gmlogbox | [Sandra] :: LOG :: Motivations Are a Moot Point (Reply)

There's a light rain today, but the overhanging branches of the pines are sufficient to keep most of it off most of the Compound, and it's not heavy enough to do more than cause a bit of a sizzle where drops hit the fire. Felix is sprawled out on one of the logs by it, most of the way through a cigarette and looking unreasonably comfortable, possibly because Lilah's also sitting on the log, and he's currently using her lap as a pillow. "Ain't sure which'd be better, though," he's saying to her, "Whatcha think?"

Six-Shooter twitches an ear towards his packmate. He's sprawled out in lupus a few feet off, and until a few moments ago was more asleep than awake, and isn't making a hurry to change that.

Finds-His-Way enters the compound, like a normal wolf!... kind of. He's trotting along with Brings-Winter's-Bite, and moving at a good clip. As they near the compound the Shadow Lord breaks off to go her own way, and Finds, being himself, waps her across the side with his tail as they part. The Ragabash trots on over into the light and practically springs into Homid form, sniffing around for food or drink or both.

Lilah doesn't seem to mind her lap being used to prop up Felix's head, and she shrugs to his question. "I don't rightly know," she admits after a moment, "...but I reckon it don't take a deep knowledge o' the subject to figure that the six-shooter ain't a good plan. You get t'thinkin' you gotta lotta gun, one o' them in your hand, but you know you got a limit with a shotgun. I mean, if y'ask me." She shrugs again, and gestures to one of the boxes of donuts sitting next to her. "Ya want one?" is offered along with a bright smile when she sees Finds-His-Way sniffing about.

Yael enters on foot from the forest, with a glance down at her cell phone's watch as it's tucked back away. On time or a minute or two late, doesn't seem to bother her. Sandra gets a friendly nod, Slug more of an acknowledgement, and then the Strider finds a tree to lean against. Silently.

Six-Shooter makes a lupine snort aimed in Lilah's general direction, but it's most definitely amused rather than menacing, and the kin and then his packmate each get a light headbump before he shifts up and into his birthform and finds a place to sit on the next log.

"I dunno," Felix says, grinning up at Lilah and extending his leg to the side to nudge his packmate with the toe of his boot, "I reckon most times I'd rather have a Six-Shooter by my side. I'll make sure you got a shotgun, though." He reaches over to the closest box of donuts and picks one up, gesturing toward the arrivals with it in something vaguely resembling a wave, and lifting his chin a bit in their direction. "Evenin'! We got donuts, y'all want any," he adds to the kin's offer, and laughs as his packmate headbumps them.

Reflection comes in, wearing the wolf form, from the direction of the Caern. He shakes off towards the edge of the compound and then walks in towards the fire where he melts up to homid. His Chimeric spear is now in one hand and the imposing Fenrir looks towards the fire silently. Jamethon has yet to acknowledge anyone.

"Hell yeah, nothing like a little sweet to brighten up your day." Slug says. The Gnawer steps on over to Lilah with an overly showy bow and picks a donut out of the box with all the skill of a Kingfisher sniping a fish from the water. "Ah hell," he says. "Gun don't matter for shit, just make sure it shoots a big enough bullet, and use whatever you can get your hands on. I like shotguns, though. They got spread, and given I was shooting with one eye for a long ass time..."

Salem slouches into the clearing and takes a spot next to one of the trees at the edge, leaning against it with his hands in his pockets. His expression is moody and withdrawn.

Lilah coughs at Six-Shooter's snort, and her face turns a pretty bright shade of red. "Present comp'ny excluded, o'course. I do reckon I'd take your kinda shootin' any day," she says, and smiles at Six. "And thank you," she says to Felix, squeezing his shoulder lightly. She can't help but grin at Slug's words, nodding her head slowly. "I like usin' shotguns cuz... well, I ain't so good a shot. Spread's good for me." She gives the best half-curtsey she can while both seated, and attempting not to dislodge Felix.

Yael tilts her head to one side, with a brief nod of greeting to Jamethon when he shows up, and then finally shrugs. The conversation doesn't get a response from her, but after a moment, the Strider asks with a slight lilt to the English, "Is this everyone?" Of course, she could as well be talking to herself for as loud as she bothers to speak.

Sandra had shifted up to her homid form not long after having arrived with Slug, the Shadow Lord drifting closer to a position of 'prominence' than her usual. She's in her more standard business attire this evening, which seems proper for someone looking to make a presentation, though she's silent for the moment, a touch of a furrow coming over her brow at Yael's question. The frown isn't quite there with it, but, well. Close enough.

