea what to expect or to do. One thing Kemp could do and that was follow along. <I>When in Rome, etc....</i>

Tendons popping, body elongating with a coating of muddy brown fur replacing his long shaggy hair, spreading across his body with darker markings showing at muzzle and ears. Once he was shifted up, he tilted his head back to join in the howl. No idea why he was howling but something pulled at his primal soul. A long wavering howl starting deep in his chest. The cry rising and falling in tone. Loss, sorrow and longing in the undulating cry that came from deep inside him. Singing his heart out in that few moments. 

(trey)
There's a grin on Trey's face as the howl is let out, letting it pass over him and through him before joining it, feeling his body thicken and grow taller as he invokes his war-form, his head tilted towards the sky. 

(Barny)

He joins in the howl together with his packmates, his deep, thunderous voice brought to light.

(Gustav.)
He waits for the howl to start, then shifts to Crinos, and let loose a great howl towards the sky.

(Rasputin.)
HE remains quiet for a while, then the pale garou raises his muzzle to the sky to let loose his howl together with his pack. 

(leRoy)
The Massive Crinos of LeRoy easily stands taller than the rest, his muzzle moonbound in homage to Luna, his voice carries with the others in unison. Passionately he sings with the love of Gaia in each vocal string. 

(pinky)
Pinky, Cliath Galliard of the Children of Gaia:

::She's there with her pack. Young, blonde and and INSIDE the group rather than leading or on any sort of periphery. When they stand she does as well shifting to immediatly to lupus and howling. The way on a coggie galliard can, lovely.:: 

(james branson)
Luna rises gravid in the sky above reality
smiling upon terra forma in all her silvered glory
beyond the shadowy gauntlet that protects the Umbral realm
James stands tall with the other members of Eagle's battle-hardened pack

raggedy fur drapes vestiges of jungle-vine dreads maned across broad shoulders
shades of earthen browns darkly melt through spring-slimmed coat into saddle of grimey black
pawfeet spread wide to balance the Gnawer's heavy Crinos weight

he listens, umber eyes slanting closed, to the haunting ether of the Master's opening howl

then as the voices of his pack lift and find their harmony
the Ahroun throws his head back and brays anthem to the night's velvet sky
(<I>pour your soul unto me, my faithful soldier</i>)
adding warrior's earth-rumbling fury to the sept's first deafening song 

(Alex Caps-the-Knees)

Alex is there, for the first time. Sticking out like the city-slicker he is, though he sits far back as his rank demands. He joins in the howl, though he's quiet as usual. 

(shame?? - poem unlimited's metis)
The metis squats with his malformed back against the corrugated iron side of the warehouse. Shifting occasionally, he lets the metallic imperfections scritch and dig into his thick, hide, a casual abbrasioning that does little to alleviate the incessant itching. Massive claws hanging between his thighs, he waits, and then, when the howling begins, he stiffens, looks sharply from one Garou to the next, almost bewildred by the sound, and raises his muzzle to the distant iron raftered ceiling almost too late.

His howl is raw and full throated, like a river of molten iron shot through with slivers of gold and silver and platinum. But it comes to late, and before he can really let his voice swell and melt with the others, the Opening Howl draws to a close, and he cuts his off with a snap of his jaws. 

(sasha)
It was a pond of coloration; dark and light shades, pattern and solid variations of fur, mesh and melded together in the packs, which gathered to bay under the pregnant face of Luna. Pride and love for their Mother, swelling in the breast of each individual beast. Voices of different octaves rose to carry in rising crescendo of unison and harmony. A voice cuts through the loud howls to mingle with the feral symphony of the Open Howl. The richness of the husky-sweet tone carried an allure of enchantment in its depth, emitted from the swelled out lungs of the Mistress of Rites, Honeysuckle Jubilee. 

Sasha stood in her birth form; fur, pitch-black, melts into the backdrop of shadows. Large paw-hands wrapped around the tall, engraved staff of dark rosewood that helps to balance the weight of the tall, sleek Cajun Child of Gaia. 

When the Open Howl draws to its closure, her voice is one of the few that dies away first, falling into utter silence for most of the Moot. 
Her voice would speak out when it needed to say something, for now, bright yellow wolf eyes watch from the pitch-black lupine. 

(Curata::)

The Ahroun stood towards the pack of his pack. Brute muscles of the Crows, one of Cliona's Boys. Lupine head lifted up to lend his voice to allow his voice to mingle with his comrades. His furry form, thick through the shoulders and chest, burly like a bear. A lush pelt of two-tone colors covers his body, charcol-grey from nose to tail upon his back, with white undermarkings from throat to tail.

