Litany GET!

3/18/2012, 02:41 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Edgewood House: Garage(#1947RAJh)
This old and spacious building was once a fairly large carriage barn, but has been converted first as garage, and then into something else entirely. It once had massive two-story front doors, but they've been permanently closed, and a smaller door built into them. The walls appear to have been reinforced in some way, making them stronger and somewhat soundproof. The size of about two large rooms, the first floor is undivided. It's got wooden plank flooring, and has exercise equipment dotting its expanse, with free weights in one area, a punching bag in a corner, and other equipment scattered about. There's a rough ladder up to the second floor, which is carpeted, but has unfinished walls, a few dangling light bulbs, and is apparently serving as a somewhat informal bunk area. The lighting is, understandably, somewhat inadequate. The floor mostly consists of mattresses, innumerable throw pillows and bed pillows, warm bedding, and the occasional glimpse of carpet. There are a few shoes resting against the wall near the ladder; clearly, people are expected to take their footwear off once they get up here. A wooden door on the upper part of the garage leads into the second floor landing of the house.
Contents:
DeHooty
Obvious exits:
Meadow House

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (28% full).

Djehuti does not normally sleep at Edgewood. Where he does sleep is an open question, though not exactly an urgent one. He is, in any case, sacked out in lupus underneath the punching bag, curled up on a small bunch of the cushions. His bag and puffy coat are in a tidy heap next to the ladder.

Izzy's coat and satchel are sitting in the loft -- but not the scarf, and not Izzy, either. The why and where, if anyone asked, are answered as the outside door to the garage opens and admits a breathless, flushed cub well-wrapped in scarf and with a pair of gloves that probably came from the random clothes for cubs box. It's still damn cold out there.

The cold (and the noise) wake Djehuti, and he makes a quiet whining protest, before he wakes up more fully. He stands, shakes himself out (staggering sideways), and sneeze-chuffs.
Izzy closes the door and stops a moment, hands on thighs, regaining breath. Djehuti's protest gets a look of chagrin. "I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here. I would've been quieter coming in."

The wolf shakes himself out again, lolling his tongue at her as if to say, "No worries!" He trots over and leans against her, shedding fur as he does so.

Izzy laughs, still a bit out of breath, and reaches down to scratch Djehuti behind the ears. Then hesitates. "Um. Is it rude to scritch your teacher? It's kinda never come up before," the cub asks, grinning, but probably at least half serious about the question all the same. "I was having a run. I wish it'd stop being so cold outside, though."

Dje doesn't think so! He says this while leaning into her legs, clearly enjoying the scritching immensely. But then his ears splay backwards, and he shivers. (Since it's not actually cold in here, this is clearly just an agreement with her.) He doesn't shift yet, perhaps because he wants mileage out of the scritch.

Well, hey, as long as it's not rude or otherwise inappropriate, let there be scritching! There may, in fact, also be some rufflings and fuzzlings to go along with it. In, you know, a respectful sort of way, of course. "I guess there's no new news or anything?" Izzy asks, and brightens suddenly, "Oh! It's not my news, but. You and Detective Konstantopilous were mentioning a Rajani and she thought she was prolly dead, but when Flint was here he got a call saying she was okay. So in case no one else said yet, I thought prolly you'd be glad to know."

The jackal brightens. Oh, good! After a moment of enjoying the ruffling, he sighs and backs up a pace or three, melting through the forms into homid. He goes over to his pack and then brings the phone back, offering it over. "I only met her once, to be truthful, but I did like her, so that is well to hear. Do you know if they also defeated the bane?" He rakes a hand through his hair, to tame it a touch, and then smiles. "As for the scritching, I would recommend against it if you meet a wolf-born. They most of them consider it to be an insult. Myself," he says, twinkle in eye, "I think that is needless deprivation, but the world is a diverse place."

Izzy accepts the phone, immediately checking it for messages. None, alas. "Thank you. And even so, mostly it's better to find out someone isn't dead." The cub pauses a moment, trying to remember what was said. "He said... he said, like the Detective said, there was a shapeshifting fomor that was impersonating her, only Kaz-rhya and some other people found the real Rajani and she's okay. But if you see her and she's not with Kaz-rhya or Tim-rhya or... a couple other people I haven't met, um... Lefty-rhya and... something that starts with a K, I'm sorry, I can't remember it... anyway if she's not with one of them then it's still the fomor. I'm pretty sure that's what he said. And I'll try to remember not to scritch the wolf-born. So we do come from both kinds, not just from humans? And I guess metis..."

"You're welcome," he says, and then supplies, as he listens, "Keir and Lefty. Keir is ahroun, Lefty Ragabash. She has lost her right hand, so..." He trails off. "Yes, it shouldn't matter if I know them or not, but I am not a beatific entity, so it does. I will hope this will allow them access to the fomor." He nods, as he returns to his pack to close it. "Some wolf born, most homid born. The wolf-kin have, after all, been hunted. This is why many of the wolf-born Garou -- not all, but many -- are not friends to those who retain more of the human-nature than others."

"...so," Izzy agrees, nodding a little. "I guess I can kind of understand that, but shouldn't we all be trying to get on with each other the best we can? Otherwise won't something Wyrm find a way to take advantage of it? Which reminds me, what should I know about fomors? And are there a lot of them out there?"

"Well, as a philodox, I tend to think that would be best," Djehuti says, getting his knife and some bread and cheese out of his pack before closing it. "But, I also think that diversity -- of upbringing, tribe, philosophy of living, and more -- is the best way to go, and that diversity will always lead to some tension in the outlying spots. It is the price of /having/ diversity, and one worth, to my mind, working with. Others have and do disagree with me." He settles the plastic bag the bread came in as a sort of plate, and starts cutting bread and cheese. "There are many different fomori, fomors, however one pluralizes it. They are created when a human or animal is possessed by a bane. It is... exceedingly rare... to be able to save them, once they are taken. Their powers differ, but generally, once they are noticeable at all, they should be killed as soon as possible, in part because the possession causes insanity, and. Well."

Izzy clambers up into the loft, getting the coat and satchel and bringing them down, the latter, it transpires, to get the charger out and find a place to plug the phone in, while it's here. "I like fomori. Um. As a plural for the word. Not the things. A bane is a Wyrm spirit? How do people get possessed by them? Can it just happen to anyone, like, sitting on the bus? Or do they have to kind of invite it, like in shows when people try to summon demons and stuff?"

Dje offers Izzy some cheese. (Cheddar.) "Bane is a Wyrm spirit, yes. People get possessed just sitting on the bus, also yes, though there is a marked tendency for a bane to possess someone who is already somehow aligned with the Wyrm philosophically in some way. But the demon summoning is myth, not reality. Well, about the Wyrm, at any rate."

Izzy shivers. "That's messed up. I mean, just normal people going about their lives and then getting all Wyrmed up and basically doomed." The cub sighs, sitting down by the elder Strider, and accepts the cheese. "Thanks. Is that the kind of thing where you'd use that enemy-sensing gift you mentioned? 'cause I figure you can't just ask people if they're possessed by evil and check whether they tell the truth, in case they, y'know, aren't."

"Yes. It is not..." Djehuti trails off. "A comfortable thing." He also offers some of the bread. But no butter. It's an inadequate sandwich. "Yes, though it is often not of great use in the city, as the general Wyrm presence there is higher than in other locales. But they do, indeed, smell of the enemy, once they have been possessed."

No butter? What torture is this?! Izzy suffers through, however. Even seems fairly pleased with both the bread AND the cheese, though they get eaten separately. "Are cities inherently Wyrmish? Flint mentioned that some people don't like Glass Walkers and call them 'Urrah scum' 'cause they live there on purpose. But I thought, if big cities happened because the Weaver and Wyrm got corrupted, then there should prolly be a lot of dwelling and breeding going on there and someone's got to combat it, don't they?"

Djehuti himself tends to nibble cheese, then bread. "Cities are, hm. Weaver and Wyrm gone out of control. I don't think they are inherenty Wyrmy, but I do think that, given the imbalance, they often are home to more malevolent things than other places. As for the Urrah part--" He smiles, shaking his head faintly. "That is that they are /comfortable/ there, and less that they live there on purpose. Those tribes that call them that tend to fight in the city, but would not live there on purpose. To my mind, that sort of divisional thinking is short sighted, but it is deeply held onto."

"Why? I mean, why hold onto it? Does it just make them feel superior or something?" Izzy sighs, shifting position slightly to sit more comfortably, one knee up and acting as an impromptu table. "...anyway. Oh, also he said something about having a connection to his ancestors and basically that I should ask you about it for more information. I think."