"Please, no flirting on the Bawn now, you'll rile the Warders," Slug says, scarfing down almost half a donut in a single bite. He's got a big mouth. "And if you hit with a shotgun, you only need to hit once. An even better choice for a bad shot, if you ask me. That's why I like the ones with two barrels. If whatever you're shooting ain't dead after that, a gun ain't gonna do it." He glances over his shoulder at Sandra, waving.

Trace reaches over and grabs a donut, and shrugs his shoulders, but only offers a broad grin.

"Hey, ain't our fault if they're gettin' pent up," Felix says, taking a bite of donut as well, and taking a look around to see who's here and who isn't. One or the other gets a flicker of annoyance, though he returns to speaking to Slug, "Don't let her fool you, though, she's a pretty decent shot." He reaches up to tug on one of Lilah's ringlets with his free hand.

There's the sound of awkward footsteps running through the forest before Linnaea makes her appearance into the clearing, out of breath and trying to get her feet back under her to look somewhat graceful, and-- well, failing. The Gaian pushes a few stray braids absently out of her face, blinks, looks around at those gathered, and lets out a breath. "This is the assembly, right? Did I miss it?"

Salem shifts his weight a little, then sits down with his back against the tree. Nothing in the assembly so far seems to be lightening his mood.

Jamethon offers a well delayed greeting to Yael in the form of a slow single nod. He follows this with a grand stretch and yawn like a prairie cat, and a couple of owlish blinks. The Gatekeeper finally seems to be aware of where he is, and that others are present as well. He sweeps his gaze around the Compound, settling on Sandra for a moment, then on Slug for a few moments longer. The Fenrir's expression is neutral and calm.

Sandra affords Slug a polite incline of her head when he waves in her direction, her gaze sweeping over the 'crowd' again, attention briefly stopping on Linnaea to give the Gaian a once-over.

"As someone that was a Warder... not cool," Slug says. He finishes off his donut with one more bite, folding it into his mouth like a pasty accordian. "You're late, Young Lady," he says without even looking at Linnaea, using his very best teacher voice. Who else is there? Hm. Oh right. Trace gets a wave, Salem gets a respectful nod, and Jamethon gets- a look. "You're being spooky today. Did someone tell you it was October?"
Yael takes several steps forward and this time, she speaks enough so that her voice carries, and clearly. "This is the assembly, yes." It's not quite a schoolteacher's scolding, but there's a general displeasure that those who know her might pick up on. "It's not formal as such, or at least it hasn't been in the time that I have been here and I have no intention of changing things. But try and bring things up one at a time, alright?" And then she takes a step back, and glances around.

"Double barrel for sure," Lilah agrees with Slug, and her almost-gone blush returns-- albeit not quite so deeply-- at Felix's words and curl-tug. She grins at the two of them, and then tugs at Felix's ear playfully. "Don't you go givin' away all my secrets." She quiets, though, as Yael begins to speak, watching without speaking.

Sandra nods at the prompt to step forward, and does so, standing before the compound and taking one last look around. There isn't nervousness to her so much as a lingering tension and, ultimately, the bulk of that is breathed out. Slowly.
"I've had the chance to speak to at least one of you about this," she says, "and to some, it may well seem like either 'old news,' or just a natural conclusion. Nonetheless-- as many of you know, I've been doing a great deal of research and information gathering regarding the Wheel Eater, and everything surrounding it. As of this past week, new information has come to light that I believe puts the timeline we're working with into perspective, and tests some other theories that have arisen over the years. Among other things.
"I want to preface by saying that I had my hesitations about presenting it here tonight. Not out of any sense of misguided pride, though I suppose that's part of it. Nonetheless, it's been pointed out to me that the Garou of this sept know, and understand their priorities. And given I've been the first to speak out against the cagey management of information in the past, it would seem-- hypocritical to hold back on something vital. That said, I've been urged by my tribe to remain silent on the matter-- though they seem to understand that, in this case, that's not strictly possible. My only hope-- my only request, to be taken or discarded, is that what I'm about to say remains as it's offered: useful. Not political."
There's no judgment in the tone she takes; if anything, the words certainly *sound* sincere, but there's plenty of room left over for the notion that it may well turn out the way she'd prefer it didn't. With that aside, however, she says:
"It's come to my attention, through contacts and through a great deal of research, that the Shadow Lords who took control of Last Days had become aware of the Wheel Eater. Not long after the Get of Fenris Alpha had been deposed, and the tribe had opted to leave the sept entirely, they began to experience disturbing dreams. Disappearances began to happen. Madness seemed to be afflicting its membership. Not long after that, a 'Wyrmish Presence' was discovered beneath the caern, too massive to deal with-- even if the Fenrir had remained, and their allies at the then-Wheel Renewed had been called in.
"They studied it for a while, but something in the intervening time must have changed their minds, as-- well. You know the story. There was an evacuation. An attack of some kind." A pause. "Except there wasn't. There was an evacuation, yes, of the lower-ranking sept members. Leadership stayed behind, but not as a last stand. Instead, it was to deliberately, and methodically destroy the caern under their care, rather than let it fall to the Wyrm."
She lets that sink in for a moment before she proceeds. Still: she proceeds, rather than wait for verbal responses. Then: "Tribal leadership was unaware of this decision. The Wheel Renewed was unaware of this decision. According to the survivors, most of whom have vanished, at this point, there was no time. Something happened that seemed, to them, to require a hasty decision. My tribemates only ever became aware of what happened retroactively." And, judging by tone *there*, she full well recognizes that this isn't an excuse for staying quiet about it.

