07. Restraint

Mother, oh mother--  you have cruelly forged me thus;

To forsake my maiden virtues, and deny that which I love.

It used to be, that the Law existed in sharp contrast. Tenants and precepts divided harshly, along irrefutable boundaries-- to be preserved and never transgressed.

I have come to know a different law. One of skin and bone, of blood and flesh. A law by which all mortal hearts abide. It is the place where the lines blur, and where what once seemed so clear, becomes muddied and unfathomable.

With a heavy conscience, I admit that I can no longer distinguish what is right from what feels right. 

What is wrong about the way I feel.

I remember... hearing a tale. Though, I do not know exactly who told it to me. Perhaps it was one of the Galliards I have encountered in my time on the Sept. Perhaps it was a dream... One wherein the Mother was trapped, singing a song in words I could not discern. A melody as tuneful as it was wrought with sorrow.

I now know how she must have felt. Wrapped in eternal darkness, with no hope of escape.

The night before we went to battle... I led you, stumbling and drunk, off into the wood...

We sat and talked as we always have... about strategies and battles, about your concerns.

Your anguish and your fear...The parts of you so seldom seen;

Things that are a part of us all.
Hours passed.
And then, the sun was on the horizon, bleeding into the sky...
The haze of your liquid vice had faded.

And as I held you in my arms, you told me 

that you loved me.

I thought... "I should hate you for this", and a part of me did. It hated you to the point of loving you, for hatred is the love of anger. It hated you for making me so flawed, so imperfect... when I had fought to make myself a paragon of my tribe: both honorable and virtuous. It hated you more than anything else...because you threatened its very existence. Because you have always made me weak as surely as you have made me strong....

It hated you... because it knew-- despite everything...

  ...that I loved you, too.

That hatred has since been eclipsed by a fire and a passion that makes even the solar Celestine look like a dim candle in a windstorm...

I may be young, but I am no fool... I know that in being with you, my spirit courts its own darkness... that desire and morality are at war over my heart...an intricate dance of serpents, bound by the strings of the Nation I am sworn to avail.

Is it wrong that serving you has become as important as serving the Mother herself? Is it  wrong that I feel like a marionette; dancing around right and wrong with no true purpose except to appease those who are holding the strings? That I do not long for the embrace of the Mother, as much as I once did?

My love, where it that I could forsake all of this... fighting for Gaia, my ambitions, the ability to change. Were it that I could deny my status as a supernatural being and stand beside you for the rest of my life...I would find a place amongst the kinfolk, trusting in you to defend me as you always have, as you always will.

But I cannot, and I will not.

Instead, I will retain the power of my many forms-- retain it, and fight beside you. Because it is the only way I can ensure that we both shall live. At your suggestion, I will throat to custom and take a mate this season...chosen from among those to whom love matters not; so that while my body can not be given to you-- my heart will belong to you solely.

I disbelieved you when you told me that my light would one day die, that my idealism would lose lose its luster...

...but even though I will vehemently deny it, my inner fire has already begun to flicker...

It used to be that I loved her. That I craved closeness to her like I craved redemption for the First Tribe. But now... now, I question her. I question her for forging me as a spiritual weapon, imbued with fragile heart; cursed with the capacity to love, as well as to hate; cursed, for they are one and the same!

I question her, for she has cursed me.

I do not know why this is happening to us-- I do not know what I can give you that will make up for what I cannot...All that I do know, is that I have never known love before you. That I will never know love again after you have gone. That love will then exist, for me, only in memory... a song composed of all the beautiful, violent words you ever said to me-- strung together, and overlapped-- indistinguishable to all but me.

A song that will play on my heartstrings, 

Into eternity, and ever onward.

06. Cubs.

Each day, I wake in suffering; I struggle to rouse myself from slumber.
I kick the blankets from my bed; I let the cold morning air caress my naked skin.
The fine hairs on my arms prickle; I feel the wheels in my head start to turn.
I stand with eyes closed and I listen-- to the rhythm of the Mother.
Who within me has placed a clockwork lion,  that roars in the beat of its gears.

I turn to face the rising sun, begging the blessings of my patron.
And raise my voice in thanks--
For those who look to me for guidance and wisdom.
It is with them, that I know myself.

Something I wrote earlier ... I'm no Galliard, but I appreciate the rhythm of words and the sound of music.
Ulrich and Dusty have told me, in their words and actions-- that it is the place of the First Tribe to lead. That as a Cliath, I must first learn what that means... and so, I have found my place among more humble means...apprenticed to the great leaders of our sept.