"He has a connection to his ancestors," Djehuti says promptly, repressing a smile. Briefly, it seems as if that's all he's going to say, but then he goes on, "Some of us do. They give us hints on how to do things, sometimes just enable us to do them without even knowing how. Those who have a very strong connection can be taken over by those ancestors, for a short time. It is... disquieting, for them (once they wake up), and for those around them. But these are the ancestors who have not come back to this world." As if this is just standard. "But, Izzy. I came here, originally, before I fell asleep, with the intention of telling you more of the Litany. Would this work for you?"

"Well, he was talking to... them... I guess. Which is why I was curious. Wait, ancestors usually come back to this world?" Izzy looks torn, but nods. "Yes, okay. Sorry, there's just a million things I don't know. But yes, please. We were up to five next, I think."

Dje says, "Well, there is the possibility, for some tribes, yes. It is rare for the Glass Walkers to have ancestors living in their head, actually." Then he grins, swift and soon gone. "I do not have an issue with more questions. I merely wish to have some focus, as well. OK. So. The next one, again, ties into the lupine nature." Carefully, slowly, but still coming out as a sentence, he says, "Submission to Those of Higher Station. Keep in mind, submission merely means letting it be known through posture and action that you know your elder is your elder. You can still /disagree/ with them all you want."

"Submission to those of higher station," Izzy repeats slowly, and nods. "I think I get that mostly. I'm, um, not entirely sure I know what the right postures and actions are, except for not looking higher-ranked people in the eye too much. When you say I can disagree all I want... out loud? Or just in my head?"

"Well, in part, that comes of experience. But, not looking them in the eye, showing throat, looking a little smaller, and so on. When you're in lupus sorts of forms, it's more obvious -- you have seen dogs who are telling their owner they know it is in charge? That sort of thing. And wolves, they will lick another's muzzle? Or greet the other by lying on their back? And dominant wolves often raise their tail higher. Just as a few things to think about. And--" He looks rueful. "Not to resort to this answer yet again, but it depends. With me, I do not mind disagreement if we are not in the midst of combat. Some elders are..." He searches for words, and ends up with, "Less patient."

Izzy nods, taking a moment to chew and swallow the last bit of cheese. "Okay. So, same as at school basically. Except I'd prolly get beat up instead of detention with the not-patient ones. Okay. I think I can do that stuff. Are we okay to hit number six?"

"Yes, rather like. Though at least some of us are not adolescents anymore, for which much thanks." He and Izzy are on the ground near the ladder, some bread and cheese on a plastic bag in front of them. "I think so. The First Share of the Kill for the Greatest in Station," he says, carefully. "Which is, again, lupine at base, but applies across the board."

The door to the garage opens, and Tim lumbers in. His glabro form might not be recognizeable, and the old, oversized, Phoenix Suns sweats he wears in this shape aren't precisely becoming. Seeing Izzy and Djehuti, he gives them a near-man's gruesome smile. "Hey you two. How's things?" His movements are stiff and slow, and a few gashes and puncture wounds are evident around his collar.

Tim
At just under seven feet in height, this Neanderthal-like man is clearly a man, but how much of one is in serious doubt. Tim's black eyes glare sullenly out at the world, and his body is covered with tawny-gold hair so thick it could practically be fur, putting it at odds with the black, matted hair on his head. His face is blocky and square, like the maker ran out of time before it could add in refinements, and the strange, awkward length of his arms and legs give him a truly un-evolved appearance. Those long arms end in equally strange hands topped with long, thick, blunt fingernails, though despite all of this he moves with an eerie semblance of grace.
Carrying:
Mysterious Sealed Box
Shoulderbag

"The first share of the kill for the greatest in station..." Izzy takes a second or so to think that one over. "Okay, I guess? I mean, I don't really have an issue with that, I'm just not sure I get why it is..." The cub trails off as the door opens, and stays quiet for a second or so more at the sight of Tim, eyes a bit wide. By way of greeting, the elder Strider gets, "...are you okay?"

"Hi," Djehuti says, fairly casual. "What did you run into?" (Though his casual tone is belied by how carefully he looks Tim over.) Then he adds, "Come on in. Things're fine; I'm just going over more Litany." He gestures at Izzy with a piece of bread. Since he talks with both hand and voice. "The thing with this one -- First share of the kill," he explains to Tim, "Is that it's also meant as a general statement, many argue, about an elder's role in the community, how people should view them overall, and, more specifically, whether they will get first try at things such as the take from the stash of a fomori drug-lord. It applies to more than just bones and meat, in other words."

Tim pokes at the injuries around his neck, winces, and says, "I will be, probably tomorrow or the day after." After a moment, he adds, "This is the near-man form. You can speak human languages in it, but it lets you heal like the other non-breed forms," for Izzy's benefit. He has a seat on the floor, and observes, "One issue with it is if you have leaders who don't realize, they can't hog good stuff. That weakens their subordinates, which actually just weakens them."

"Like if the alpha ate all the meat and didn't leave any for the cubs, for normal wolves, then they wouldn't grow up strong enough to hunt well, if they even lived?" Izzy suggests, glancing between the other two Striders. "Is it an issue a lot? And are there official ways of determining what's a share and who's greatest in station? I mean obviously everyone's greater in station than me at the moment, but, like... if you had two Fosterns and a Cliath, how would they know which Fostern went first?"

"Rank among equals is a constantly shifting equation, as I think I went on a discursion about at some point. So at any given time, I'll know if I'm dominant to--" He stops to think about who Izzy's met (that he knows of), and then just finsishes, "Any given other Fostern, though generally instinctively. So the only conflict will be if we have different internal delimiters, at which point, more obvious dominance and submission efforts will come into play. Or--" He flashes a smile. "Sometimes, people just give way. And -- Yes, like that, or the Sept would be slightly weaker. When it becomes obvious is when the elder is challenged for their official position of leadership."

"Exactly," Tim says to Izzy, nodding. "So like, if it was you and three other cubs, you'd have to sort out who between you was the dominant one."

Izzy nods back, looking thoughtful. "...I was gonna say prolly not me. But I think maybe I shouldn't think that way if I'm going to be a good werewolf. So maybe me." The kid grins a little. "Okay, I think I've got that one pretty much. Can we try the next one?"

Dje considers Izzy. "It is a thing to think about," is all he says, eventually. And then, "Next one. Yes. I do not think you will have issues with it. Ye Shall Not Eat the Flesh of Humans," he says, in that slow voice which distinguishes words, and yet still forms a sentence. "This was initiated at the end of the time we call the Impergium, when we in fact culled humans, to keep their numbers down, for there were those among us who were convinced that they were helping the rise of both Weaver and Wyrm. As it turns out, of course, they were not. But it has led to their being terrified beyond reason by our crinos forms, and led to this law."

Tim shudders at the mention of this law. "Also, a lot of our Tribe *weren't* involved in that--we still lived in Egypt then, and many of us had withdrawn from the Nation. But some were, and held to it." He shrugs in a 'what can you do' way.

For once, Izzy doesn't repeat it first off. "Ew. Well, that one's not going to be hard to keep, I don't think. And... that's. Um. When was the Impergium? It was a really long time ago? ...Ye shall not eat the flesh of humans. Or wolves? Or does that just go without saying? Except I kinda thought the human thing did too and I guess it doesn't."

"Some tribes, particularly the Red Talons -- who are all lupus-born, and not friends to humans -- Do add wolves to the list. But we, as a people, never hunted wolves. And, too, for reasons I don't care to speculate on, humans produce low level Wyrm taint if too many are consumed. Which wolves do not. And so, the law. But--" Djehuti's jaw sets. "The Impergium was before the first cities, and by its release, they became able to grow. So there are some few, some very conservative few, who would take it up again."

The look on Tim's face says that he doesn't think those conservative Garou are as 'few' as they should be. What he says, is, "It was thousands and thousands of years ago. Some Tribes didn't even exist back then--one story says that the Children of Gaia formed to end the Impergium."

Izzy nods, bottom lip gnawed slightly at all this. "That's another tribe too? Children of Gaia? Or a different kind of group? Either way that sounds like a good thing to form for to me. But, okay. No eating people. I definitely don't intend to do that."

"Children of Gaia are a tribe. A philosophical conglomeration of those who feel that violence is not the first or best answer," Djehuti says, with the ghost of a grin regarding the eating or lack thereof. "And. The next tenet, most do not have a problem with, though its application can be... somewhat spotty. Respect for Those Below Ye in Station; all Are of Gaia."

Tim mmms, and grins. He doesn't comment just yet, though; he seems more interested in hearing what Izzy has to say, and watches her for her response.

Izzy headtilts a little. "Do we think violence is the first or best answer? I mean, it hasn't looked like it so far, which is good for me 'cause I don't generally think it is. Or I'd've gotten in WAY more trouble at school. So... is there more to it than that?" A glance to each of them, and then, "...respect for those below ye in station; all are of Gaia. So... basically people shouldn't totally dismiss lower ranked people or treat them badly? 'cause I can see why people are okay with that. And also how that might not always happen."