Slug seems entirely!... unsurprised. Like he'd already seen the season finale of Lost before everyone else at the watch party. "It seems like the more we learned about what happened, the more questions we have." He sticks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "Tough decisions are made every day, every night. We all make mistakes. I've made a few. I-" Slug stops himself, possibly realizing he's on the verge of inadvertently rehashing a Queen lyric. "I thank you for the information, and do not hold it against you or your's."

Linnaea glares for just a moment when Slug scolds her lateness, but then looks at the ground, looks around, and finally finds a seat a few feet off from Salem, where she sits through the entire speechifying, and tilts her head to one side, then fidgets with something in a pocket of the sweater.

Salem's nose wrinkles, mouth twisting into a grimace. He sure looks like /he/ could hold things against Sandra's tribemates, but he holds his tongue.

Jamethon grips the spear at his side in a twisting motion with both hands, likened to wringing of a neck. He gives a, quite grumpy sound; it comes across like somewhere between a grunt, clearing the throat, and a growl. "I appreciate your coming forward with this knowledge, Sandra. It shows wisdom and honor in you, even if it highlights a lack of such in your tribemates involved." His eyes hold a deep understanding of the underpinnings of the topic Sandra discussed, and clearly he is holding back in saying more on this just yet.

Felix does not look unsurprised; his brows go up a not-inconsiderable amount at the information. He also doesn't look very happy with it, though it doesn't spill too much into his tone: "So how'd they become aware of it later, an' how come it didn't include whatever it was that made 'em decide they had to do somethin' like =that= an' =right now=? 'cause that seems like it might be important to know for workin' out dealin' with it now. If only most of the survivors've vanished, any chance of trackin' down the ones that ain't?"

Yael offers Sandra a tiny smile as she begins to speak. Encouragement, perhaps. And a nod when the Shadow Lord has finished. "Dreams, like the ones I have heard talk of people here occasionally experiencing, or dreams otherwise?" She shakes her head. "In any case. Thank you for sharing this information with us. I appreciate it, and I hope that it will be put to good use going forwards." Another nod, presumably moving the meeting forwards as it will.

Sandra inclines her head to Slug again, offering a soft but sincere, "Thank you, Adren," her gaze flickering briefly over to Salem. This, it seems, was expected. But she has the good sense not to comment on it, or challenge it, her attention shifting over to Jamethon. "Thank you, Gatekeeper," is offered in turn, with a similar incline of her head.
Her attention turns then to Felix when the questions are raised, and says, "I'm afraid that I burned most of the good will I had with my contacts when I threatened to raise this with our-- internal checks and balances, if they didn't come clean with me," she says. "Acquiring this information meant burning bridges. But someone with the proper skillset may be able to manage it, if at all possible. Assuming the survivors themselves haven't-- succumbed in some way, which, as you might imagine, is a troubling prospect. Especially if they carried the Eater's infection with them."
It's not quite afforded the gravity it ought to be, but-- "All I know is that *we* barely know what to do with the Wheel Eater. *We* barely know how to handle it-- and we're arguably more knowledgeable than those tribemates that sought to put an end to the caern, at the time. Worthwhile to remember, besides, that they were protecting contested ground. Spirals could stage a renewed incursion at any time, and for all they knew, the Pit that had once stood where the caern now was had been fueling the entity beneath the site-- not containing it, as we now know to be the case."
To Jamethon, and to some degree, Salem, she says, "That's the only defense I can offer for their decision, at the moment. It's the only thing that can be reasonably assumed. The rest," she looks back to Felix, "is lost to time, unfortunately. The story became a secret, and, in becoming a secret, had fewer people left to say, one way or another, what changed-- or why it was 'right then' that the decision was made. Perhaps it was the dreams," she looks to Yael, "whose details are also lost, though I did inquire about them. I only know that they were terrifying; highly disturbing. They may be more akin to the kind that Ghost has talked about, in the past. Or they may be more like the ones I've been having." Beat. To Felix, she says, "But the dreams could have been urging them to act. Or perhaps the madness itself. Maybe as the Builder woke, the Eater stirred, and found the caern to be a nuisance; a means of stifling it. For now, we only have theories."