(Anarchy'99:: )
And Mr. Hawthorne?
Dave. Dave? Dave!
Dave's not here.

(Harold Alder)
Harold Alder shifts into lupus and his head looks up to the sky and he lets out a long loud howl to join the Symphony of howls filling the night air.

(Kegan O'Shawnahey)
Kegan shifts into lupus as well and lets out his own low rumbling howl.

(Tucker Riley-)

The Street-King stands fully in crinos form fastball's legs resting on his chest as the micro-garou sits atop his shoulders. Letting his howl go, it's a howl of many things, a contrast like the rest of him one supposes. Chords of sadness of a moot a friend will never see, a few bars of happiness that he can share all of this with Arabella later. Hope, for the fianna girl and fear, fear of not seeing tomorrow. [There's always that. that fear. I'm not afraid to die, I'm afraid of not living.] His howl is one of Rage, of passion, of war. But it's got behind it the percussive thing that is his regal breeding and that is broken only by the single note that runs trough all of it.

Triumph.

[This is my pack.]

(James F. W. Vaughn-)

He howls as well, though not as loud as some. His voice is a barking scratchy thing. His lack of that selfsame breeding the royals posess doesn't help. But his mottled gray crinos form is there too, howling away. His mind at the same time running over liquiable portfolio equity so as to have on hand capital for next week's dawn raid.

(Luca Oliverio-)

Luca's there. Standing amongst the junior sept members. His thin crinos form is between those of pinky and Ancient Heart. Completing the closed off clique are Pachouli and summer, making for that breakfast club feel to the group. ((OOC: to the new pack, if I missed somone, gimme a heads up and I'll fix this one))

Their howl is one of rebellious youth. A song of a few wolves against the world and loving nothing better than those odds. A song of passion and arrogance, but also one of ideals and the unjaded wonderment everyone has when they're young.

<I>We can be heros. For just one day... </i>

(Walks the Trodden Path)

Huge Silver Fang, silver fur, armed and deadly, new and far too old for where he is. Apart ever so slightly from the rest of the garou (world), a howl let forth backed by the power of blood as pure as any found here. Tearing into the sky, rage/hatred/loss/despair. Barely refined, only power behind it.

(Arkadiy Sorokin)

Careful, precise. Not a note away from where it should be. Staying carefully within the boundaries, leached of the true emotion that makes a howl powerful. But, at the very least, present. 

(tura)
Beta of the Quick pack steps out of the umbra at the call. 
Her war form pitch black with stark with hands up to her elbows as if she had dipped her hands into a large puckit of white paint.

Tura "Fallen-Eyes" Truth Chaiser of the spet lends her voice to the howls. Her glasses gone her eyes a mass of scaring black holes and pink skin. The claw marks start just under her brow ridges and slide down her checks and stop then along her chest a few more lines of scares. She was a sight to see. Her long black hair shifting in the breeze. 

(Eyes of Medea)

Black-furred in her War Form, eyes dark as the night itself, the Fury Seer steps forward with her pack, tipping her head back and letting a howl ring out to the heavens, carrying with it her love and devotion to She Who Wears the Night Sky. 

(crying deer)
He had heard the howl and he lifted his head. Dark lonely eyes look off into the distance. The moot. He should go and be with them. Slowly he stands and moves his feet taking him fast. His long riffle banging at his side. He hears the howls his heart sings with them. He shifts. The red skys in the umbra almost blinding him in his search of others till he finds it. Malestorm swerling and worrleing.

Crying Deer, howls with them. Sorrow and loss singing in his voice. The longing to search and find to know. His is tall and srong. Grey and brown tinged like a large Timber wolf. His eyes a soft sad wisky brown. His ears moving this way and that lissening to the rest of them. Even the wyrmbringers loved gaia and for that he could tolerate them this once.

Crying Deer
Wendio Spirt Speeker
Cliath
Born of Women. 

(summer)
...and there's Summer, golden as her namesake, face mostly hidden by the shadowed brim of her trusty cowboy hat. The girl's tall enough that you might think her a beanpole if it weren't for the lean and lanky grace she wears like it weren't nothing at all. An impression of golden skin, the lower half of a pair of thick braids, light brown, dirty blonde. In the Umbral shadows, the color is nothing impressive. In the sun, the braids might be something else entirely, the highlights pricked out and shining like they was close to on fire. Thumbs tucked into the worn belt loops of her old Levis, a teenaged slouch that's all attitude - all .at.ti.tude. y'all - with that sleek untouchability MC Hammer tried to rap about, somehow possessed by 3/4 of all teenaged girls. Or maybe it's the subtle thread of Get blood lacing her veins. Either way:

<I>can't touch this.</i>

Awww, yeah.