"Well, /I/ don't, but much of the Nation does. It's rather endemic, sadly." Djehuti nods, a little, as he gets more bread. "There is far more to the tribe than that -- I grew up thinking I was Gaian -- but I will happily cover it when I cover the tribes in more depth. As for the other -- Indeed. It's far more difficult to enforce, as well, for reasons I assume you can conjecture."

"Not everyone *is* okay with that," Tim explains with a rueful look. "Or, at least, they don't act like they are. It's a law meant to say that dominance is not free license to abuse people, but you'd have to be willing to go to a halfmoon on that. And what if the halfmoons don't agree with you that this person's abusing their dominance in violation of the Litany?" He arches one brow, inviting Izzy to consider the ramifications.

"Then you're in a worse condition than you were before, 'cause now they still don't respect you AND they're pissed, and if they were treating you badly =before= you pissed them off..." Izzy trails off, making a face. "Although, they'd still have to not go far enough that the philodoxes'd change their minds. But they'd prolly know how far that was. And anyway then you might look like a whiner, and no one likes a whiner." The cub shifts position, stretching the previously bent leg. "So bullies usually get away with it, basically. Which sucks."

"And, also, they can make the Philodox's life who tries to reprimand them hell, as well," Djehuti says. "Which is when you get into the long term effects of being a bad leader, which is to say, they won't stay a leader for /too/ long if they continue on that kind of road. But I /have/ known people to be prosecuted for this, successfully, so it is not a complete lost cause." He makes a small face. "Just... More often than I'd like."

Tim grimaces, and nods at Djehuti. He gestures at Izzy, saying, "Bullies don't always get away with it, mind you. But you have to be ready to think around them. I don't mean you have to play at politics--though that helps--just that you have to think about how to approach dealing with them." He flashes his blocky teeth in a grin. "In my case, it's about how to yank their chains as delicately as possible. In yours, it's how to reprimand them without too much fallout."

Izzy nosewrinkles and nods. "People mostly don't like being told off. Or even corrected nicely, if they didn't ask. I guess I'll have to think about how that kinda thing should work. And watch, if I can. Are there, like, courts or something similar? And. Honestly chain-yanking sounds more fun than reprimanding, all in all."

Djehuti grins, but it's somehow tired. "There are, sometimes, councils of Philodoxes. Particularly in situations where you're going after someone dicey. But I prefer working in smaller groups, to the all-Sept Philodox councils. That can get... clunky. Inelegant. As for chain yanking--" Djehuti glances at Tim. "That can have its own problems. But overall, I consider the Ragabash role, when put that way, at least, to be more overtly fun. But I do love the counseling and the teaching..."

"It's fun if you know how to run the fuck away," Tim says, only half-joking. "No one likes a smartass, and yet we're the ones who are allowed to actually do that as a way to show someone what they're doing that's out of line." He shrugs. "All the roles are needed, all the roles are necessary."

"You're a good teacher," Izzy tells Djehuti, quite decisively. "...and I'm good at running, but. I'm better at trying to make stuff make sense and be fair and things like that than I am at yanking chains. Though I =am= pretty good at asking questions." The cub grins briefly. "So, okay. Respect for those beneath people is required but not always supplied. I think we're on... nine?"

"Why thank you," Djehuti says, a little surprised. Then he nods. "That you are, m'good Izzy. Questions your specialty." This is said with the smallest of grins. "And much appreciated that fact is, as well. Ok, next one's been phrased to you in other ways, but this is the official words version. The Veil Shall Not Be Lifted. The secrecy aspect, as is obvious."

"And this is a pretty serious thing for us, as a Tribe, which one of us will tell you eventually," Tim says. His expression is gentle and firm, and brooks no argument. "You really can't tell anyone. Even your closest loved ones, if they're not Garou or Kin."

"The veil shall not be lifted," Izzy repeats, "Right, 'cause it'd freak people out and they'd prolly try to kill us, like on every movie with monsters or aliens ever, and there's a LOT of them. And maybe other reasons too?" Tim's last admonition gets a glance away (toward where the phone is currently plugged in, Djehuti might note), and the cub's voice goes slightly quieter. "That. That isn't going to be a problem."

"Kid's mother's Garou," Djehuti tells Tim. But then at something in Izzy's voice, there is the ghost of some frown from Djehuti, mostly in his eyes. But all he says is, "Basically, yes. The scars of the Impergium go deep."

Tim's expression holds only sympathy for the cub. "Right." He clears his throat, and asks Djehuti, "Found anything out about her?"

"Jennifer, Seshat Follows the Sun," Djehuti says. "Adren Galliard. Good lady, her. I've met her a time or two. She appears, though, to be missing. Which is..." He trails off. "A concern, obviously. I'm emailing my old pack, to see if they've seen her lately. They said they'd put the word out, but if you know folks more in the US than I do..."

The cub's quiet a little, toying with a small bit of bread. "It seems like the last record of her in normal ways is in Montana. But that's all I know so far."

Tim says, "I know a few people," in a way which suggests this is a huge understatement. "I'll see if anyone's heard anything, or has the time to go looking." His expression is one hundred percent reassurance for Izzy.

"OK. Thank you." Djehuti glances from Tim to Izzy. "Next one? Just so," he says, with a small, sad smile, "We can possibly break the mood and not exude sadness for the next 20 minutes?"

"Thank you. And yeah. Um. Sorry." Izzy manages a small smile, then takes a breath, sitting up. Shoulders back, chin up. Posture is the key to everything! "So. Number 10, then."

Tim nods in agreement about not exuding sadness, and waits for Djehuti to give the next law.

And, indeed, Djehuti does it as a matched set. "The Leader May Be Challenged at Any Time of Peace. The Leader May Not Be Challenged in Time of War." He goes on, "They are separate laws, but, obviously, tied together. We do not change leaders in midstream, during declared war. This can be abused, but there are," he coughs, once, "Ways around that abuse."

"The leader may be challenged at any time of peace; the leader may not be challenged in time of war," Izzy echoes, and pauses, brow furrowing slightly. "Who declares wars? And decides when they're over? 'cause if it's The Leader, I think I see where the abuse part might come in."

Tim doesn't answer; he looks to Djehuti, maybe intending to, as he has been, add on to anything the Phlidox says.

"Generally, the leader, yes. Though many Septs have Elders' Councils, of the tribal elders and Sept elders who are extant. And sometimes, it is they who declare war." Djehuti adds, "It is more administrivia, but it also makes for checks and balances, to a minor extent."

"Around here, we've had both the Sept Alpha and the Claw do it," Tim says on the heels of Djehuti's explanation. "Also, you have to be careful about how you apply this. If you're at War too long, how will anyone rank up, or call people out on things by CHallenging for Honor? Sometimes, a Sept will agree to allow Rank Challenges during War, and just interpret it to mean leadership roles."

"'The Claw'?" Izzy asks, "That sounds like the villian in a comic book. Like, someone Batman would fight. And... people keep saying Sept. That's like a group of Garou that's bigger than a pack? Or from some particular place? And if rank challenges and stuff are a problem in wartime, does that mean 'the leader' is basically anyone who outranks you, all at once, not just the one person who outranks everyone else?"

"I believe, in fact, that The Claw was a Golden Age comics supervillain. That said, the Claw is often a position for ahrouns, as warleader of a Sept, or a particular attack." Djehuti stops to chew a piece of cheese, then launches into verbiage. "A Sept is a group of Garou who gather together to become a community. Most often, they gather around a particular Caern, or place of Gaia's power made manifest, of which more later. In the case of this particular law, the leader is both, the person in charge, and also, the people in charge of the tribes and the Sept. And it often applies to the leaders in general, hence not allowing challenges at all. Some Septs do not interpret it that way, and have it be only the leader of the Sept, that is, the Alpha."

Tim looks amused at the mention of The Claw. "He was also the villain in Inspector Gadget," he adds, possibly dating himself. "Well, Dr. Claw was." He sets that business aside and says, "And, really, if someone is using time of War to prevent their position being Challenged, you can argue that's a violation of the Litany too, in not respecting those of all stations. Or, you know, you can leave--that's always an option."

Izzy laughs, looking briefly delighted about the confirmed villainy of The Claw (PhD). "Okay. So who counts as The Leader kinda depends on the Sept you're in, and you can go to a different one if you don't like how things are being handled at the first one... though if you're in the middle of a war that would kind of suck. Then again I guess if your problem was that you thought really it was peace and people should be able to challenge, that kinda solves itself."

Djehuti can't help but laugh, himself, a brief gout of it. But then he nods. "Exactly. Permutations, applying themselves. And now, the last one, and the return of the Caern. More specifically, Ye Shall Take No Action That Causes a Caern to Be Violated. Which, yes indeed, does have broad application, for good reason. The loss of a Caern is... incalculable tragedy. And so, we all have to be wary of it."