Lilah's hand goes to her mouth at Sandra's original revelation; she's most certainly surprised. She swallows, quickly moving her hand away from her mouth and trying her best not to frown, even though the frown isn't directed at anyone in particular. Idly, she rubs Felix's arm a little bit, even as she looks to each person who speaks in turn-- and then a glance is also given to those that didn't speak at all. She says nothing, herself.

Salem, still scowling, says, "Ultimately, their motivations are a moot point. How does this information help us /now/?"

Jamethon uses a deft and subtle motion of his hand to spin the spear in his hand to be point down, then stabs it into the earth to let it stick up into the night air. This seems to let some steam off for the Fenrir, though he remains grim as he shakes his head. The Gatekeeper crosses his arms and nods to Salem, "There are many excuses, but no reasons, to do the Wyrm's work for it, Sandra. These are the times that do not allow retreat and too many Caerns have been lost. This Caern does not fall. What does this mean to us? It means that the Garou were not attacked and driven out, were they? Not really. There were battles and victories and losses but at the end, it was the Wyrm boiling underneath that drove them to their grand failure. We too... have caverns below us. An entire territory we may not yet understand."

Trace just listens, and at some point brings his hand up to rub at his forehead, and bites his lower lip. There's a silent glance to his packmate, but whether it's the discussion at hand or the crowd in the first place-- the ahroun seems to be set on staying quiet for the moment.

"I understand," Sandra replies to Jamethon, not seeming phased by either his or Salem's response; she'd be a little foolish not to expect it. "And to a large extent, I agree, though I feel there's some nuance to this that simply isn't present in other situations that are more-- cut and dry, as it were. As I said, I can only present theories. As for what it does for us now..." She looks to Salem. "It gives us a timeline to work from, and confirms what the Ancient has told us. It doesn't lend us the bodies to erect another caern, of course. It doesn't give us the bodies that can *defend* another caern. But it does point in the direction that we've been told to move in: to bring Last Days back, but that has its own snags attached to it, beyond the question of 'how.'" She doesn't bother to say that 'how' is an insane problem to tackle anyway; there's really no point.

"It tells us that sealing the Caern won't really help," Slug says to Salem, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. He lights it up, head bowed away from the wind. "The Shadow Lord leadership made a series of stupid decisions that ended with things being what they were. The final decision that they made was to save they could of their Tribemates, to deny the Wyrm what could have become a Hive of great importance, and to seal away the Ooze." Slug draws a massive lungful of smoke and blows it out through his nostrils.
"Sometimes the only choice left to make is to choose the smallest shit sandwich to eat. I've got questions for you, later on, James. Ones that might be important. But not now."

Salem makes a disgusted little 'tch' noise but doesn't comment further.

Yael takes a half step forward and looks around the gathering. "Alright then. Next?"

Jamethon shoots a look over to Slug when the Bone Gnawer speaks, "Perhaps, Slug. And as each Sept makes good, logical excuses to rip Gaia's heart from her leaving the Mother bleeding and dying rather than do what we are charged with, finding a way no matter the cost to ourselves? That leaves the rest of us that much more vulnerable and less able to act. I... do hear what you are saying. I understand it. I simply can not, ever, condone it. And," he adds after a slow exhale, "I will gladly answer your questions when you are ready." He then glances to Yael and around the group gathered, to see if any step forward just yet.

The Galliard, probably not shockingly, looks decidedly less than happy about the idea that the story's lost to time -- and a little thoughtful. He nods slightly to Sandra's reply, however, acknowledgement of her points and possibly the sacrifice involved in getting, or at least sharing, what she has. The rest, he just listens to.
Felix swings his legs across the log and sits up, then, pinching out the butt of his cigarette and dropping it into his jacket pocket as he looks around to see whether the conversation seems to be settling. Yael's remarks settle that fine, and he stands.
"Well, that kinda leads in to one of the things I was gonna bring up, so let's start with that: I'm tryin' to put together the history of this place. I got enough bits an' pieces to know a shitload of stuff's happened here over the years, an' also plenty to see if any Galliard ever had it all sorted out they ain't around now to pass it on. So anyone who's been 'round here longer'n me," the glance he's sweeping across the assembled pausing particularly on Jamethon, Salem, and Slug this time, "or even who ain't but knows shit anyhow, I'm aimin' to talk with you an' learn shit. Most specifically, though -- or I guess really, just kinda as a priority right now -- I'm lookin' for information on a few particular events an' dates in the history of dealin' with Hanford, Last Days, an' the Wheel Eater. That timeline Sandra was talkin' 'bout. So if you got a good time for talkin' with me, hit me up. If not -- well, I'll be comin' 'round to try an' get it outta you pretty soon. Prolly more'n once. There's a lotta past to cover."