I feel I have found my place at last-- In giving balance to Hutch's temper... in aiding my pack, in safeguarding the cubs from the full reality of what it means to be Garou-- until they are ready to face it on their own... that is what this entry will be about... the cubs.

There is a sadness in the way they look at me, I have seen it in their eyes. I know they wonder why I did not challenge for Den Parent. Why I did not seize the opportunity to lead them solely-- to be their Alpha in the realest sense.

But perhaps I am imagining it.

The truth is, that I wanted to. I dearly wanted to. But what I wanted paled in comparison to what I knew they needed. I only spoke to Gallows as if I intended to challenge so that I could ensure  I would with them in some way.

A Cliath has no business being the Den Parent. I know that quite well. 

I could not hope to defend them if I was constantly defending myself. I could not risk being challenged and losing to one with more experience-- for I am sure there are those who would see me as unworthy.

I am so glad that Gallows was not challenged.  

That it was him, and no one else.

I could not bear to see them in the hands of someone who does not know them, 

does not care for them, does not understand them, as I do. 

Too often, a Den parent forgets that he or she was once a cub. Too often, our memories truncate, when we are faced with how short and brutal our lives often are. We become disillusioned, jaded, and bitter-- and we take it out on the weak out of some misguided idea that they must be made hard.

I do not want this for them. What I want, is to see them come into themselves from a place of true strength. I want to see them united, to see them work, sleep, and breathe as a unit. I want them to wake and take heart, knowing that they will one day be great warriors, and heroes of Gaia.

But to do that, I must first help Gallows to shape them into Garou. It is difficult, because they knew me as someone else.  They knew me as one of them. As their Alpha. I cannot allow them to be more loyal to me than to their den parent... and so I must make it so they will not like me. I must be the one that they will not prefer to see.

They will think I have betrayed them, that I no longer see them as my little brothers and sisters.  

That I am not there to reassure them.

They must never know the truth.

That I will be with them always, that my heart goes with them into their trials

... and far more than it aught to. 

That I will be the first to champion their causes and hopes, and the first to fall in their defense.

That I wish I could be more for them, because they mean so much to me.

When they return from their rites.... I will howl the loudest for their victory.
When they are grown and the Galliards sing of their tales,
my spirit shall sing along with them-- uplifted in knowing that they have done well.

I will never forget that night by the fire, when Lyle spoke to me of his sadness. How I longed to tend his sorrows then-- to hold him in my arms until he hung his head no more. I did not care that he was a Bone Gnawer... nor that I was not his Den Parent.  All I knew, was that I wanted to be there.

And I relented, the tiniest bit. 

I placed my hand on his shoulder, which was all I could bring myself to do... 

and I let him rest his  head  on my leg.

Going to Unicorn's Glade used to be dudgery. I used to feel trapped there... like it was more a prison to me than a home... but now? Now it is a place of happiness. Nothing compares to the pride I feel when I see them lined up in the morning, nothing compares to the sorrow I feel when I see them make a misstep-- knowing that I must correct them.

My darling cubs, there are so few I would give so much for, short of my pack, my Caern, and the Mother herself. When you look to me for guidance, when you show me that you need me... I am forever glad of it. Because you remind me of what it is to be a leader. Because you are a part of what holds me together when my outlook is bleak.

Forgive me for being so rough with you. Forgive me for demanding and pushing and snapping at your heels when you step out of line...

Forgive me, for doing as I feel I must.

Forgive me 

 By remembering all that Gallows and I can give to you... because... of all Garou, 

there is no one who loves you more.

05. Promises

When you join a pack, you make a promise-- not only to the totem spirit, but to those who accept you. To fight, and die, and bleed alongside them as if they were your brothers and sisters. To serve their causes and support their dreams. To guard their values, their secrets-- to know them as you know yourself. You don't join it because you have something to gain. You don't join it because you want to be with your friends. You join it because of its purpose. You join it because you feel in your heart that it is the right thing to do.

Our packmates are greater than family, because we get to choose them.

They share our values and convictions-- our joys and sorrows.

Brothers in arms, and brothers in mind...

...The day you ceased to call me "sister" was the day my heart was cleft..

A true Garou does not fear death, but accepts it as an inevitability. A true Silverfang welcomes the challenge with zeal. Because it is in facing death that he remains fit to lead. He suffers for those who look to him, and in so doing he earns the right to lead. He keeps his word, remembers every promise...