"Caerns can't be replaced," Tim says by way of expanding. "And the spirits that tie themselves to those caerns may be lost forever if a Caern falls. Of course," he gives Djehuti a rueful smile, "what's an action that leaves a Caern vulnerable? Going on a trip to see someone in a neighboring Sept such that your Sept was missing some key resource only you had?"

Izzy nods. "Ye shall take no action that causes a caern to be violated. But yeah, what Mr. Tim, I mean Tim-rhya said. There's a whole lot of things you might do every day and then in some situation they could turn out to be the thing that a caern getting violated hinged on. Like Donna Noble turning right instead of left that one day would've meant the Doctor died and the Titanic would've crashed on London and, you know, et cetera. But people have to make choices like that all the time, so. Even if it's only bigger things it seems like you'd have to be really worried any time you went to visit someone, or something." A slight pause. "How do they get violated, anyway? I'm guessing Wyrm stuff?"

"In practical application, it's generally only used when someone really really does something broadly and irrefutably problematic," Djehuti says, as he rises to his feet, smoothly. "Generally Wyrm stuff, yes. Or mages. That is, humans who can bend reality. They gain power from the kind of energy produced by Caerns, so you can see how it would be a conflict."

"Again, unless someone has an agenda, it's not gonna be used for things like I said." Tim's eyes harden. "And the punishments for it can get pretty severe. Down in Arizona, they ah, used Shattered Soul on a guy." He trades a look with Djehuti that's meaningful.

"What's, um." The cub hesitates, looking from one of them to the other. "What's Shattered Soul? ...and yeah, I can see how it'd be a conflict if mages suck the energy out of them and they can't make more. Though, what do they do, exactly, caerns? I mean, I know they're good and important and places of Gaia's power, but I don't entirely... know what that means."

Djehuti regards Tim a moment, eyes hard. Then he shakes his head, and looks back to Izzy. "It destroys one's soul. So that one cannot go to one's tribe's homeland, one cannot be reborn, one cannot visit one's relatives, down the line. They are /gone/." He hesitates. "It is not a Rite I would ever learn."

"If you weren't raised to believe in reincarnation and the cycle of the universe, it's maybe not immediately obvious how significant this is." Tim's voice tightens briefly, and he has to take a steadying breath. "But the cycle of rebirth ensures we don't lose the things we learn, and lets us all, eventually, reach Brahman. And we know that it happens; it's not a matter of faith for us. We meet Garou who are born with the touch of their Ancestors, and speak with ours in our homelands." There's a reservation about him, something he's holding back, but it's hard to pinpoint in all he's said what it would apply to.

Izzy nods again, looking up at Djehuti, and then over to Tim. "...but usually we DO get to visit our relatives... and be reborn and the other stuff? So basically they killed all of him forever? ...and we really for real do?" The cub goes quiet a moment, then recites, ticking them off on fingers, "Garou shall not mate with Garou. Combat the Wyrm wherever it dwells and whenever it breeds. Respect the territory of another. Accept an honourable surrender. Um, Submission to those of higher station. The first share of the kill for the greatest in station. Don't eat-- you shall not eat the flesh of humans. Respect those beneath ye; all are of Gaia. The Veil shall not be lifted. The leader may be challenged at any time during peace; the leader may not be challenged during war. And ye shall take no action that causes a caern to be violated... that's only twelve? What did I forget?"

Djehtui says, "Garou do, yes. And so, that is... Extraordinarily severe." He's silent a moment, then he shakes his head and listens, as she recites, and then laughs, just briefly. "You simply combined the two. And you asked about Caerns -- basically, they are a uniting point for Umbra and Realm, a place where Gaia's power as it used to apply everywhere, still applies. It is a spot of tremendous beauty, and tremendous energy. It, in itself, does not /do/ anything in particular for us, other than be a wonderful thing which is worth protecting. Though all Caerns do have their own Totems, and these can lend the Garou aid and surcease. But even had they no Totems, we would love them and care for them. You cannot truly understand until you see one. Which we will, eventually, do."

Tim nods at Djehuti and adds to that, "A Caern is kind of like a lake or a river. The lake or the river don't specifically do anything, but they *provide* things. Plants need water to grow, fish and insects live in water, boats sail over it. It's very presense and existance are a significant impact on everything they touch."

Izzy pauses. I think we did actually miss one of the laws, though, 'cause I seriously only count 12. OH did we do tending sickness? We can just take it as read that it happened if you want.
Tim: Ah ha!
Dje: Oh shoot. Silly me.
Dje: Yah, I think the "this rarely happens, particularly because we heal so well" thing can go as read. If you don't mind.
Izzy salutes!
Dje: Sorry. I THOUGHT it was /in/ your paragraph. *whap*

Izzy nods at both explanations, and the lake analogy in particular seems to register well. "Okay. Okay, good! I hope I can see one soon, then. Is there one near here? And... and in the meantime, what should I be doing? I mean, when you guys aren't here to teach me things?"

Djehuti gets a curious kind of briefly stifled look. It might, on a less phlegmatic man, indicate repressed hysteria. Eventually, he says, "Well, that's a funny story..." and trails off. "Our Caern, which is less than 20 miles from here, is currently asleep. We put it to sleep in order to save it from a spiritual invasion, of... wasps looking for a nesting ground. They will be able to use it, still, but it will not be overwhelmed. Once it is back awake, presuming we are able to wake it, we will happily show you. Or, perhaps--" He looks to Tim-- "We could take a field trip to Vancouver?" Then he goes on, promptly, "Forms, fighting, what the other tribes think about things, what /our/ tribe thinks about things, what the spirit world is like and how to navigate in it in rudimentary ways, more fighting, Litany permutations, the creeds, and much more."

Dje: Until/unless Two Stripes specifies, let's assume Dje's doing some minor exercise/fight training/running around, pretty much daily.
Izzy: Works for me. Izzy would be running around and trying to keep up on hapkido anyway, so it's not a hard sell. :)
Dje: Hey, Dje can learn Hapkido! Or something.
Izzy will attempt to teach! :D

"And remember," Tim says, tone firm, "everyone is entitled to their wrong opinion. Just because the other Tribes feel differently than us and you're a cub, it *doesn't* make them right and you wrong. You're welcome to let them orate at you and compare their creeds to ours, but remember. You're one of Owl's, not one of theirs." He nods about Vancouver. "Or Gaia's Bones. I ah, kind of need to go there anyways. I'll talk to you about that later, though."

Izzy blinks. "...Invasion of spiritual wasps. O..okay. They're not going to be flying around outside it and stinging people or anything, right?" This is apparently one of the more pressing questions. "I hope it wakes up okay, though. Um. Can I have something like a note saying it's okay for other people to tell me stuff, maybe? 'cause I think they're afraid you guys will be mad at them if they do. And I figure the spirit parts and what our tribe things about stuff, that I prolly need to save for when you guys are around, yeah? And I'll remember what you tell me has priority and all."

"Not outside it, no," Djehuti says. "We have been rather firmly told by the Totem of the Caern that if we stayed /at/ the Caern, there /would/ be death, but outside it, that seems fine." Then, "A... note." He glances at Tim, faintly amused. "Think that'd be effective? Also--" The amusement fades. "I told Izzy that if she pledged to follow the Litany to the best of her ability, once I'd told her the basics, her phone would be remanded to her. Netbook, too. You good with that?"

"Yeah, I think that's reasonable. And we don't deal much in notes like that. We do word of mouth, because of the Veil. Which, I will get the word around, and Djehuti can as well." Tim raises his eyebrows at the Fostern, to see if that works with him.

Izzy looks relieved about the wasp issue. "Well, I figured it could just say, like, 'It's okay to teach Izzy stuff, within reason' or something like that, not necessarily anything, you know, specific or dangerous. But telling people'd be okay too, I just noticed they got all uneasy about answering stuff. Which makes things confusing when I don't know what they're talking about yet." A small pause, and a little smile to them, "And thanks. For my stuff back, but also for teaching me all this stuff."

Dje: Honestly, other than a bboard post, I think a note /would/ be the best way. "Feel free to teach her. We say so. The end." Because the culture of Do Not Teach is strong, lately.
Tim: I am OOCly down with that, then. I was just gonna bboard post.
Tim: BBoard post saying 'word is passed around that' etc.
Tim: But so many people neeeever read them so.
Dje: Oh, sure. I just think you'll have people going, "Oh, really?"
Izzy grins. Both! :D
Tim: (Though Izzy can point them TO the bboard.)
Tim: Either way. Feel free to advocate a note!
Tim: Tim is just paranoid.

Dje regards Tim a moment, then scrawls a small note. (It says, "Feel free to teach Izzy, so long as it does not involve permanent harm. -- Djehuti".) "Word of mouth often does not reach the most relevant people at the time," Djehuti says. A moment later, he adds, "Keep to Edgewood and the Bawn, until we fill you in further, please, on some of our tribal intricacies. Then we will allow you to wander elsewhere, with company."

