The Wilds and the Wardens

Aishe turned to the alpha, keeping her eyes on the ground in front of his feet. She tilted her head to expose her scarred neck, then dropped to her knees in complete acknowledgement of her submission.

She drew a breath in and spoke. If the pack decided to kill her, it would be here when she denied the presence of their pack mate.

"Although he survived and met with success, he still stands at the gates of the afterlife. He is recovering in his dwelling in the human city. Had he not been a Spiral, he would have died..."

The rest of what she had to say caught in her throat as she stumbled over the emotion in her revelation. Soren dead? She found herself unable to bear the idea. He couldn't die, not when her heart had a story to tell his.

She swallowed, aware of her emotions. It would do no good to be a heartsick fool in front of a pack of hostile and strange wolves.

"Despite his grievous wounds, he acquitted himself well; I bear his tale to tell the nation, but I would offer it first to the Wildcards. Will you permit me the honor of sharing the ceremony of First Telling with your pack?"

It wasn't an unprecedented offer, but it was rare. Typically, packs heard the stories at the Telling that was given to the representatives of the nation. A story teller could choose to give the first telling to the pack of their story's focus as a gift to honor them if the teller so chose. Aishe found herself wanting to give these wolves that honor. She waited for the alpha's decision with her head bowed and neck exposed, waiting for acceptance or death.

There were many things said about the Black Spiral Dancers. They were crazy. They were feral. They were brutal.

All these things were true. But aishe did not expect them to also be kind. She accepted Corc's cloak and thanked him, immediately on her feet and following. The distance was no bother for her; she had acceptance and other Garou around her, so she no longer went in fear of being lost or frozen to death.

Softly, she hummed a traveling song to herself. A pleased smile grew on her face. She would face her council of story keepers and elders with two stories. Certainly, "How I met the Spirals" would not be a legend, but it could wind up useful for training runners on how to not get their heads ripped off.

She wished Soren was here. This was his family; she had no right to be enjoying their company while he was abed in the grip of Death's claws. Perhaps she could bring him tidings of his pack. Yes, she'd offer to run messages for him while he recovered. That would please him...she smiled again at the thought of purposefully trying to make Soren happy. Was she trying to woo that stubborn heart?

Aishe decided that the answer was yes. However Soren reacted to her advances, she was a Silent Strider. Her ways were allowed to be mysterious, and it would be just like herself to not let her heart get too tied down. But he would be easy to bring missives and tokens to...

She kept smiling, pleased with her new found boldness.

This was nice. Aishe looked around appreciatively at the cabin and the ground surrounding it. It was nicer than the patch of land allotted her pack. Granted, they didn't live there, but they met once a year and exchanged stories and took care of pack business. They had a clearing that they all camped in...to have a permanent home, or even a semi permanent home, seemed affluent and wonderful to the Strider.

"This land is beautiful, alpha. You guide your pack and steward your territory well. I shall need a fire, either indoors or out, and a pack willing to hear the birth of a new legend."

She was genuinely comfortable. The idea surprised her, given her initial nervousness. Yes, Spirals were more intense than other tribes, especially the Gaia, but they were still garou of the Nation. They were still her cousins and fellows. Affection for the Wild Cards bloomed in her, and she felt the draw to guard their stories and history so they would be preserved in the records of her tribe.

Aishe drew three small packets of herbs from her pocket. One was bright power, to make a fire flash. One was smoke powder, to create a billow of dark and aromatic smoke. The third was color powder to change the flame temporarily to a bloody red. These three powders were used to visually aid a story teller in their tale. All Striders had the basic three...the more advanced story tellers had colors of every shade, smoke powders that had different scents, and even potions that could make shapes like animals fly out of the fire. Every story could stand on its own, but the theater was part of the telling. Especially the first telling.

Aishe nodded assent with Corc. Outside was dramatic and wonderful for the grand legends, especially at night when the tapestry of stars spread overhead to share their stories. In the middle of winter in the early morning in Spiral territory, however, was not Aishe's idea of a good story telling venue.