Yael glances at Sandra, not as much to the people that Felix names. "I know you've got a few copies of that-- flow chart, you were working on, around. Maybe get one to Felix, since we're in the whole sharing information mood? It seems like all this overlaps."

"I already have," Sandra replies. "I gave two copies to Slug and Felix to keep in the Library, to work on at their leisure. I'll be giving them the updated copies later this week, once the newer version is posted here in the compound."

"I would be happy to offer what I know, but most of what I remember is pretty limited." Slug scratches at the scar tissue under the eye on the maimed side of his face. "I used to have a pretty limited point of view."

Jamethon grumbles slightly and gives a nodding gesture to Slug over his crossed arms before looking back to Sandra. "I too have lost some sense of memory of what has come before. I will help how I can. I would ask the land but it too has changed... dramatically. This Caern is not the same from the time you seek. Nor are the totems. Time has swept through our history like a hurricane. If you can explain the need, perhaps the Ancient can help you with that you seek. I wouldn't count on it, however."

"Perhaps this is out of bounds," Sandra says, "or perhaps there's some etiquette I'm missing, but-- is it possible to consult the totems that were present during those times?" This, asked of Jamethon. "I'm not sure how information is shared between them, or if it's more-- singular-- to a specific spirit, and I'm uncertain of how many were truly 'lost,' or simply... ah, released?"

"They're gone," Salem says. "Buffalo, Cougar, Magpie... even if Magpie's brood /wasn't/ fucked in this area. They sacrificed themselves back when the Sept was trying to revitalize the caern after a mage nearly sucked it dry. Fog's gone too, far as I know."

Sandra frowns. "I see," she says, falling silent.

Jamethon swallows to Sandra and looks slightly away at Salem's revelation. "If there was any Totem able to be reached," he offers as follow up, "It would be Aeolus... but Fog honors secrets above much anything else. Even if it were possible, I would not... could not... bend such as that against it's nature." Here he looks over at the Chimeric spear sticking out of the ground, "Perhaps the Lady of Mirrors."

"She'll impart wisdom, but it will be up to you to figure it out," Slug says, picking at a tooth with his thumbnail. "Unless of course she tells you nothing at all, and you spend months and months chipping away at that riddle only to learn a completely unrelated thing she wanted to teach you, like, "Over thinking is bad."

Jamethon shoots a look over at Slug that some might describe as withering, though it is not long lived and the Fenrir returns his attention to no one Garou in particular.

"Yeah, we've gone over that," Felix says to Yael, "but thanks for thinkin' of it, anyhow. I been talkin' with her 'bout some of this already -- that's where some of the particular points I'm lookin' at for right now come from." Jamethon and Slug get a quick grin, even with the qualifications, and a "Thanks," before Sandra's question has him glancing to the Fenrir again -- then Salem, when he chimes in, and back.
"Well, be worth a try, anyhow," he says, "Any chance there's other kinds of spirits 'round that might also remember things? It's definitely an interestin' thought, anyhow." He settles back onto the log beside Lilah, this time still sitting up properly.

"Agreed," Sandra says to Felix, his taking a seat interpreted as a sign to step forward again. "Doesn't segue quite as neatly into my next point, but-- in a way, I suppose it does." She looks to those assembled, and says, "It has to do with the Old Man-- the Mage responsible for tampering with Ghost, and, until recently presumed responsible for the dreams pointing us in the 'right' direction.
"This may not be news to some of you," she says, "but it's news to enough of you that it's worth bringing up. The Old Man is not 'simply' a Mage whose hubris got him caught up in the Nothing. He is, by his own admission, a servitor of the Wyrm-- what the warpers would term a 'Nephandus,' or, more specifically, a Malfean. Whether or not you know the first term, I know with some certainty that you'll know the second.
"He claims that he gave himself over 'decades ago'-- and we know, besides, that he wants us to perform a Rite for him, of some kind. My assumption is that it's the Rite of Caern Building, as the Ancient has pointed out-- which is the 'snag' I mentioned earlier, beyond the astronomical improbability of being able to raise a caern at the site in the first place. Whether this means that he intends to corrupt the process entirely once it's underway, or invite a Wyrm Totem in place of a Gaian one, is unknown. As many of you know, he's not exactly forthcoming on matters such as these. But on the point that he's sold himself wholecloth to the enemy, there's little room for doubt."