Dje: (He shows Tim the note, too.)
Izzy: 'What's a bawn' is actually on Izzy's List of Questions I Have Not Gotten To Yet.
Izzy: (Which Tim will be pleased to know is stored mentally. ;))
Dje has disconnected.
Dje has connected.
Dje ahems. I think my net is telling me things.
Izzy: It might be. >_>
Izzy: Sorry for keeping you guys up all night, but thank you, also. :)
Dje is fan of it. So no issues. Do you want a pose-out thing, or is fading OK?
Izzy is okay with fading.

Tim considers the note, then shrugs and seems willing to let it go. "You can scent for the boundaries of the Bawn in your wolf or near-wolf forms, or ask one of the Guardians to show you," he tells Izzy. "The Guardians are Zosia, BJ, August, April, Melodie, Jacinta, and Morgan." He ticks off the names in slow succession, to make it easy to hear them, though chases the list with a yawn. "And now, if you two don't mind, I need to sleep." With that, he shifts to his wolf form and curls up in a convenient corner. Sans clothes, the array of slashes and punctures are easier to see, but thankfully none of them are oozing and they all seem to be healing clean.

Litany, Part the First

3/12/2012, 03:18 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Edgewood House: Downstairs(#2007RJh)
The front door leads into a small mudroom; coats are hanging on hooks. It opens into the spacious, well lit living room, with several battered old couches arranged into a sort of conversation pit facing the fireplace, a table in the center of them. There are a few chairs, some straight-backed, some plush and comfortable, arranged to make secondary conversation areas, with little end tables placed in strategic locations. There's a notable absence of either breakable objects, or elaborate electrical equipment such as televisions. The walls, painted an increasingly dingy white, have some sweeping dark fabric prints on them, but no paintings or posters. A steep, uncarpeted staircase leads up to the second floor. There are several doors that lead out to other sections of the house, as well. (+view for details)
Contents:
Djehuti
Information Board
Obvious exits:
Front Door Upstairs

Djehuti
Djehuti is a man in his late 30s, though given his weatherbeaten face and tired posture, he might well seem older. He's about 6'2" tall, and his face -- all of him, really -- is long and thin. The face is relatively dark-skinned and weathered, carved with lines and yet frequently mobile and engaging. His eyes are brown, and often warm; sometimes, they are cooler, further away. But he is always, always observing what goes on around him. His brown hair, which is not long, curls and waves and kinks around his head; the longest stray strand does not quite reach his shoulders. On closer inspection, his posture may not be lazy; it may instead be coiled, poised, resting before more action. Something in that posture hints at grace, or perhaps even nobility.
His clothes are a hodge-podge. He wears battered jeans, a gray muslin shirt, and, over that, a keffiyehesque scarf, white cotton lined with what is apparently (and somewhat incongruously) polarfleece, serving mostly as a neck-covering, the folds extending over his shoulders, as well. (Though his head is uncovered.) He's currently barefoot. His backpack, dull green army vintage, is generally nearby. The only curious thing is that he wears brown gloves in all weather, fingerless save for the pinkies; these gloves wrap their leather up to about his elbows.

Izzy
No more than 13 or 14 years old, maybe five and a half feet tall and all skinny-wiry in that decidedly not-filled-out-yet way. Wavy coffee-coloured hair's been somewhat haphazardly cut, or perhaps allowed to grow out; it's barely above the collar in the back, and in the front a floppy fringe half-hides dark, solid eyebrows and constantly threatens to fall into a pair of wide hazel eyes. The kid's tawny complected, with a smattering of noticable freckles across the cheeks and the strong, straight nose, and seems thus far to be mostly winning the battle against teenage acne. A wide, somewhat full-lipped mouth contains clean but slightly crooked teeth, untamed by braces. One might also notice a certain alert balance to the stance -- not aggressive, but more like a coiled spring of potential energy restrained just beneath a placid surface.
Today's clothing seems to have been dictated mainly by comfort and the weather: old but presentable jeans, aged black high-top converse, and a open white-and-blue plaid flannel over a loose navy t-shirt that proclaims "I'VE GOT THAT ON A T-SHIRT" in Cooper Black. The degree of cold means an ankle-length tan wool coat has been added to the outfit, and the whole thing is topped off with a multi-coloured striped knit scarf of truly remarkable length. An old brown leather satchel hanging off one shoulder completes the ensemble.

One of the coats hanging on the mudroom hooks ought to be Izzy's -- but it isn't. Instead, the coat's draped over the arm of one of the couches, beside the new cub, who's curled up in the very corner of the arm and back, somewhat listlessly writing (or failing to write) in a notebook. The satchel is there too, on the floor where feet should be, rather than left in a bedroom or similar.

Djehuti is quite clean, as he pushes in the front door, but there's something stiff about his movements. He seems to be favoring his right shoulder, for some reason. He brightens, however, as he spies Izzy, and says, "Good afternoon. How fares your day?" (Interruptions, not a problem.)

Izzy: quick question: did he take her cell phone or anything else, last night?
Djehuti: Oh. Yes, that would have been something that happened. I hate handwaving that kind of thing, but yes. "Because, for reasons which I will explain later, we as a people need to live in secret, and you do not fully trust us yet," kind of verbiage.
Izzy nods.
Izzy: Would that have included the laptop, given that I doubt there's 'net here?
Djehuti: Hm. Good question. a) There isn't, but b) Garou paranoia might include "one might find wireless elsewhere omg!" Um. Yes, until further notice. Probably until he explains the Litany, which of course may take a bit.

Izzy looks up warily as the door opens, and relaxes only slightly upon seeing who it is. "Hi. It's... it's okay, I guess. I was waiting for you. Mostly. I don't... no one's called me, have they? Only that phone's the number people're supposed to call if they find anything out about Mom, including the PI guy. Is it all charged still?"

Djehuti pats his puffy coat pocket, and then sluffs it off to a) hang it up on a coat hook, and b) take out the phone and offer it to her to check. "Charged, yes. I have not noticed any messages, but even had I noticed them, I would not have invaded your privacy by listening to them."

"...thanks," Izzy says, accepting it, and checks the screen. It's an inexpensive phone of the type one might pick up at Wal-mart, but it does the job, and presumably has been doing so. No new messages, it seems, and the cub leans down to delve into the bag and find a charger. Presuming Djehuti doesn't make an objection, the phone is plugged in to charge for the time being. "...so, um," the cub says, curling back into that couch corner, "You were going to tell me things. About... things."

Djehuti doesn't object, and finds a chair near her couch. "Yes," he says, frowning faintly at a movement in his shoulder. "Do you remember the change? Some don't, so it is a relevant question to ask, first."

"Are you okay?" the cub asks, eyeing the shoulder, but answers the question as well, with a slight hesitation. "I remember... =having= changed. I don't exactly remember the actual changing. I remember being stupid mad and scared, and everything being the wrong size. And you hit me." Which is stated as a plain matter of fact. "And then I was normal again, except my head hurt and all my clothes were ripped up."

"Yes, and I'm sorry about the hitting," Djehuti says, directly. "It's just that often, when cubs change for the first time -- and at other times -- they are frenzied, unable to control their actions, and prone to hurting all about them. I wanted to make sure you were not going to hurt Alexandra, or be hurt by her. But--" He makes a face. "It takes violence, to be sure. For which I apologize. But that is one reason why we take those about to change and those who are newly changed to places where they can learn to control themselves without being a danger to humans and other innocents." He rises to his feet (a bit stiffly) and goes to get a glass of water. "I will be fine," he adds, as he comes back. "We just had a bit of excitement yesterday. Now." He puts the glass down on a small table. "What you and I and others here are, and what your mother is, are werewolves. We call ourselves Garou. I don't know explicitly what has happened to her, though I will email my friends and contacts at other places where we gather -- Septs -- and ask them. Our job, as Garou, is to work on behalf of the earth, of Gaia. Some of what we do, as is evidenced by the warform that you experienced and Alexandra showed you, is and can be violent, but not all of it."

Djehuti pages: He's Allies 3 and is learning contacts, but most of the Allies are off at the Wheel of Ptah and so on. But I would suspect information could trickle in anyway, next couple weeks.

"'sokay. It makes sense. I mean, now that you explain it, especially, but. I mean, I =felt= out of control. I don't like that." Izzy shifts position slightly while the elder Strider heads off to get water, legs starting to draw up, then leans down to undo the sneakers and toe them off before completing the move to an indian-style sit on the couch cushion. "Good," the cub says to the assurance that the shoulder will be well, then hesitates. "I'm... you're =sure= my Mom's a werewolf too? I mean, for certain certain? 'cause I thought... a different thing," she finishes a bit lamely.