She followed and observed, drinking in the sight of the pack's home. It was utilitarian, comfortable, and rustic. Something about it reminded her of the tribe itself. Maybe she was reading too far into them, but they were a simple tribe, unlike the Shadow Lords or Glasswalkers. The Spirals had one major motivation: Fight for survival. This cabin out in the middle of the ferocious wet winter set itself up against nature in the same way that the tribe set itself against the nation. Neither could compromise, and they both were made stronger by the defiance. Neither could submit...Aishe cocked her head thoughtfully at the idea.

The young Strider graciously accepted the plate from Corc's wife. She smiled thankfully and ate quickly. As story teller, they would be waiting for her. As soon as she as finished, she took her plate to where others were leaving their dirty dishes. Aishe kept her head down as she approached the fire in the middle of the room. She began clearly, but softly.

"Oh wolves of the frozen Scottish moors...Wild Cards of the Black Spiral Dancers, I stand before you as Aishe Far Runner of the Silent Striders, the first of my pack and my tribe to stand among you for over three generations, and I beg you to hear this tale. "

Aishe raised her hands to the ceiling and tilted her head back, a standing submission and placation for the totem spirits to hear the tale. When she dropped her arms, she swirled the smoke powder into the fire. The motion created a swirling, opaque vortex.

"In the beginning was the Dark. It held no stars and cared for nothing. Out of the dark ran the First of our kind."

She had timed her words perfectly. The smoke cleared as she began to speak of the nation's beginnings.

"The First was not male. The First was not female. The First held all of the tribes within itself, and it was the Nation as one. But Garou were not meant to run alone, so the First split itself, exploding across the dark into all of creation, forming the constellations, the totems, the stars, the land, the sea, and the Nation. From the First's heart came the Silver Fangs. From the mighty paws, the Shadow Lords. The fangs of the First became the Get of Fenris. The black Furies and the Children of Gaia were born from the First's motherly instincts, both to kill and protect. The Glasswalkers were the ears of the First, the Striders were the eyes. From the nose came the Bone Gnawers, always able to scent their way home. The Red Talons and the Uktena and the Wendigo were the legs of the First, always able to carry the Nation back to our heritage. The Fianna were born of the First's howl, as dangerous and joyful as the howl of any Garou."

She paused here. The order in which the tribes were named had a lot to do with the story being told, the audience, and the intentions of the story teller. The first and last tribes named held special honor. Traditionally, as alpha of the nation, the Silver Fangs were named first. The tribe named last was always the tribe of which the hero of the following tale hailed from. Interestingly, the second to last tribe named was almost always a place holder for the hero's rival. It showed that they weren't important enough to be named higher, nor were they the heroes. She wondered if the Wild Cards knew that detail in a story teller's arsenal. She continued, breaking from the traditional naming of the Spiral's tribe origin.

"But what is a Garou without their rage? And what is the Nation without the Black Spiral Dancers?"

She left the question to hang unanswered. It didn't need said; a Garou with no rage was no Garou at all.

"Wild Cards, children of the twin totems Lion and Whippoorwill, this is your story. It shall be remembered so long as Striders walk the nights, as long as Owl remembers, as long as the breath of the First remains in creation. Hear and approve, I beg."

She sprinkled her color dust into the flames, turning them blood red.

"There came from the south a demon. This agent of the Dark craved evil and thrived off of blood. He called himself the Butcher, and his totem was Death. Into the lands of the Isles he stalked, unafraid of the Nation and laughing at their stewardship. Left, right! He slayed as he saw fit and none dared oppose him. The White Rats, may the nation remember them, fell to the Butcher's silver claws. An entire pack was swallowed by the avatar of Death!

But then lo! Whippoorwill heard that his domain was being attacked, and he called to the elders of the nation. 'Call forth my champion so the world may know!' said he. The elders met and pondered. They fasted and called to their totems for many nights. 'Know what?' they asked."

Aishe spread her arms wide, dropping bright powder into the flames. She threw her head back in the flash of light and intoned in a high an ethereal voice the totem's reply.

"'That I am death! I am the end of life and the beginning of eternity! I am Whippoorwill, and my Fury shall fall at Twilight!'"

