Talking with the self - January 9th - The Umbral Bawn

[DerekCase]

Darien sat a little ways away from the fire spirit, watching the spirits bounce about the bawn. He smiled to himself at how happy everything was at the caern. No matter how much blood is shed in this endless war, the spirits of love, wind, fire, wyld and so many others were always flitting about so merrily. Here nothing could do them, not in this caern, not with us watching them. Still, as an avatar of fenris came to sit with him, he couldn't help but lose his smile.
"Just one minute's peace." He growled, forgoing respect. He had enough wisdom to sacrifice a bit. Besides, this petty avatar couldn't harm him. "That's all I ask. I've done my job. Ask Aramidicles, (the war-spirit bound to his right sword) he's tasted enough blood to satisfy all the leeches in Louisville and more. Allow me a moments rest."
The war totem, appearing as a well-muscled winter wolf, shivered in anger but stayed calm enough. "You will watch your tongue." He snarled. "I've not come to bid your sword to cull some wyrm-beast, neither have I come to warn of some ill tidings. Leave those things to the sniveling peaceniks. You sound like a Child of Gaia."
Fights dropped his head, pulling up his knees. He made a strange picture, a giant of a man next to a giant of a wolf. "It bothers me this fighting, Fenris. I've bled oceans of blood in Gaia's name, taken the live's of the most defenseless and pathetic of fomori. I've had to slay the corrupt while they begged for their live's in unimaginable pain. I've never even met Gaia!" He chuckled cynically at the thought. "The war continues, despite the bodies of leeches, fomori, and black spirals I've left strewn across the Tellurian. The war continues. I haven't made a dent, Fenris. I haven't touched to source. More banes make more banes make more fomori. More leeches pop up, more skyscrapers pile higher. Nothing stops, no matter how much you kill, no matter how many swaths you cut down. There is no rest. Sometimes I feel like a tool, ineffective. I can't heal this hole in Gaia. I can't permanently slay these banes. I can't heal the wyrm's or the weaver's sickness. I'm a tool. No more than the swords in my hands."
Fenris stood nodding his head silently. At Darien's pause, Fenris reeled his head back, growing in power as more of the greater incarna he represented came into him, and let loose a great roaring howl that shook Darien's bones. Darien was not afraid, but could feel the sheer power in that voice. All the spirits about them ran, even the fire before them. Soon the bawn grew silent save for their individual breathing. The great white wolf before him grew into a man, powerful in every feature, Fenris himself. Staring into each other's faces, they could have been brothers. "Tell no one I told you this, He-Who-Fights-Like-A-Homid. You are one of my most worthy of children, strong and brave in the face of death but in control despite the power of your own rage. I felt this way often in my mortal days. There is a great pain we ahroun face quite different than that of the flesh. You as my spawn know that no bodily torment can stop the heart of a true Garou, but this challenge is beyond so many of us. I thought to myself often in my youth of the imbalance among the auspices. Ahroun are asked to be the executioners of the Garou. We shed blood endlessly, judge more often the value of life than any philodox, know more intimately the soul of these slain spirits than any theurge, know the limits of our strength, our inadequacy better than any ragabash, and yet are still forced to move on. Raise again our swords, shrug off our pain and give up our lives in service to a seemingly fruitless cause, yet we do, we continue. It's because of that that we are better, more than any other. We hold the right to Gaia's embrace more so than any other. We are the proud warriors of Gaia, and we cannot forget that. In the end, it will be our strength, the might of all my children, all of Gaia's truest warriors that will decide this war. You cannot quit, cannot rest. I will not abide it. I, myself, will kill you should you drop this battle, should you let yourself fail."
With that Fenris became again that great, powerful wolf and disappeared into the umbra, leaving Darien to his thoughts. Fights stood, shifted to hispo and galloped off into the distance. He had things to do.

[Mr Speaks]

Many Glade children danced merrily and tended to their material bodies. The large trees along with the smaller new growth's. One Glade Child though stood apart from the other, though completely un-noticed. It wasn't likely that any would notice this child, even though it had no tree, no bush, no connection at all.

This Child had sat among the others and watched Darien as he mourned. This Child had danced with others to cheer him, but had stopped when the Incarna came. None had noticed the Child acting of it's own initiative. And from the tree's, behind an oak that wasn't his, this Child watched Fenris speak to Darien.

And as Darien stood and left the spiritual flame, a shiver ran through this Child's body. Of fear perhaps, maybe of sadness. A shiver nonetheless.

And for long moments the Child stood, waiting for Darien to return. Lost in thought time past and the Child stood unaware. Until long past the event, the Child strided from the tree's and approached the fire spirit unafraid.

Gently the Child grew taller, it's color lightened and it's leaf thinned. Hair emerged and muscles threaded along it's arms and legs. It's height grew, doubled, tripled until a man stood in it's place.

The man stared at space around him. Then a flicker of angry crossing his face, he suddenly burst upwards even more. In a blink of an eye, fur burst from every inch of him. A muzzle from his face, and claws from his hands. He grew as tall as the mighty trees around him and he began to move. His feet and hands danced out a dance of his people. A dance of mourning.

And this man through back his head, and in a mockery of the Garou he had grown to love he howled the best he could. He howled their howl of mourning.

The spirits all stopped and stared. Surprised by these two ancient displays being let out together. The spirits crowded the man, and joined him. The strength of his mourning made them mourn, strongly. For even in the material world the campfire flicker violently and the tree's creaked. A wild wind blew about, nature seemed to hurt around this sacred place.

Raise a cry, for He-Who-Fights-Like-a-Homid. He who must never stand still.