Djehuti pauses, as he lifts his water glass. "I don't either," he says, wryly. "Being out of control like that is /not/ entertaining. But -- I'm curious, and you don't have to tell me, obviously, but what /did/ you think about her? That she was dead, or something else?"

A shake of the head. "Not that she was dead. It's just..." Izzy hesitates again, looking over at Djehuti as though trying to assess him, bottom lip being worriedly bitten. "A couple years ago I was getting really pissed off about her never being around. And Dad said okay, look, this is a major secret, but a lot of the stuff people thing is out there, like vampires and werewolves and aliens and monsters and ghosts and the other stuff like that, some of it's actually real. And that she was away so much because she was helping fight the monsters. I mean, I guess it sounds kind of dumb now that I'm saying it, but Dad never lied to me, not ever. So I just kind of. I mean I guess I assumed if there were werewolves they were some of the monsters she'd be fighting." The kid looks kind of embarrassed about this, despite now having tangible proof that at least one of the things on that list does indeed exist.

"Oh!" Djehuti, unaccountably, relaxes; he also seems to think her supposition isn't at all odd or silly. After taking a sip of water, he shakes his head. "I thought you were worried she might be," he gestures with his left hand, "Abandoning you and your father, but I didn't quite think it'd be polite to say so. No," he goes on, as he puts the glass down, "The legends are... right in many ways and wrong in others. But no, I have met her, and I have seen her change to wolf -- Or, in our case, jackal -- and she is neither vampire nor evil monster. Werewolves..." He trails off. "Well. Since your father introduced the idea I will assume he is one of the relations who do not shift, Kinfolk. But in any case, we werewolves, we fight the monsters. For there /are/ monsters, spawned by the destructive force of nature gone out of control. We call it the Wyrm. It breeds monsters, but it also breeds hatred, disention, and abuse, and so we fight the monsters, but we also work against the more subtle things created by the Wyrm's machinations."

Another shake of the head. "She wouldn't've left us on purpose," Izzy says with conviction, "...at least... not without a really good reason. Which's why I have to find her. Most of why. That was what the cops thought, I think. That she just decided not to come back. But it doesn't make sense." The rest is all carefully listened to, with some more worrying of that poor lip. "...so technically we're... werejackals? I think that kinfolk thing makes sense, 'cause he said his dad did that stuff too. I never met him though, my grandfather I mean." A small pause. "Why do you call it the worm? It's not, like... a Dune kinda thing, is it?"

He listens. Slightly tentatively, he says, "Some do, of course. Leave. Because of the rage and the anger, and other things. But--" He smiles, then, a brief but sincere thing. "I don't know her /well/, but I was able to gauge her as a person, and it doesn't /sound/ like something she'd do. And--" That smile comes back. "You talk about her differently, too." After a moment, he answers Izzy's actual question."Wyrm." The pronunciation is subtly different. He then spells it for her. "It -- I have not read Dune, but as I understand it, the sandworms there are -- simply large worms. The Wyrm, our Wyrm is -- a universe-wide concept of being." He makes a rueful face. "I suspect they named it Wyrm, back when, when it was corrupted, because it is like the world-serpent of Norse myth, all encompassing and impossible to get away from. But that is but theory."

"REALLY large worms with lots of huge sharp spikey teeth," Izzy says, giving a little shudder, but more of the 'enjoyable scary thing' type than of actual fear. "Wyrm. Okay. ...nature doesn't LOOK out of control though. I mean... well, maybe, there've been all those tsunamis and earthquakes and hurricanes and stuff lately. That seems kinda hard to do anything about, though."

"I seem to have stopped reading fantasy with Tolkien. Perhaps I shall have to explore more." At her question, he makes a wry face. "Ah, well." He takes a sip of water, and then cracks a knuckle, in preparation for talking. "There are, in point of fact, three spirits of this natural cycle. Chaotic creation, constructive order, and destruction. Wyld, Weaver, and Wyrm. All of these, in their place, are reasonable and necessary to the world. But the Weaver has gone insane, as the Wyrm is both insane and corrupt. And so the world has cities which have taken over the landscape, pollution which destroys us as it expands, and fathers who beat their children, and... So on. And many of the more obvious creations of the Wyrm are in the spirit world, and we combat them there." He smiles, a wry thing. "I realize this most of it sounds fairly abstruse and rather insane, but you'll see it more in action once you're more steady on your metaphorical -- and actual -- feet."

Izzy seems to be paying fairly close attention, and nods a few times during the explanation. "So... okay. Wyld is chaotic creation, and that's not insane or corrupt, and Weaver is orderly stuff but it's gone nuts which is why we've got all these huge cities, and Wyrm is destruction, only it's gone crazy AND evil and it pollutes things and stuff?" The cub brushes fringe away from eyes, and considers this. "I don't think I totally get the spirit world thing. Are they ghosts?"

"That's about the size of it. It's not that it, specifically, pollutes, but those it has influenced do." At her last question, Djehuti shakes his head firmly. "This is a thing which is hard to explain without it happening to you, but there is another world, essentially layered over this one, which is of the spirit. Its denizens are quite solid, most of them. They are just -- Spirits of animals, or pegasi, or unicorns, or of water or rock. We can reach this world ourselves, though I caution you it can be both overwhelming and dangerous, the first time, so you should have company. We call it the Umbra."

"There's... I'm gonna have to learn a whole lot of stuff, huh." A glance at the phone. "What do I have to learn before I can have my stuff back? I won't tell anyone about any of this stuff. I mean, they'd think I was crazy, and anyway I don't really have anyone to tell. But I'd like to have it back soon in case I get any calls about Mom." Izzy sighs. "So is that why mostly people don't see the vampires and monsters and aliens? They're in another dimension, like the cybermen when people thought they were ghosts?"

"Well. There are 13 of our main laws that I would like to explain to you, first. And in doing so, more of our culture and more, yes, things you have to remember will come up," Djehuti says. "But once I'm done with that, and once you promise to hold to those Litany tenets, I can give you it back. I /also/ promise that if you get a call before that, I will bring you the phone. Does that work for you?" Djehuti adds, a moment later, "Though, I wlll note, I am not in charge of our people, here, so I may be countermanded. But presuming I am not, are you agreeable?"

Izzy headtilts at that last bit. "You're not? Who is, then? ...how many of us ARE there, anyway? And, um, yes, I'm agreeable to that. The laws for phone thing, I mean. Am I allowed to take notes or is it, like, read this letter and then eat it territory as far as writing stuff down?"

Djehuti hesitates. "Well. That is a complex question. You wouldn't expect it to be, but it is. Because of the secrecy aspect, we do not encourage notes or other written material, but I do know that being able to review things makes life much easier. So what I would say is, feel free to take notes, but then eventually make sure they disappear. And others may disagree with my interpretation and think note-taking is quite verboten, so be aware of that." Then he says, tapping his glass. "Well. OK. As for how many of us there are. That depends on your definitions. The Garou are divided into 13 tribes, groups of us who are affiliated by cultural or philosophical background. Your tribe, and mine, are the Silent Striders. There are --" He stops to think. "Six of us here, in addition to you. There are, and this is only an estimate, probably about 60 Garou in this area, as a whole." Then he takes a breath. "The official leader of our tribe here is a wolf-born, by the name of Two Stripes. There is also Tim, who is a rank above both Two Stripes and I. Two Stripes and I are Fostern, second rank. Tim is Adren, third rank. I am not, honestly, sure why Tim has not taken the leadership role, what we call tribal elder, but... He hasn't." Djehuti shrugs. "Mine is not to reason why, in this case."

"Are there a lot of thirteens involved in all this? 'cause, tribes, laws... I guess two things can still be just coincidence, but, you know. Like the flag has 13 stripes 'cause of the 13 original colonies..." Izzy has the notebook open again with that permission, but thus far has just doodled a curly line in one margin. "Why are we called Silent Striders? Are we like... spies or something like that? And is 60 a lot or kinda small for a group of... Garou?"

"As far as anyone has been able to tell me, it is mere coincidence," Djehuti says. "It does rather please me in an obscure way that a number so charged with unfortunate connotations, to some humans, is our go-to number, but that's mostly just my inner Ragabash coming out." He stops, and exhales a brief gust of almost-laughter. "Oh. /Speaking/ of that. Can I ask you what your birthday is? Because, you see, our ... jobs in the Garou nation, basically ... are determined by what moon you were born under."

"April 14th, 1997," Izzy replies promptly, grinning a bit at the bit about people's triskadekaphobia. "What's a Ragabash? And what language is it? It sounds cool." Another seating adjustment is required; this time legs get stretched out full-length along the cushions of the couch, armrest serving as a backrest instead. "I don't know what moon I was born under, except, y'know, the normal one. But I know it was a Monday. If that helps any."