She waited a beat. The parallel was significant. No, she didn't have the exact words that the totems gave the elders, but that didn't matter. Soren was called, so she had the liberty to make his claw one of prophecy. She relaxed her stance back to a neutral posture.

"And so the nations gathered. They deliberated and searched for long weeks, until the Black Spiral Dancer known as Soren Sheperd was revealed to them. He is Twilight's Fury, beholden to the Lion, heir of the Whippoorwill, and beta of the Wild Cards. I, Aishe Far Runner of the Silent Striders, personally delivered the call of the nation to him. He received his task and accepted the call, eager to prove what the Black Spiral Dancers already know: He served the true totem of Death, and no Nosferatu or Garou could take that honor from him."

She gauged her audience. All eyes were on her and it was silent. She continued after a branch popped in the heat of the flames.

"And so it was that we went to the castle of humans called Hogwarts. The moon rose high and sang her song, a death dirge for the usurper called the Butcher. Ancient wyrm, evil thing of death though he was, he was wary. His caution proved his undoing however. As the moon sang to Soren, he revealed the power of the Garou. All who witnessed him were afraid, for they knew that he was their master and he was their doom. I myself bear the scars of submission to his righteous and terrible rage."

She tilted her neck so the silvery skin of healed scars showed in the firelight. She bore the marks proudly. She had survived a Spiral in his rage, and few could boast that.

"And so he hunted, did the avalanche of fury. His prey was quickly discovered and engaged. They met as lightning meets the earth, as surf pounds the shore, explosive and tenacious. The old monster was fast, armed with silver claws, and bearing the fangs of the Nachtweber; Twilight's Fury was strong, armed with the gifts of the nation, and bearing the fangs of the First. Bite after bite, claw to claw, the titans grappled. The Nachtweber laid traps for Soren, catching him in a blinding spell. That did not slow down the Garou. The blood drinker laid bare Soren's fore leg. That did not stop the Garou. The vampire took Soren's eye! The Garou made the Nosferatu pay with his life! But in the final, cruel blow, the demon buried his claws in the slayer's chest. Having won against the false avatar of Death, Soren Shepard found himself in a new fight against Death himself."

She mixed her red powder and her smoke powder together and tossed them in the flames. Blood red smoke billowed up and she continued her tale.

"Doused crimson in the blood of his foe and his own blood, Soren battled against Death, refusing to submit and follow. Whippoorwill acquiesced, relenting only for his totem-sworn's sign of fealty. So, Twilight's Fury survived the false avatar of Death and proved himself worthy to bear the scars of his totem. So witnessed, so told. The rage of the nation overcomes all adversaries."

She bowed her head, completing her tale.

Each tribe handled storytelling differently. Fianna were known to pound the tables and roar approval, Get would reenact the battle scenes described, Glasswalkers would begin analyzing the story...Spirals apparently charged the teller!

Aishe drew back from the onrushing youngsters, instictively dropping her chin to protect her throat. Instead of a flurry off claws, though, she was met with an outpouring of questions. She smiled, warming instantly to the curiosity on display. As best she could, she answered as many of the inquiries that they could throw at her. Finally, Corc restored order. Aishe found herself laughing at the rough-and-tumble group. There was an honesty and purity to their lives that made her feel comfortable and safe. She brought that smile to the alpha and his wife, but it was quickly replaced with a somber expression.

She politely kept her eyes at Corc's shoulder when she addressed him.

"Unfotunately, I spoke truly when I told of him battling Death itself. Had he not been a Black Spiral Dancer, I'm sure he would have died that very night. The Nachtweber fought with silver claws, and his final blow was thus."

She raised her right hand and stiffened the digits into claws, then twisted it over her heart.

"Had circumstances differed, I fear even being a Spiral would not have been enough to prevent tragedy...I held a life debt over a human and exchanged it for her healing abilities."

She indicated the bite around her throat.

"This was a killing blow meant for the witch; I took it to preserve Soren's honor in the fight. Owl smiled at me because I was able to use that to save Soren's life as well."

She ducked her head, knowing that what she said could be construed as prideful. She saw it as happenstance. Whippoorwill and Owl didn't want Soren to die, so they arranged circumstances to provide the means of salvation for their chosen Garou.