Although previous statements haven't gotten much of a reaction out of Trace, this one does. The ahroun doesn't bother hiding his growl, although he does manage to not get up, but his hands ball into fists. "Alright so I'm /not/ as up to speed as I should be, /pero/ let me get this one thing straight here: And why the hell should we do anything that this not even a mage anymore wants us to do, anyway? We don't. Work. For. Him. We serve Gaia."

Salem, sometime while Trace is making his outburst, gets up and slips off out of the clearing.

Linnaea glances off after Salem, offering the younger elder Glass Walker a slight wave, and then pulls her knees up to her chest. The outburst seems to make the petite Gaian, well, nervous.

"Huh," Slug says. "I wouldn'tve have guessed he was a Nephandi, but... I never met one before. Aside from meeting him, in my dreams anyways," Slug says. He considers Sandra for a few moments, then looks at Trace. "The Wyrm weaves a tangled web. They don't all play on the same team, and even the agents of the hydra seem to fear what's come out to play. Sometimes people do the right thing for the wrong reasons. For what it is worth, he's given us some of the information we've gotten- but I've never really trusted him. And yet... he seems to have all the power he needs to reach out and touch us in a bad way, if he wants."

"'course we don't," Felix says toward his packmate, "Even if he thinks we oughta 'cause he's done some teleportin' us outta places an' shit. But it's weird enough if he's a normal mage. If he's a Wyrm thing, then if a Rite of Caern Buildin' IS what he wants us to do, we prolly really don't want him gettin' whatever he wants out of it, so we wouldn't wanna do it... but if Last Days's gotta be a caern again to balance here an' put the Wheel Eater an' Wheel Builder back to sleep, ain't exactly gonna happen without doin' the Rite. So if we do hafta do the rite, an' it's what he wants -- we'd hafta figure out how to stop him usin' it how he wants. 'cause makin' here NOT be a caern to balance it ain't much of a choice."

Jamethon listens intently to Sandra's words, the message not being a surprise to him though still darkening the Gatekeeper's moods. As Trace Ahrouns vocally at the group, the Fenrir takes clear notice of Salem's departure. He takes a couple steps over to the spear sticking out of the ground and in a single similarly deft maneuver similar to the one that planted it in the ground, grabs it, flips it, and plants the butt on the ground and leans on the sturdy weapon. He nods to Slug and looks back to Trace, "We do not, Trace of the Glass Walkers, serve the Nephandus... and I appreciate your passion. I know from first experience that the Warpers CAN manipulate the nature of things we believe our purview. Change where Luna's light shines... manipulate the purpose of our rituals and harness the Gnosis of our Caerns. We will call upon Brings-The-Pack to serve his role." He has been looking around the gathered as he speaks, but now lets his gaze settle on Slug, "As you say, the Malfean could have done great harm to us if he wanted. He has not, which means he means to use us. Brings will do what he can to help us to neutralize the threat of the Old Man. At the least, our ally will guide us in what we must do to accomplish this on our own."

Whether the answers are precisely what Trace wanted to hear or not, it's enough that he nods, takes a breath. When he speaks this time it's quieter, rather than the annoyed and impassioned near-shouting of before. "An' if he hasn't before now," the ahroun says, "what in the hell manner of dark an' twisted thing is that plan for which he thinks he's going to use us? Because that's what we need to be making /not/ happen." He lets out another breath, and then moves to sitting on the ground on the log next to Felix, and leans against his packmate slightly.

"How our ally didn't know about this," Sandra says to Jamethon, "or if he did, why he neglected to mention it, is of some concern, as well. I understand being cagey about swapping information, and I understand his reasoning for wanting to play it safe, but this, to me, would be a bridge too far." There's a definite gravity to the way she says it, and the intent to follow up is there. "It should have been mentioned. Especially-- *especially*," this said with a tell-tale flash of Rage, though it's muted, "if he's able to get into our heads."
She calms herself, forcibly, but that anger is still very much present when she says, "Assuming he *is* responsible for the dreams we're having," she says. "That *I'm* having," she clarifies, with the slightest edge of a growl in her voice. "But no, Trace, we don't serve him. But I suspect that, even if we 'feign' working with him to work against him, that'll be as much a part of the 'grand scheme of things' playbook as anything else. He may have gotten trapped in the Nothing out of whatever hubris drew him there in the first place, but he's had plenty of time to sit and contemplate his mistakes. If anything, it'd be wise not to underestimate how extensively he's thought through how to micromanage our movements."

Yael glances at Sandra once or twice, mostly at the information, and then simply tucks her hands in her pockets. If the ahroun's outburst bothers her in the slightest, she doesn't show it. In fact, for the most part, the Strider seems content to stand there, and wait.