My Alpha says I will not hold grudges, and for obvious reasons, I want to follow this order. I want to,desperately--

for there is nothing I would not do for him if he but asked it of me. 

Yet, strangely, I find that I cannot. I cannot, in the present time, forgive you for leaving.

For breaking your word. 

For using my pack, my family, to what seems to be your own ends. 

... for giving me the hope... hope that others of my kind might have thought the same way...

... and then, abandoning me.

...The day you ceased to call me "sister" was the day my heart was cleft. 

I am so sorry, Gareth. I hate to think of you this way. I hate questioning your resolve, your motivations. I hate holding you at arm's length, when I should be embracing you-- I can never express, never show you, how pleased I was when you joined me. I can never tell you how happy it made me to have a Gleaming Eye, one of my very own, choose to stand alongside me. I can never express the sadness I feel in knowing that it meant nothing to you, in return.

I hoped...I hoped for so much more than this... 

Dreamed that perhaps in you, I might have found someone...

Someone who would join me in this hair-brained quest for redemption.

Yes, I hoped.  I hoped, and that was my folly. Putting faith in one who would ultimately betray it.  I have run the scenario through my head a thousand times, and then a thousand more. Looking for signs, for reasons.... and I believe I have found some answers.

But I haven't found them all.

Just tell me why. Why did you break your word? Was the lure of power, of your vision, too great, for you to preserve the bonds of brotherhood? What foul scheme has caused your heart to turn, to change as the night's evanescent celestine?

I wonder... has the one who walks with heavy footsteps convinced you I am unworthy?
This is not like you. This is not what you showed me. Not what I wanted to believe.

But I suppose it is what it is.

I can understand the Glasswalkers not holding a grudge. I can understand them forgiving you. That is their way-- they do not see things quite the same as we do. It makes no difference to them whether or not another Silver Fang is in the pack or not. They have others. Others who understand their pains and their struggles. Others like them.
.. But, I do not.

When I am reasonable... I know that I do not hate you for what you did. I know that my disappointment comes from a place of sorrow-- and that despite it all, I want the best for you, I want you to be happy. It is simply that this, all of this... makes it so hard to move on from all that has happened in recent days. It makes the guilt I feel all the more difficult to bear, it makes caring all the more arduous.

Brother, I cannot help but feel that I have failed you most of all... 

and I cannot help but wish I still had you here.

the day you ceased to call me sister, was the day my heart was cleft.

04. Kings

I remember my father as a distant, stormy man. He had long, straight hair that fell over his shoulders, fair as sunlight, and deep eyes the color of moss-eaten stones. His high cheekbones were so striking that they would have made his face look gaunt were it not for a solid, square jaw, and a stubborn chin which always made him look dour. 

I was told that he was born in Auvergne, and that he grew up in a small fishing villiage by the cold sea. His father died when he was very young-- a casualty of war-- and he returned with his mother to Latvia, where he lived until he was seventeen or eighteen.

I do no know where he went after that, or by what means he returned to France. All I know, is that he must have been there by the time he was 26, because that is when he met my mother, the late Ambassador Emmauldine Yvette Delacourt.

I am the daughter of Arnaud Defresne, a businessman whose exact tradings were kept a secret from even my mother. He was a clever man, far too clever-- who had a penchant for breaking the unjust rules and replacing them with his own, more equitable versions.  Rare was the occasion we spent together, a fact which made every moment significant.

One day, during a chess game, he asked me why I played so aggressively. And so I told him, "papa, if I do not act quickly, then I will not win against you."

He smiled, and then placed his hand on the king. He was playing black, and I, White.

He always played black. I think... because he knew I liked to go first.

Or maybe he preferred to lay in wait.

To strike from behind, 

as was his way.

"It is the king who wins the game, my daughter" he said to me.
"But when does he ever venture onto the front lines?"

"Never--" I said. "because he is vulnerable, and his mobility is limited."

"I see why you think that." He said, firmly but fondly. "but you are only half right, dear child.-- look."

He moved his bishop into place, and ended the game... for my king had nowhere left to move. It was a cruel thing he did. Like a cat playing with a hapless mouse who had no defense against it.

"Yes his mobility is limited. You are right, in that. But you see, if he could move anywhere, he would have no use for a knight, a queen, or a castle. A king..." and he said this, looking deep into my eyes.