Except, the howl begins and the girl's chin tips upward and her braids dance across her back and the shadow engulfing the lower third of her face parts and she's peering out from under that brim the way a puppy peers out from underneath a bedskirt, just showing its nose and mouth, eyes half-hidden ciphers, ready to steal your slippers the minute you put your feet down. And her mouth is split into this goofy grin that cuts into the curve of her still-round cheeks, brazen with a kind of embarrassed delight. 

With a hoot and a holler, she lifts the cowboy hat from the top of her head by the broke-down crown and raises it up like a banner. There's no glare from the sun in the Umbra, but the girl's eyes are slit like she was staring into the sun, with the flat, crinkled look of a sailor or farmer, someone used to staring off into wide expanses of sameness and glare. Soon enough, she's shifting too, the worn jeans and halter expanding and then dissipating as the gray-furred Crinos rises with her pack, old cowboy hat half-crushed in her massive paw, howling her praise to Luna and Maelstrom and Gaia, howling her 
praise and delight and war-cry and tribute to the whole damn world. 

(Decker)

stands with the Eagles first and foremost.
stands with the Council of Elders to show his affiliation.
stands in Crinos.
stands with his grandfather's legacy tattooed bold upon one shoulder.
stands with his tribal affiliation tattooed upon the other.

When the rest of his pack howls around him, he does not at first. Perhaps he is not used to giving voice in this way. How long has it been since he was last at a moot, a real moot? It had always been the skalds that had born his tales to the other septs; he himself, barring the one month in the catskills, had remained out on the battlefield.

The battle isn't over, but this is a victory.
When he does howl, that's what he howls for.

(Brand)

stands with the Council, his pack at his back. Five shining white Silver Fangs, a blaze of ferocity and purity in this dark age. Though he lifts his muzzle to the sky first, their song bursts forth as one: raw, silver, fierce, proud.

(sliver)

darkest child born of darkest deeds under darkest moon, the horned metis never leaves his birthform, never leaves all four. his howl is a short, rough thing; he roars at the sky and then moves on, always moving, threading through the fianna the get the gnawers the silver fangs...

(there is little to no humility as he passes through these tribes.)

...finally taking up a place crouched, submissive, at the feet of his own tribe.
shadow lords.

(Jackson)

You half expected him to show up with a surfboard. Surf's up, dude! Ride the Maelstrom! <I>Awwwwwesome</i>...HANG TEN!

But, no. He's there in a black jersey (lowkey? hell no, the board shorts he wears are black -- with tongues of orange flame licking up from the cuffs). He's holding a simple red rattan staff, a black sea-dragon carved atop, but he neither leans on it nor holds it at ready. Dedicated, it grows with him as he shifts into a brown-and-white Crinos, throws back his head, and howls at the sky. 

(Zoe)

She stands near the Knights, at first in homid, and then she shifts. She lifts her light brown muzzle and howls with them, putting all her force into it. This will be her first REAL moot as a full-fledged Garou.

(Azrael)

He stands in crinos near Gustav. Gustav's pack is the only garou he knows in Chicago, aside from Decker. He's lean..very lean, like he was half starved. His fur is black..pitch black, save for the third eye, encircledby blood red fur, signifying his birth tribe. The black path lays over his right eye. Azrael picks up his muzzle and Howls in that eerie, hateful howl that comes from his birth tribe. 

(tesrin)
*Having only JUST found out there was a caern, and with some searching during the days just before the full moon, finally ran across a guardian that pointed out when and where. Tesrin "Treks-the-Tracks" Timov shows his face to those he hasnt met yet during his wanderings around the city. Newbie extraordinaire. He doesnt even have to ask to find his Tribe, they were easy enough to figure out. When he showed up just before the howl, a bit breathless, he plops down near the Gnawers, but not too close. This Sept hadnt accepted him yet. And as far as he knows....no one told him just how NEW this caern was. To him it was a really cool caern with a good meeting place. 