"Well," Slug says, with a degree of joyless, bitter humor. "If we run out of ideas, and the only option we have left is to try and outsmart a mage that's as powerful as a minor god while doing a dark ritual next to a nuclear power plant while ooze monsters try to kill us," Slug takes a puff of his cigarette. "I guess that's the shit sandwich we've gotta eat."

Jamethon considers Trace's words and nods. As Sandra speaks, the Fenrir twists his hands once more in a fretting fashion around the shaft of the spear. Then there is actually a hint of rather sardonic humor from Slug's words that the Fenrir can't help but show. He offers, "From what I have learned, you do not act against a Warper until you are entirely prepared. I imagine that Brings-The-Pack knows this and while I will have words with our Ally about his withholdings." Here there is a sternness on Jamethon's expression that speaks to the seriousness of his words. He continues, "I believe his concerns about us acting too soon and losing everything would be at the heart of them. Path to hell, good intentions, all of that. As wise as Brings-The-Pack is, he will learn to take us more seriously, as more than the muscle it is clear he sees us to be, if he wants this relationship to continue."

"I've spoken to him to that effect," Sandra says, apparently having regained herself some, though there's still a darkness to her tone. "We seem to be coming to an understanding on the matter, but all the same--" A pause. "Well. I've said what I've had to say about it," she says. "And it seems we're in agreement on it, anyway. That aside--" She looks to Slug. "You said you met him in a vision. Was it a vision-- or was it a dream, like the others have had?"

Jamethon raises a hand at Sandra's question. "I believe that can be dealt with outside of this moot, just as Slug's questions to me will." He looks around the assembly, "Is there anything else for the gathered here at moot?"

Trace lets out a slow, deep breath, and then nudges Felix in the foot, gently. Almost a 'go on' type of gesture.

Felix gives Trace a light shoulder-bump when his packmate leans against him, though it's not very long before it seems to be the Gnawer's turn. "Yeah," he says, taking a breath that's fairly subtle unless one's right near him, "there's another thing," and he stands again, scanning the assembled.
"A'ight, well. It's gettin' on Hallowe'en an' we still ain't really got an Alpha," he says, "...but at least we got folks tryin' for it. An' a Beta. But you know what we also ain't had for months now, ain't even had mentioned? A Rite-Mistress. Or -Master. Which, speakin' of right, that ain't. So, what the fuck: I'm claimin' it."
He looks from face to face, expression bland and chin just slightly lifted, and waits.

Linnaea leans against a nearby tree, and looks like she's trying her best to be invisible.

Jamethon listens curiously as Felix speaks, clearly unsure where this is going. The raising of an eyebrow at the end of the speech is impressive. Almost raises off the Fenrir's face. Jamethon looks first to the Master of the Challenge, then back to Felix, "I understand the need. You actually believe yourself qualified?"

There is a very-- *very* distinct flare of Rage from Sandra as the question is dismissed, and a pointed look shot in Jamethon's direction. The Philodox is careful to train her eyes elsewhere in that moment, but the importance *she* grants to the question is made clear enough on its own. As for what Felix says-- maybe it's biting back that clear shock of anger, or maybe it's something else, but the incredulity couldn't be more apparent. "What makes you qualified for the position?" she asks pointedly. "Any more than I am?"

Jamethon listens curiously as Felix speaks, clearly unsure where this is going. The raising of an eyebrow at the end of the speech is impressive. Almost raises off the Fenrir's face. Jamethon looks first to the Master of the Challenge, then back to Felix. He does not address Sandra's reaction through all of this but simply gestures towards her when she asks the question he was clearly thinking.

Yael tilts her head to one side, and shoots a look at Sandra, and then finds herself somewhere a little more prominent to stand for the moment. "The fact that the position needs to be filled is not in doubt," Yael states, and then takes in a breath. "If you would be ritemaster, Bone Gnawer, tell us now what the position entails. Tell us now what are the rites you know, why are the rites you know, and why you want to hold the position?"

The mention of the Alpha challenge is enough to make Slug exchange a Look with Jamethon. A long look, "Oh God, where has the time gone?" He finishes off his cigarette and drops it into a half-filled bottle kept on his person for just such an occasion. "Positions enough for every Garou at this Sept," Slug rumbles. "I'm just happy that there are Garou wanting to serve in honored duty, no matter what position they land."

Jamethon notices Slug's look and nods solumnly, perhaps appreciatively, though he does not interrupt the Master of the Challenge's work.

