Post by opossum on Sept 22, 2013 18:13:44 GMT -8
The Self made widow's pack encampment lies alone, and unused. Objects strewn about depicting the lives the lived, the people that thought and felt and rejoiced together as Sisters and brother's. Four distinct area's lie await to be packed up and moved to make the territory available for those who are to come into the future.
Pots, pans, some ruined by burnt food-stuffs carelessly left and replaced. The obvious sign of an Individual who's cooking skills aren't quite upto par at all.
A scent marking from a woman no longer present, territorially protective of their kin and friends alike.
The smell of pups and their mother rests, left to smell of dirt and earth once more.
The heavier, more primal scent of a male who derived power and being from his very presence.
The small tents and living spaces, strewn with belongings and objects that tell many stories of their own.
Though through Mary's tent, there lies a rolled up bed-spread. Clothes neatly folded. A last moment of calm before she knew true war was to transpire. A labrys, mighty, sharp, and beautiful; sits alone atop a small table within the diminutive tent. Atop it, placed a small black notebook, a black book-mark hanging loosely from it, and it's elastic closer left wrapped about.
Peering within notes that the small hand-sized booklet is a diary, or notebook. Belonging to one: Erik 'Flys off the handle' Alden.
Beneath it, is written the name," Runs with Honor." In a rather badly written but still readable penmanship.
Dates recorded on further pages:
" 5/4/13, found 3 dead, ranger bodies in woods. Killed by william, elder Get. 5/17/13, two Get of Fenris died tonight. Alvis and nicolace.......a black fury by the name of Andrestria. 6/1/13, My rage is getting out of control. I need to get a handle on it before someone is killed. 6/5/13, War. War is coming, and no one is doing anything about it. I'm prepping for the worst as best I can, but there's only so much that I can do. "
The following pages are a mish-mosh of information, lists of deaths, that are then crossed off again due to individuals surviving their encounters. A list of fetishes and information derived of them, tales of spirits that wish to be spoken to for gifts of power. A listing of invidiuals in the owner's pack.
Descriptions of the owners pack mates.
Layla, Arhoun. Feona. Homid, while she is my alpha, she is the most rage filled of the pack. She's been slipping since she lost her mate and kid.
Rainsinger, Galliard. Feona. Lupis. Full of heart, but a little bit nieve, loyal through and through though. I appreciate that.
Teapot, ragabash. Glasswalker, metis. Teapot's really odd. Multiple personalities and ancestors, but very loyal to friends. Teapot's great when he's not in your head giving you bad ideas.
Frank " Harvests the tainted Prey", Ahroun. Glasswalker, homid. From is loud and out there, and is heart and initiative are in the right place.
Lux " Breath of life", theurge. CHild of gaia, metis. The most level headed of us all.
The pages continue. Small gestures or reasons for certain actions. Obviously, hope seems to be a loosing battle on later pages. One particular statement sums up the author's feelings," The caern. it's weak, and none of the packs really work together. No one communicates."
The pages get even harder to read about 30 pages in, before finally they stop.
New penmanship takes it's place. With only two entries to count.
" I'm not sure what the date is. I don't keep track of it. Erik has given me his little black book to make use of it. He just smilled at me and said ' I wont need this anymore'. It filled me with a sadness that I couldn't quite hold. I kept to my tent encampment for the remainder of the night to console myself. Oddly, this man is probably one of the few I consider a friend... I'll think on this more. "
The second reads:
" Three black furies, sat upon the windowsill, where garou fought and warred and willed.
Their passions burned bright, and then there were two, a shadow-lord and Redtalon helped them through.
Soon, one fury stood taller than she should have, and asked for fate's guiding hand.
The fate's themselves heard this plea, and treated this woman like family. The Maiden, The Mother, The Crone, all true. Showed the fury who she was, one and true.
Bent twice, and rewoven, her string was thinned but not broken. Her time grew short, this she knew, for watchful eyes of careless hate, were all that awaited at the following gate.