"A king is but one man. He cannot do everything, cannot know everything. Sometimes he can defend himself. But more often than not... "

his fingers wrapped around the white queen, and he slid it across the board, such that it placed the dark king in peril. A move that would have won me the game, had I seen it but a moment earlier.

"He must rely on those he trusts to stand beside him... in this way, even the small can defeat the mighty. In this way, he is strong."

He looked at me knowingly, and I wondered in that moment if perhaps he saw something coming that I did not.


"Remember this, ma fille... ce n'est pas important avant qui l'on se tient ... c'est ceux qui se tiennent devant l'on."

He got up then, and left, placing his hand on my head before he disappeared into his study, and closed the door. Without looking back, he never looked back. And I sat there, staring at the board.

It is not important who you stand in front of.

It is who you have standing behind you.

A leader who thinks too much of himself risks more than he knows-- for in doing so, he makes himself a target. To fight and die for glory and honor is one thing... but to die for lack of wisdom is entirely another.  A leader knows how to curry favor. To be equitable, to bleed and die along with his people-- to be reliable in times of strife and peril. But he also knows that without wisdom, honor and glory are nothing.
 
I am but one. I cannot be all. But for the sake of my people, for the sake of my tribe... for the loves and loyalties of my fellows-- I shall have others, to be my eyes.

You may walk with heavy feet-- and speak in harsh tones.
Break my back upon the yoke of dishonor.

But in doing so, you are forgetting that it is the station of frail things to confound the strong.

And Pride goes before the fall.

03. [Backstory] A conversation in the Garden.

"Messieur Chastel, Il faut que n'oubliez jamais le position en que --"

"Mister Chastel,  it would be better if you did not forget the delicate position in which I am--"

"Attendez, il faut faire un decision, je vous prie- Donc je vous demande encore: Le reve, ou la realite?"

"Contrary, it would be better if you made the decision: prithee tell me your answer... the dream, or reality?

"Si je puisse remarquer du rank de Messieur..."

"Need I remind you of your station, Sir..."

"Bof! Mon rank? Typique de vous, madmoiselle Delacourt, modele du "Maison Oeil-Brillant"...N'oubliez pas que c'etait vous qui m'avez atrapper..."

"Hah! my rank! How typical of you, Miss Delacourt. Paragon of "House Gleaming Eye"..

Do not forget that it was you who entrapped me"

" Messieur Chastel, vous n'avez aucun droit--!"

"Out of line!...Mister Chastel... you have absolutely no right to..."

"Aucun droit a dire cela? Typique, aussi. Exactement comme ton pere, Messieur le gardien de moeurs."

 "No right to what? Speak the truth? Also, typical. 

You know, you're a  lot like your dad...this "Keeper of the Ways."

"Arnaud!" 


"Ah, finalement tu le dis..."

"Ah, at last you say it"

"Comment?"

"What?"

"Mon prenom. J'ai commence d'avoir supcon que tu l'as oublie..."

"My first name. I'd begun to suspect you'd forgotten it"

"Mes parents, Ils ont raison a douter ta famille...seducteurs partous...c'est a cause de cela je suis interdit a te voir."

"My parents were right to question your family.  Decievers, the lot of them.  You know that's why   I am forbidden to see you, don't you?

"Sachant ceci, pourqoi est-ce que c'est tres dificile a leur desobeir encore une fois? Partirions ce soir, et ne voir jamais au fond..."

"Mm, yes. But knowing that,  why is it still so hard to disobey them once more?  We could very well leave tonight, and never look back."

"C'est facile  pour toi, que comprendrais-tu la tradition, la noblesse de mon peuple? Se marier avec Renard est un honneur, car il est fort, beau, et  bien haut-place dans le court de sa Maison."

"That's easy for you to say! what would you understand of tradition,  of the nobility of my people? To marry  Renard is an honor, for he is strong, handsome, and  highly placed in his respective court"

"Fort, beau, bien place... riche egalement. Et, bien sur, ne d'une marriage consinguine.."

"Ah yes,  handsome,  well placed,   probably rich, and no doubt born from an incestuous  union"

"Mechant! Que soyez vous de l'honneur."

"You dare~! What could you know of honor?!"

"Je sais  que baiser ta soeur n'est pas noble du tous... tu as deigne insulte, je vois. Desolee, maitresse. Je veux dire seulement que la vie ne droit pas etre vecue a l'injonction d'un autre. Meme que l'autre est  un ancetre."

"Well, I know that  fucking your sister isn't  at all honorable.  if that's what you mean. 