"Not an issue," Djehuti says with a smile. "There are simple ways of finding out." Instead of going to the bookshelves, though, he fetches his backpack from where it rests along with his coat, and gets out his netbook. After checking something on it, he smiles, and puts it back. "Ah. Well. The language that is from -- Philodox and so on -- is called the Mother's Tongue. Generally, it is spoken in the other forms, but we adapt the words to human tongue fairly easily. As for Ragabash -- That is one born under the new moon. They are scouts, questioners of the way, and, often, tricksters. Hence why the humor would remind me of one. Theurges are born under the crescent moon, and deal with the spirits. I mean, that is their expertise -- we all deal with spirits to some extent." He's pacing a touch, walking slowly around the room. "Philodoxes, which is what both of us are, are born under the half moon. We help keep the balance; we mediate disputes, help others to recover their own internal balance, when it is lost, keep the traditions and the Ways, and we are also the judges of the Garou, meting out punishment when necessary." He seems, from his tone of voice, to like the punishment and judging parts less. "Galliards are born under the gibbous moon; they are the storytellers, artists, and those who help to motivate the Garou via passion and urgings. And those born under the full moon are Ahrouns; they often have more of Gaia's gift of Rage, and are more adept at fighting. They are often our warleaders."

Izzy does make a few notes this time, but at least the chances of anyone accidentally reading them don't look great -- they're in some sort of personal shorthand =and= terrible handwriting. One hopes it's better for proper writing as opposed to just jotting things down. "So we don't get to choose which of those we do, it's set at birth? I guess at least they all sound pretty good, not like, in the full moon you're aristocrats and in the new moon you clean the bathrooms or something. Okay. As Philodoxes, we do all those things you said for us? Or, like, some Philodoxes do judgy things, and others keep the traditions, and others do other parts?"

"Well. It depends on your proclivities," Djehuti says, slowing to a stop in front of the window. "Some are just /better/ at investigating crimes, and some are just better at being counselor-equivalents. But you'll often find that most Garou expect Philodoxen to be judges, and to treat us accordingly. And honestly, I do think that as one grows as a Garou, one should probably be taking on as many roles of one's auspice as one can." He stops talking to think, and then adds, "And yes, they are set at birth. There are ways to renounce your auspice and take on a new one, but most Garou see those who do so as quite wrongheaded, and a ... tankload ... of social opprobrium goes with them."

"...auspice," Izzy echoes softly, scrawling another nigh-illegible mark on the page. "Well... I think I can do that. I mean, I like things to be fair. And make sense, at least as much as they can." A glance at the notebook. "Um, okay. So the second rank is Fostern and the third one is Adren... what's the first one? And is that what I am?"

The man's smile rises again. "People often do fit their auspices. Gaia is not an unkind Mother, after all." Djehuti snorts, softly. "No, that would be logical. You yourself are a cub, which is not, officially, a rank. Those of the first rank are Cliaths. Fourth rank is Athro, Fifth is Elder -- which can get confusing, since we also call those in charge of a tribe at any given Sept, Elders, but it works in context. And there is a Sixth rank, but only those who are truly legends make it there. Most of us never will."

"Gaia? I thought it was the moon that decided the auspice thing?" the cub asks, and another couple notes get made. "So I'm... basically not even a white-belt yet? How does that work?" Izzy murmurs the ranks in order, and the auspices for good measure, fairly quickly and extremely quietly. "...okay."

"One's auspice is determined by the phase of the moon one is born under, yes, but Gaia is often...Well, worshipped, by the Garou. So I was just saying that She would not make your life harder than necessary, and therefore suits your auspice to what will fit you, as a person." Djehuti shrugs. "It is a conceit that makes me feel better about the world, basically. As for how that works--" Djehuti makes a face. "Often annoyingly." He returns to his seat. "As for the question of why we are Silent Striders ... the full explanation for that will come later. But generally, we are keepers of secrets; thus, the silent aspect. And our original home was Egypt, but we were forced out of there by, in fact, vampires, and so we have become travelers. As your mother is."

Izzy nods. "Okay, so Gaia's a god. -Dess. Okay." That seems not to be too bothersome; the nebulousness of the rank issue seems to leave the cub feeling somewhat uneasy, but apparently it can't be helped... "How do I know what rank someone is? Or if they're a Garou? And... and do we all travel as much as my Mom? Even if we've never been to Egypt?"

"Most of us do. It is related somewhat to why we left Egypt originally. But it is not requirement, just what ends up happening." Djehuti laughs, that brief exhalation of air, and says, "Generally, they tell you. But also, generally, if someone is, for example, Adren, they have a certain... weight of their regard, a certain presence that they exert. You can feel it. Just like you know that your, say, teacher is an authority figure. As for knowing if they are Garou, there is a certain dance of politeness we go through, to make sure we are keeping the Veil. You will get used to it."

"Keeping the Veil means not telling people about us, right? There aren't any literal veils involved?" Izzy looks down at the notebook again. "Okay. I kinda... I think I mostly get the stuff you said so far. If I didn't it's gonna come up again, right? Is there a lot more I need to know before the laws'll make sense?"

"Probably. I try and make it organized and yet fit the questions you'll likely ask, but it might just make sense to go through them one by one," Djehuti says. As if that hadn't been his plan anyway. "Would you like the first one?"

[Izzy says yes. Between RP sessions. So the next session picks up...]

Djehuti rises to his feet, and begins pacing again. It seems to give him mental clarity. "The thing you have to remember about the Litany is that while there are 13 main laws, there are elaborations and discussions surrounding them that take up far more mental space than just those 13 laws. Much as in, for example, Judaism and the Tanakh, the basic laws I give you now are simply the tip of the iceberg. So." Djehuti says, in a measured tone that leaves each word clear, but still leaves it a flowing sentence, "Garou Shall Not Mate with Garou." He stops walking to smile, lines creasing the skin around his eyes. "Most Garou say, don't have sex with or mary. This is because, for one thing, the children of a Garou/Garou mating are sterile, and physically, or occasionally mentally, flawed in some way. Deformities such as two heads, or no leg, or scaly skin, or what have you. Those Garou who actually think about the law, rather than just react without consideration, extend it to permanent partnership as well because it is clear that part of the intent here is to make sure that Garou do not stay within their packs and tribes only. Rather, they should live among their Kinfolk, and spread their experiences and, well," Djehuti's smile fades and he sounds tired, at this part, "Their genetic potential, as well."

Djehuti: Marry. Do not marry Mary.
Izzy: But what if she's my soul mate? T_T
Djehuti: Then soul bond. With glowing eyes and intense passsssion.
Izzy: The Ss make it Sssssuper!

"...Garou Shall Not Mate with Garou," Izzy echoes, making more of those scrawled notes, brow furrowed. The cub's sitting on one of the couches, back against the armrest and legs extended along the cushions. The coat's on the armrest, satchel on the ground by the shoes. "Okay. It's like... royal families getting full of hemophilia and stuff? Does it come up a lot? What happens if people break the rules, anyway?"

Tim
Although his black-brown eyes are bright and full of amusement, Tim's appearance is otherwise average. A touch over six feet in height, he has the lean, wirey-muscled body of a man in his early 30s who has lived neither easily nor poorly. His looks follow suit, offering nothing striking in a homely or handsome way to recommend them: his face is gently rounded and a little long, with trim, black eyebrows framing clear eyes. His chin is present but not remarkable, and largely hidden behind a well-maintained, salt-and-pepper circle beard. Hints of an ethnic mix that's not easy to pinpoint abound, and his European ancestry can't obscure subtle, Eastern influences: a darker tint to his skin, narrowed eyes, and a slender nose that flattens out. His black hair might be wavey if it were allowed to get beyond the close, side-clipped cut he prefers, and it has a tendency to stick up in numerous directions until smoothed back. Belying the modesty of his looks are his movements: remarkable grace and deftness marking almost everything he does. The scent of sandalwood lingers around him.
His clothes are travel worn but clean. He wears a much-loved, black, bomber-style, leather jacket that is covered with patches for numerous music bands, most of whose prime ended in the 1980s. A few slogans are apparent as well (one shoulder declares, "Question Authority!" in bold blue and white), and on the back, a large and sloppy Anarchy A has been sewn in with crimson thread. His dark blue, denim pants are frayed at the ankles and almost completely hide scuffed but solid, brown, combat boots. A grey woven hoodie of Corona extraction keeps him warm under the jacket, and beneath that the edges of a dark red shirt are barely visible. On his right hand is a bracelet of round, mixed beads, spaced with hand-coiled silver findings: abalone, labradorite, and smokey quartz.
Carrying:
Mysterious Sealed Box
Shoulderbag

Djehuti is pacing, a bit, though just now he's paused by the door to the kitchen. "Like that, yes. But it's both magical and genetic, because in normal genetics, the problematic DNA aren't nearly so accurate or consistent as the creation of metis is. Metis -- Sorry, the word for child of two Garou." He snorts in quietly exhaled laughter, but it's not very amused. "Most tribes are quite prejudiced against them. I recommend most cubs simply smile and nod in the background, on /that/ subject. As for what happens to people who break the rules -- In general, it varies from a stern talking to, to death. With the case of a breaking of the first law, it varies from stripping them of rank in lenient cases, to exile (often along with branding), to death."