Of these trials that I am to face, coming to terms with death is what I fear most, but when I grasped that axe, I truly knew what my life was, and what I had to do. With my final words, I leave you now. Whoever reads upon this page, make sure you learn of the world's mistakes. "
The rest of the book remains blank, pages never used or written upon.
Pots, pans, some ruined by burnt food-stuffs carelessly left and replaced. The obvious sign of an Individual who's cooking skills aren't quite upto par at all.
A scent marking from a woman no longer present, territorially protective of their kin and friends alike.
The smell of pups and their mother rests, left to smell of dirt and earth once more.
The heavier, more primal scent of a male who derived power and being from his very presence.
The small tents and living spaces, strewn with belongings and objects that tell many stories of their own.
Though through Mary's tent, there lies a rolled up bed-spread. Clothes neatly folded. A last moment of calm before she knew true war was to transpire. A labrys, mighty, sharp, and beautiful; sits alone atop a small table within the diminutive tent. Atop it, placed a small black notebook, a black book-mark hanging loosely from it, and it's elastic closer left wrapped about.
Peering within notes that the small hand-sized booklet is a diary, or notebook. Belonging to one: Erik 'Flys off the handle' Alden.
Beneath it, is written the name," Runs with Honor." In a rather badly written but still readable penmanship.
Dates recorded on further pages:
" 5/4/13, found 3 dead, ranger bodies in woods. Killed by william, elder Get. 5/17/13, two Get of Fenris died tonight. Alvis and nicolace.......a black fury by the name of Andrestria. 6/1/13, My rage is getting out of control. I need to get a handle on it before someone is killed. 6/5/13, War. War is coming, and no one is doing anything about it. I'm prepping for the worst as best I can, but there's only so much that I can do. "
The following pages are a mish-mosh of information, lists of deaths, that are then crossed off again due to individuals surviving their encounters. A list of fetishes and information derived of them, tales of spirits that wish to be spoken to for gifts of power. A listing of invidiuals in the owner's pack.
Descriptions of the owners pack mates.
Layla, Arhoun. Feona. Homid, while she is my alpha, she is the most rage filled of the pack. She's been slipping since she lost her mate and kid.
Rainsinger, Galliard. Feona. Lupis. Full of heart, but a little bit nieve, loyal through and through though. I appreciate that.
Teapot, ragabash. Glasswalker, metis. Teapot's really odd. Multiple personalities and ancestors, but very loyal to friends. Teapot's great when he's not in your head giving you bad ideas.
Frank " Harvests the tainted Prey", Ahroun. Glasswalker, homid. From is loud and out there, and is heart and initiative are in the right place.
Lux " Breath of life", theurge. CHild of gaia, metis. The most level headed of us all.
The pages continue. Small gestures or reasons for certain actions. Obviously, hope seems to be a loosing battle on later pages. One particular statement sums up the author's feelings," The caern. it's weak, and none of the packs really work together. No one communicates."
The pages get even harder to read about 30 pages in, before finally they stop.
New penmanship takes it's place. With only two entries to count.
" I'm not sure what the date is. I don't keep track of it. Erik has given me his little black book to make use of it. He just smilled at me and said ' I wont need this anymore'. It filled me with a sadness that I couldn't quite hold. I kept to my tent encampment for the remainder of the night to console myself. Oddly, this man is probably one of the few I consider a friend... I'll think on this more. "
The second reads:
" Three black furies, sat upon the windowsill, where garou fought and warred and willed.
Their passions burned bright, and then there were two, a shadow-lord and Redtalon helped them through.
Soon, one fury stood taller than she should have, and asked for fate's guiding hand.
The fate's themselves heard this plea, and treated this woman like family. The Maiden, The Mother, The Crone, all true. Showed the fury who she was, one and true.
Bent twice, and rewoven, her string was thinned but not broken. Her time grew short, this she knew, for watchful eyes of careless hate, were all that awaited at the following gate.
Of these trials that I am to face, coming to terms with death is what I fear most, but when I grasped that axe, I truly knew what my life was, and what I had to do. With my final words, I leave you now. Whoever reads upon this page, make sure you learn of the world's mistakes. "
The rest of the book remains blank, pages never used or written upon.