When the howl begins he slowly shifts to crinos and adds his voice near the end, jubilant, exhaultant, just plain having a good time and not stressing over things he had no control over. To quote a little white bat from "Anastasia" "Stress, it's a Killah!" for him, it could be. His howl ends just before everyone elses, short and sweet. He'd wait for Cracking of the Bone to make his introductions and offer Chiminage (I think? Can an ST get in touch with me please?) to the caern to be allowed in it's territories.*

*Tesrin is a 5ft 10in 19 year old with wise brown eyes. His hair is shaggy and a bit unkempt but clean. His clothing is old and worn, but well washed as well. Usually dressing in tans and browns with blue jeans ragged around the cuffs. Around his left wrist is an old digital watch on a native american style bracelet to replace the old band. Around his neck is various black leather necklaces with pewter and steel pendants of various religious deities from a catholic cross to a celtic cross and even a jewish star among the rest. Comfortably used (nearly new) Grey and white sneaks on his feet.*
http://www.geocities.com/dragon_loves_wolf...the_Tracks.html

In Crinos he's sooty black with fur that fluffs out in all directions untamably.

(hikeslegandpees garou)
Green, white, and browned furred lupus pads up slowly to her pack... nipping Harry on the ass once before settling beside her boys. Packmates, brothers, fathers, lovers.... they all had nice asses. But Harry's you could bounce a quarter off of. 

RT's had made a comment, and proven it to her long ago. Only a lupus could carry the sweet voice of Gaia within each note of their howls. 

Thusly her form. Thusly her head thrown back. A howl, long and silver, echoed from her throat. 

(brenden o casey)
Brendan O'Casey, Smilin' Bren, is with Uaghaihg. Close by the Crows, too. The lean Ragabash howls in wolf form, his fur black with touches of smoky gray over the eyes, along the muzzle, down the chest and at the feet. 

(binary)
<B>Maelstrom, Umbraside.
8:32 P.M</B>

She's there. The 0-1, aka Binary, aka that gun-weilding urrah, aka that asian hardass - y'know whatever works for you. Whatever IS efficent. She's there sitting wherever the nexus of tribe, rank and pack aligns - or perhaps it is the seat of wolf-formed entity which creates the space. [Egg or Chicken. Chicken or Egg.] Utterly unremarkable of appearence, neither ugly nor beautiful - there is no [pure-pure-pure] breeding to speak of. There is only the certainty of her presence, and the subliminal threat: Potentiality.

<B>Only her.</B>

At her right: San Bao.
At her left: 20:10

<B>Never alone.</B>

And when the howl lifts up from the voices of those gathered, in some parts sorrowful, in others hopeful, in some clumsy, in others born of innate grace. The three join in at once - synchronicity. Maybe they had worked on taht motion, was it practiced? Three howls harmonized into the greater whole. A line: Of balance? Of boundary? Of delineation?

<B>A line.</B>

<I>[...the one in the many the many in the one.] </i>

(madison cassidy)
She isnt standing right next to anyone.
In fact she is off by herself from the group. But not hiding by any means.

Having already shifted from her birthform, now in Crinos, the streak of white still remaining in her dark fur. battle scar

She had been at one moot before, she had only been at one...but she remembered enough to get by.

A student once more...truely always a student though right?

Eyes take in the group of people...man there were a lot of them...

And she howls.

Garou.
Warrior.
Madison Cassidy
Wyld Chyld.

(akamatsu)

akamatsu: a smaller, well dressed man stands behind, and slightly to the left of the other glasswalkers. he seems to be of asian decent. he is also unknown. however, he joins the howl in lupus form, and retakes his homid form once the howl is completed. 

(erik jonsen)
Where could he be? He'd be hard to miss, even in such a large gathering. Well, maybe not. He is a ragabash (that'ds rotagar to you) after all. Maybe he's invisible, or something. And maybe not.

His pack, the Eagles, know better, though. He is gone. Into the umbra, into the spirit of battle. An aisling he must take alone, so he said. He'll be back. So he said. 

(angie kelly)
Angie Kelley:

~Present with Binary and San Bao, this is practiced perfection for them. Three werewolves whose minds are so perfectly matched through spirit and practice that their three voices create one instrument. It is martial. It is notable, different, and ethereal in its synchronized perfection.~ 

(thunder's mirror)
He stands in the back, a new face in a strange new place. He had noone to stand beside, and noone to stand behind him. however this does not bother the warrior. He steps forth from the darkness, a figure as dark as night crushing leaves, and branches underneath as he looks to the heavens staring into the glimmering face of luna his howl joins in with so many voices.
His howl is dark, and violent, like his namesake it tears through the night sky. Announcing his presence, a stranger beside his kind. This one howl representing the unity of the garou, but also a message to all who might stand in their path.
Indeed the wyrm trembles this night to hear so many howls in unison. His is just one of the many, but even so he makes certain it is heared.