There's the sound of a motorcycle out on the road leading up to the house, which fades as it goes around and parks in the lee of the garage. Presently, the backdoor opens and shuts, and Tim emerges from the hall. He looks reasonably upbeat, and upon spying Djehuti and his uest, he even smiles. "Hey. I got your message, about our new arrival. This..." He pauses at the threshhold to the living room and peers at Izzy. "Ah, him?" He doesn't look certain in his decision to use 'him' but seems inclined to stick with it.

Izzy winces, making another note, then looks up, head tilted. "Wait, magical? So magic's real too? Is there anything that people talk about that isn't? Like... is there seriously aliens and time travel, too?" Oddly hopeful tone to that question. Tim's entrance is a distraction, though, and the cub looks over with a hint of wariness that dissolves at the implication that he's supposed to be there and knows more or less what's going on and results in a reasonably cheerful, "Hello!"

"Tim, Izzy, Izzy, Tim," Djehuti says. Evidently, it's manners first, /then/ questions. "I mentioned him before. He's the Adren. This is indeed Izzy, Tim. Fine specimen of a cub, all things considered." At her question, Djehuti laughs, a richer sound than before, with much more humor. "What, changing into a werewolf isn't proof there's magic in the world? Tim, perhaps show Izzy your disappearing act? It's more impressive than any of the Gifts I have."

"Time travel? Well there's stories..." Tim abandons the notion of telling one at Djehuti's suggestion, and nods. There's a sense of concentration about him, like he's far more attention to what he's doing--which is nothing, he's just standing there--and then, he's not. Where he was standing, there's just the hallway, and it's almost hard to be sure he was even there seconds ago, like the mind wants to just not worry about it.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Tim," Izzy says, and looks somewhat excited about the potential time travel thing. And a little embarrassed at being called a fine specimen. "...Thank you. And I just thought, y'know, caterpillars turn into butterflies and that's not magic. Though I guess they don't usually also turn back very often--" And then Tim's disappeared. The cub's eyes widen, and the hallway gets a very close, suspicious eyeing. "...whoa. Can you do that? Can we all?"

Djehuti is watching Izzy's reaction with some evident eagerness. Her reaction seems to satisfy him, as he subsides into mostly calm-and-even. "Alas, no. He is a Ragabash, you see. The Gifts of the various auspices fit their roles in the community; his Gifts, for the most part, make him a more effective scout and questioner. Our gifts, in general, make us more effective discerners of the truth and, as well, help us to bolster and encourage others."

Tim reappears in much the same way he disappeared: with a suggestion he was actually there, and you'd just not noticed him in all the other things going on (no matter how few they are). "Actually, that's also a Gift from Owl, so I could teach it to either of you, if you're ready to learn it." He asides to Izzy, "You're not," in case that wasn't obvious. "Halfmoon, then?" Though he's watching the cub, the question seems directed at Djehuti.

Izzy looks a bit disappointed at the 'no' answer, though the explanation apperas to make sense. But hey, a possible 'later'! That's good enough. The cub is sitting on one of the couches, back against the armrest and legs extended along the cushions. The coat's on the armrest, satchel on the ground by the shoes. Tim gets a nod, for all that the question was directed to Djehuti.

Owen
This is a large if unremarkable man, apparently in his thirties. His face is rather plain outside of a scar that runs down his left eye, just barely leaving his sight intact. His hair has been shaved completely, but the beard and moustache he now sports are blonde. At least 6'8" and thick-boned, his build is a heavily muscled 320 lbs, giving him a rather wide stance. He walks stiffly as though constantly at attention. He wears only simple, almost Spartan, clothing: A faded Motorhead t-shirt, jeans, heavy boots, and a jacket that seems a couple sizes too big. Overall he looks a little on the worn side, yet in his cold blue eyes and in his stance there is a pride, an almost commanding presence of someone who is quite sure of himself. At any time that he is not wearing the jacket, a pair of iron vambraces in the form of serpents coiling around his upper arms can be seen and, should he not be wearing a shirt, a pattern of scars suspiciously looking like a bite from something very big can be seen circling around his chest, abdomen, and back, as well as a patch of scars on his lower abdomen.

Djehuti also nods at Tim. "Philodox indeed. I'm going to have an entertaining couple of months." Then he adds, "Love to. I'll come find you sometime, about it." Then he paces over toward the mudroom. "So. Next one, or do we have any questions still on the floor I've missed?"

Owen can be heard stomping the mud off his boots just outside the back door just prior to coming inside via the kitchen. Said boots remain by the back door as he makes his way across the room to the fridge, looking only briefly about at who may be here (a short nod to Tim should he be visible at the time) before going for a beer-dive.

Tim nods a hello to Owen as he comes in, then adds, "Don't worry, there's plenty of others things we'll teach you in the mean time," for Izzy's benefit. He moves into the living room proper and takes a seat on a different couch, relaxing. "The Litany, eh?"

Izzy nods to Tim again. "We've only done one so far, the Garou shall not mate with Garou one. And... yeah, I think I've pretty much got that one. Um. I can ask more questions later if I think of them, right? 'cause if so I think yeah, we can go on." The cub watches Owen sidelong as the huge guy passes through, but doesn't say anything to him as yet.

Djehuti trails toward the door to the kitchen, and brightens somewhat as he sees who it is. Giving him a nod, Djehuti remains there, and looks back to Izzy with a grin that's soon gone. "Believe you me, I do not ever mind questions. Or rather, I will tell you if I am having issues with questions at that current moment, but I cannot think of a time where I would actively deny you the right, either then or later. And, I'm sorry I'm being quite so literal minded, but with most cubs, they're far more confused than you, and making sure to set solid groundrules that I don't break -- and not make promises I can't keep -- is the way to go." He stops to think, murmurs, "Litany, yes," to Tim, and goes on, in that same cadence where he separates each word, but still makes the phrase a sentence, "Combat the Wyrm Where It Dwells and Whenever It Breeds." Relaxing a touch, he says, "Which, as I have said before, does not /only/ mean beating up monsters."

Owen stands up back out of the fridge, victorious. He stares at the beer bottle for a moment even as he closes the fridge's door, eyes the cap, then just pries it open with his fingers with a faint 'pop'. He moves over to join the rest, gining another nod the Gjehuti before peering down at the cub, wearing a frown of sort that really hasn't changed since he walked in.

Tim advises Owen, "She's new," making it sound like an explanation. "As in, days new." He adds, to Djehuti's comment on the law, "There's something to be said for picking your fights, though. Sure, some places are pretty bad, but you don't just toss yourself at them because the law says so. That's suicide, and you can't keep the law if you're dead."

"It's okay, you're clear and I like that. Anyway it's better to say what you actually mean about stuff like that than have misunderstandings and stuff." Izzy didn't protest or register any problem with Tim using 'him' earlier, and doesn't about the 'she', either. Owen's frown is a bit unnerving, however. The cub deals with it (more or less) by greeting him with, "Evening, sir," and then looking back to Tim and Djehuti. "So wherever it dwells and breeds, but maybe not immediately? It's more important to be pretty sure you'll win at whatever so you can fight other things later also? 'cause that makes sense to me, but...I mean, =technically= that might not be whenever it breeds."

Djehuti shrugs. "The strictness on that differs. And you'll find, with our tribe in particular, that we have to do a lot of reconnointering and coming back to deal with an issue later. For we are sometimes traveling alone, and unable to address an issue, and come back with others to focus on it years later. And," he adds, that smile creasing the wrinkles around his eyes, "Most commenters consider the 'whenever it breeds' to be an elaborate reinforcement of the first clause."

Owen seems to wait, perhaps, until after Djehuti has spoken, but when he has, all the Get does is suck on a tooth before moving further into the living room, apparently looking to check on the status of the fire in the fireplace.

Tim snorts, looking amused at Djehuti's tie-in to the first law. "Now there's one I've got to use at the next Moot."

Djehuti peers at the time. Well, I have to go. Do you mind if we just fade, or were you going to stick around, Owen?
Tim: I am fine with either, though I need to scoot as well.
Izzy is okay with fading, if you're all heading bedward. I assume we'll pick up the teaching later?
Tim: I am down with whichever. Maybe they all god a case of the tired!
Djehuti: Definitely of definiteness.
Owen: That's cool. Owen was just moving to set up a little spot on the floor to meditate for a while. :P
Owen: Byt the fire.
Djehuti oks. Thank you.