I see that you have taken offense ... you have my apology, Mi'lady. I only want to say that life aught not be lived at the behest of another. Even if that other is one of your ancestors"

"Ce n'est pas ma choix, Arnaud, et ce n'est pas possible de partir, d'abondonner mes obligations...Bien que je part avec toi, mes accions mes actions laisseraient une tache indélébile sur la maison Delacourt...mon nom, mon rank.. tous, serait rendu nul."

"It  isn't up to me, Arnaud, and it's not  not possible to leave-- to abandon my obligations....Even if I could leave with you, my actions would leave an indelible  stain  on the name of my family.  my name, my rank, everything, would be rendered worthless."

" Desavouee, oui... mais hereuse. Vous ne l'admittriez jamais, mais, c'est la verite. Et la verite vient rarement avec douceur."

"You'd be disowned, yes. But you'd be happy. Though you'd never admit it., it is the truth-- and the truth rarely comes softly upon us"

"C'est vrai...Vous partirez?"

"That is true... are you leaving?"

"Oui... j'reviendrai plutot, trois jours, une semaine... qui peut savoir... mais je vous promesse-- je vais le faire avec un solution de ta problemme, maitresse."

"Yeah. I'll be back soon. Three days, a week... who knows? but I promise you, I will return with a solution to your problem, Mi'lady"

"Solution?."

"A solution?"

" Vous verrez... jusqu'a ce moment la-- je reste ton serviteur"

"You'll see.  Until then--  I remain  your servant"

02. Wild Things

It was early Friday morning when Stag's Fury summoned the cubs, demanding that they leave all vestiges of Homid life behind them. He took the form of a massive Lupus, marked by ruddy fur and a scar over the face.

"Every kill is a gift from Gaia, and don't you forget that" he said to them, in a tone not one of them would have dared to question.  "Gaia provides all that we need, and there is never a need to give in to the weaver and its unneeded technologies." He turned slowly, and Aricie fought a shiver down her spine as his eyes left her. As an Ahroun, he was intimidating almost without trying to be, a fact which made her respect him as much as fear him.

From the beginning,Stag had been a taskmaster, demanding a great deal from all of them. A habit which sparked complaint from Syrus, her fellow Silver Fang, but caused her to grand him boundless respect. A social grace he paid back in full, with a willingness to present her with challenges. Opportunities to show her mettle before and against her fellow cubs. She never missed an opportunity to try to inspire them in her relentless pursuit of perfection.

Today was no exception... but nothing could have prepared her for what was to come. As usual, they went about tracking their target, sniffing out signs of its nearness, ascertaining its size, approximating its strength. They rolled in the leaves as they got closer, using the dankness of earth to conceal their collective scent.

When at last their quarry was in sight, the Beta Den Parent turned his heavy head toward her.

"You go."

Go? 


Aricie froze for a moment. The ebon folds of her damp nostrils flared once, twice, in acknowledgment of the command, and she took a moment to survey the surroundings. The foliage was deep, thick, and profound in its diversity. Strange, broad fronds sprouted from bristling trunks that reminded her of pineapples. The ground smelled of rainwater, and the stagnant stench of decaying plant matter; vines hung off the branches of dingy looking pine trees like threadbare draperies, and a sea of ground cover parted only to reveal a mud flat, wherein a lone boar stood pawing at the turf.

Behind her, one of the other cubs, the female, whimpered at Lathias, before congratulating her on the honor. This was, in effect, a commendation. To be granted a kill of one's own showed confidence in her autonomy-- and as such, this was not an opportunity she could easily pass up. She fought the fear of injury, pinning it against her subconscious like a moth under a glass frame. Failure, especially due to anxiety, was far from an option.

Young, grunting and unaware, the boar dipped his nose to drink, exposing a soft, fleshy throat.

Aricie felt her eyes gravitate toward it, the instincts of her wilder self welling beneath still pools of stormy gray. There was something strangely vital about hunting in this form, something primal and unseemly. Something she longed to embrace, as much as it repulsed her.

Her superior had not chosen any old animal for this test. Pigs were fiercely intelligent creatures who knew when to stand and fight. She knew that engaging him would mean an intense struggle; a match of wit, and brawn, and will. This would not be easy on either of them—and it would almost certainly be a competition in which the winner was not a bygone conclusion. As she had seen all too often on their hunts, victory would not always go to the strongest, but more often to the most adaptable. On her honor, by the simple virtue of what she "ought to have been", she would know what it was to win by the virtue of wit and instinct combined. To do so would surely prove her worth before Stag’s Fury, and perhaps earn some miniscule respect from her fellow cubs. Most notably Syrus, who was in dire need of seeing why his people were the kings and queens of Garou.