Linnaea fidgets a little more, and looks at her necklace and the diminishing twilight-- and then she leans back and she's gone. Across the gauntlet,

Felix arches a brow at Sandra. "What, am I less qualified'n nothin' at all?" He half-smiles, rather than his usual grin. "I ain't claimin' I think I'm the most qualified person to hold it. Shit, I ain't claimin' I ain't the LEAST qualified person ever to claim it. But if I'm less qualified'n you? Ain't nothin' stoppin' you goin' for it."
He stretches a little, tilting his head at Yael's inquiry. "Master of the Rite makes sure the rites performed in the caern are bein' done right -- ain't nothin' bein' done there that shouldn't be, like some kinda corrupted rite; ain't things bein' done in some way the spirits ain't gonna like. Has to have some idea how shit works, or at least how it's s'posed to. Be good to know a fair few Rites, an' prolly particular ones. Prolly ain't the ones I know, but I can always learn 'em. Far's the ones I do know: Cleansin', Dedication, Hangover Cure, Questin' Fry, Gaian Boon, Tobacco's Calm, Artwork, Cardboard Palace, Gatherin' for the Departed, an'," another half-smile, "Contrition. Ain't quite sure what you're askin' about why are they, but they're the ones I know 'cause they're the ones folks'd teach me an' the ones I could use, an' they're what they are in general 'cause we agreed on 'em with the spirits long ago. Like, say Cleansin'; they're helpin' us get taint outta shit when we can't straight up fight it ourselves. Can't claw it outta things. So we do what pleases 'em as an ask for it an' they do their part back."
He glances around, pausing a moment. "Ain't right, havin' no one do it. Might not be the thing I'm best at in the world, but we're half spirit, the spirits're part of our world. Without 'em we ain't Garou. Gotta have someone payin' attention to how we're doin' our parts of the bargains with 'em, even if it's just me. If y'all can do it better? Do it."

"This isn't the place to decide this," Sandra replies, having listened to all of it, and not looking the least bit persuaded. "There aren't enough people here to contest you on it, and there *is*, in fact, something stopping me from claiming it, unless you suddenly forgot. I have work to do, and a partial Guardianship to tend to. But even considering that, I *am* sorely tempted, solely because opening your announcement with 'what the fuck' and 'who better?' could use some serious work." She pauses. Considers. Then, "If I make what I consider to be acceptable headway on the research I've been doing in the next two weeks, then consider me a challenger for the role. It may not be right, not having anyone in the role, but I'd rather see the role get the respect it deserves, especially where it comes to challenging for it at all."
She looks to Yael. "One way or another, this is neither the time, nor the place. And I'll stand by that, even if I ultimately decide that it's a role that I don't wish to pursue."

Slug gives some thought to saying something off the cuff, but given that he's already locked in one challenge of his own, he simply shrugs. "What can I say? Gnawers have a way of doing things they ought not to, in ways they probably shouldn't. Guess we're just unconventional- but in any case, I hope the best Garou wins."

Trace nods, emphatically, at a few points, and then glances around, and tilts his head to one side. "Manners are beside the fuckin' point here, this ain't a palace and it ain't a court of law." For all the fire in the words, however, the ahroun keeps them level, and quiet. "Seems like at least half the battle when you put it like that," he adds, to what his packmate has said, although he doesn't get up. "Plus, it's not like there aren't Garou that Felix can learn from, if there's something he needs to know. He stepped up when he saw something that needed to be done, which is better than many can say for themselves." He takes a breath, and looks like he's going to say something else, but then just sighs.

Yael keeps her face impassive, and looks at Sandra. "Disliking the way the Bone Gnawer said things is within your right. Fine, but. Postponing things for later is not the way to go about this either." This is said pointedly, and with a hint of exasperation, and the Strider is silent for a moment, one hand in the air as though to quiet objections while she thinks things over, shifting her weight slightly between her feet. "Unless you are going to challenge him for it here and now? The kid has a point, and your challenge such as it is, Sandra, as much as I do like you, sounds sneakingly conditional, which isn't a thing. Last I checked. So either challenge him regardless of what else you have to keep you from it, or don't, but pick one."

"I respect it enough to do somethin' about it bein' neglected," Felix says, "an' to step back if someone better'n me WILL do it. That's more'n's happened in the last, what, four months? More'n a season. An' if there ain't a lot of folks here, well, ain't my fault they ain't showin' up to, y'know, this thing here where we discuss the important shit goin' on with the Sept. Maybe they oughta have shown up tonight. Maybe they oughta have shown up an' claimed it before." He inclines his head slightly to Yael, when the Strider replies to Sandra, and adds to the Shadow Lord, "If I'm doin' it, ain't like you can't challenge me for it in two weeks anyhow."

[Sandra] :: LOG :: Motivations Are a Moot Point

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