Hunting in Lupus worked on a single, guiding principle: kill, without being killed. There was a reason wolves (and yes, even werewolves) hunted in groups. Prey animals were dangerous. The creature in front of her, though not extremely large, was about the same weight as she was. All of it muscle, and densely packed. Its back was lined by thick, bristly hair-- the sort that you could not bite through no matter how hard you tried. His snout was crowned by yellowed, pointed teeth, that could easily impale, or even kill her, if she was not wise to them.

  

 Aricie hung low to the ground, near to the underbrush-- downwind of the creature, as Stag's Fury had taught her to be. In this way, the prey would not catch her scent. Over the course of the last few weeks, the Beta Den-Parent had taught her many things. For example, when hunting in a pack you wanted to get your prey on the run. As she had seen in the recent altercation with the Silver Boar and Shoots from the Mouth, the absolute worst thing that could happen was to encounter an animal that was not afraid of you, and would not budge from its place. If the animal ran, then you could trip it up. But that was not an option here. Stag’s Fury wanted to observe her—which would mean keeping her adversary contained. It would mean facing him, and going toe to toe.

Unlike her teachers (and most of the other cubs on-level with her) Ari could not rely on the wolf's innate endurance. While she excelled at quickness and perception, once her resources were expended, she relied almost entirely on raw tenacity to get the job done. Success would come to her through correct assessment, and swift execution of the proper technique. Not by driving the pig to its final breath as her ancestors had.

With this in mind, she doubled back on her haunches, and dashed behind the pig, straight into the other side of the clearing, ensuring that the brush rustled behind her.

Alarmed, the prey animal  raised his head, ears perked, and shifted nervously-- raising one foot into the air. Having witnessed this, Aricie dashed once more behind him. The process repeated once more, and the animal, wheeling and disoriented, finally stopped, going eerily still in the face of an enemy he could not accurately perceive.

Both of them went eerily still for at time, such that even the wind appeared to hold its breath. But then, in a flash, the sleekness of her fur caught the light of Helios like a pearl; she leaped from the foliage and struck at the wiry-tasseled heels. Like a bolt of white-hot lightening; with ears lowered and teeth bared. Her feet hit the ground, and gripped it by the claw for traction.

It was only by sheer resolve that the boar managed to steel himself, spinning about to face her with his razor teeth, his legs mired deep in the mud of the Bawn marshlands. The wet, sandy soil coagulated around his feet like blood from an oozing wound, splashing up against his belly and coating his nose as he brought the fury of its weighted head toward his ghostly pursuant. He understood the challenge as his ancestors had many times before him—and was ready to fight for his life.

But the cub was faster than he had anticipated, dodging the incoming blow at the last possible moment. With startling intensity, the she wolf uttered a low, guttural growl, one that shook her shoulders and rumbled like thunder.

It was cut short by a sudden, high pitched yelp. The boar kicked her hard in the chops, which sent her reeling through the mud, skidding as if on ice.

The indignation of it was so tangible that it could almost be smelt upon the young Fang, and in a show of sheer tenacity—if only to preserve her honor as a hunter, she doubled back and leaped upon the animal’s snout, raking his  face with her teeth, gouging at his eyes with her paws.

He grunted, and then screamed in outrage. Blood dripped over his cheeks, and into his nostrils. In an attempt to get a better grip, Ari clamped down on his mouth, slowing his breathing. The boar tossed her, this way and that, for even with all her quickness and ferocity, she was simply not brawny enough to wrestle him to the ground.

She focused on him, and tried to hold him steady. This hunt had become a match of willpower rather than brawn, and in making the creature fight for breath, she had brought him down to her level. She could feel his nostrils flaring frantically, searching for something to breathe other than her exhale. Over time, he became less panicked, and moved more slowly. His brawn seemed to turn against him, the heaviness of his body became too much for his stubby legs to bear.

As their struggle neared its end, the Boar looked to Aricie—in recognition of his defeat. It was as though the charisma of his opponent ignited in him a spark of understanding. Yes, he had fought valiantly; he was respected for his strength, and for his tenacity. He would also soon die, but he was and would do so for the good of Gaia.

At last, the boar relented, falling onto its knees. As if moved by his plight, Aricie  moved to grant one of Gaia’s children the cleanest death she could have offered him on her own. In what resembled the acceptance of an honorable surrender, she released him, and clamped down on his windpipe.

The boar heaved, nobly, and drew breath no longer.

Humbled by his strength, Ari hung her head. Her muscles ached, her blood-drenched muzzle  flared in exhaustion, her thin, pink tongue lolled out of the front of her maw, still unaccustomed to the taste of iron. Grasping his carcass by the rear leg, she heaved it over to  Stag’s Fury—highest of station.

01. With Both Eyes Open

Night had fallen, and daybreak would soon be upon them. A new day, with a new leader, a new parent. One she had a hand in choosing. Though she said  nothing as she walked beside her fellow Silverfang, there was a strange and unspeakable weight upon her shoulders. One made all the heavier by guilt, by disappointment, and the looks on their faces once the verdict was cast. Her verdict, or at least, a verdict much the same.

It was because of this, that the return to her cabin seem to take eons. And even when she had arrived, she hardly realized it-- with her tongue clenched tightly in her teeth.

Wordlessly, Aricie did up the lock-- a simple metal bar, like those found on bathroom stalls in airports. Until now, she had never seen fit to use them. But tonight... tonight would be different.  A night when she would grant herself a simple comfort not once permitted since her arrival.

However quiet, her footsteps felt loud enough to quiet a minefield as she crossed the floor to her bedstand. There was a lonely candle waiting there, melted almost to its last after long hours of study. Indifferently, she struck a match from the small book set squarely to the right of the handle, and held it to the blackened wick until the flame consumed it. With painstaking stiffness, she placed the matchbook exactly where it had been moments before, and the used stick beside four others of its kind, half leaning against the side of the wax receptacle.

Their voices sounded like echoes, and resonated like a tuning fork. They weren't real, but she could hear them. Replaying over and over in her head, like scenes in a poorly directed film.

"I was on my own.. killed my best friend... This place represents a family for me. That is why I want the job."

"No, this is wrong! The whole challenge may have to be forfeit!" 


"Why aren't you Cliath yet? You seem pretty bad ass."


"It's an obvious bias. You're going to make a horrible Philodox."


"They're worse than traitors! They're usurpers! You canno', must no', let them win..."

"What do you have to compare me to?"

She hadn't wanted to do it to him. To make him hurt.  He was a friend to her, and a good man. Tender hearted, but a good man. Brave, cunning, strong willed. Did he not deserve another chance? Perhaps he would have learned his lesson after speaking with her, been better.

Within her heart of hearts, she hoped that she had done some good for Shoots,' that he would not hold her obstinacy against her. Hopefully, when the red haze of anger had passed over him, he would see that she had been given an opportunity to make the best choice for the good of all. That she was trying to make the best decision.

A hard lesson was a lesson best learned. If he was worthy of the position, he would have tried before it counted. He would have been firmer, more confident. He simply had other things to worry about. He was too concerned with his responsibilities, with being liked-- and as she had been taught by Speaks with Ancestors' Wisdom, it was far better to be feared than it was to be loved.

Of course, there were other reasons. The words of Speaks with Ancestors' Wisdom struck the back of her mind like a hot iron.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Shoots was a good Ragabash, able to figure out her reasons, and to tell her what some part of her wanted to hear. Able to vanish in plain sight, and to be as cutting with his tongue as with any blade.

It was like a slap in the face. Even thinking about it made her cheeks burn, and the weight in her chest all the more difficult to bear. Without a doubt, He would have taught the Shadow Lord Cub well, for the same reasons Speaks with Ancestors' Wisdom had given she and Syrus those weapons. For the same reason Jack Gallows endured her lengthy philosophical discussions.

There was a kindship there, some recognition that something binding was shared. If all went well, the Shadow Lord would be  Shoots' packmate in a few months' time. Worse, he could show him how to undo the reserves of strength she had worked so hard to muster. Speaks with Ancestor's Wisdom was strong, but aged; Syrus had breeding, without wit. The way she saw it, she was the future of her tribe on the sept. And the challenge was her opportunity to prove she was capable as a leader. Perhaps she was. She and Breaks the Spiral seemed to have come to the same conclusion. Somehow. Whether he was trusting her judgment, or had his own reasons for appointing Lithias, she could not say.

What she did know, was that if Chris threatened her position, if he threatened the future of her people, there would be hell to pay. She would sooner die than allow a "treacherous usurper" to take the crown, so to speak, and would act against anyone who might enable such a thing. Bemused, she wondered if his Theurge tribesman would be as much of an idiot as her own.  Perhaps then, the score would be more even, and she would not have to be four Garou in one.

She felt like she had to be. All the time. For every blow flung at her, she had to strike back. To prove her superiority. To keep them looking up to her, as she was certain they did. Her efforts had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the Sept, surely. Would Breaks the Spiral have allowed her to participate in a challenge if he did not think her capable? Would Fox have inquired as to why she was not Cliath if he did not think her prepared?

Why wasn't she, anyway?

Her hair gathered behind her as she moved to lean upon the door. Her eyes, grey and profound as the sky before a thunderstorm, met with the rafters on the ceiling.  She blinked, and blinked again-- an effort to stem the tide of remorse that coursed through her heart and boiled in her veins. In a gesture of abject futility, and without regard to the coarseness of the wood, her back slid down the door until she sat on the floor, gazing distantly into the endless depths of the pendant in her hands. A symbol of Falcon, who granted her favor she did not deserve.

A part of her wondered if Jack Gallows would have given her a leg up. He was correct, after all. They had a positive relationship, they had shared a number of congenial conversations, mostly about the litany, events on Sept. She wanted him to win, so badly, she wanted him to win. Had Shoots said nothing about bias, she would have picked him over anyone. A Philodox, a Fostern, holder of many titles. He was an important, trustworthy Garou. He would have taught her rigorously, and expected a lot. Challenged her, and the other cubs. Perhaps more than the others might have handled. He would have taken her in as a stone and turned her out as a diamond, polished and catching the light in every possible facet. Lucid and unmarred-- as any guardian of Law aught to be.

But he was Shoots' best friend. To draw a wedge between them would have been cruel. A very personal blow to Joe, and she had done enough damage. Whoever she chose would have to be someone Shoots' would feel comfortable challenging, and someone strong enough to teach him, as well as the rest the cubs formerly in his charge.  Jack could have done this, but Joe had seemed to value his opinion so highly that she could not trust him to challenge, even when he was ready.

And besides, Gallows' dedication was to his duty; she had not realized until all too late, that being Den parent would not have been yet another burden on him. The look on his face was so fresh in her mind that it felt like it had been burned on the backs of her eyelids. Her nails raked violently over the place where he had touched her, perhaps in penance for playing a part in his disappointment.

Regardless of what she had wanted, Lathias truly was the only option. He was not a poor choice by any means, nor had he been chosen simply by the process of elimination. The virtues of his patience, his wisdom, and his experience made him strong. He expected much from her, from all of the cubs, and knew the Litany well enough to teach her. He was quietly commanding, enough to handle Syrus' obstinacy, and the sternness of Stag's Fury-- whom he would undoubtedly keep around as a matter of balance.  Lathias knew potential when he saw it, and choosing him would result in a better, more stable environment for her little "pack." Which, despite personal opinions, she could not help but feel responsibility for.

"In facing our troubles, we know what 'tis to win. We know what it is t'be strong, because we know what 'tis to be weak, We know what tis' to lead in adversity, because we mus' lead our selves each day, against tha' which threatens our sanity. "

Sanity. She questioned how much of that she had, and tried valiantly to deny the water spilling defiantly from her eyes-- causing the paint she wore to streak like blood. Several deep breaths were drawn in an attempt to remain calm,  and the flame across the cabin flickered dimly off the lense of her eye.

A single, solitary light in the darkness that surrounded her.

Of the Half Moon: Chronicles of Aricie, Philodox of the Blazing Sun Sept

Hi!

If you're reading this, it means you've stumbled upon a compilation of stories for and from the prospective of my LARP character, Aricie Defresne. It is my hope to use this blog as a tool for character development, to enhance roleplay both for myself, and for my fellow players. It has always been my philosophy that good roleplay begets good roleplay, and so I wish to offer whatever is submitted here as contribution to the community at large.


Eventually, this will translate to full on, In-Character journal entries ( once my little werewolf graduates from cub school  and can own a journal ) but it will also encompass various stories, told from the omniscient perspective.

Please note that whatever I write here is to be taken only as OOC knowledge, and that your characters do not know it, unless they have been written in as a part of the scene ( with permission from their respective players ), or have read the journal, which will be kept on my person at game once permitted.

Thanks for stopping by, and I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoy writing them!

Bri