To Be Garou

The longer he spent in the realm of the Silver Fangs, the more disappointed Rends the Gar grew. Sure the fields were rich with cotton where the cattle weren't grazing contentedly. The mansions and estates of the grounds had a rich feel, they stood stately and gleaming white in the picturesque spring light. Well dressed Silver Fangs and Shadow Lords in suits and dresses went to and fro, attending to the day's business in a stately and calm manner.

It made Rends sick to his stomach.

You'd think they weren't a war goin' on. You'd think you could beat the Wyrm by jest sittin' and waitin' fer it to come to you...

Shaking his head as he emerged from the pack's cabin, Rends doffed his hat and headed off to the sparring grounds to get a morning workout in. There were a few Fianna already there, wrestling or trading quick flurries with various blades and clubs. Feeling like trying something new, Rends walked over to a weapons rack and picked a sword off the rack. The sword was nearly as tall as him, but even in Homid he handled it deftly with a few test swings. Shifting into Crinos, Rends took it in two hands and went through a few practice cuts, whirling the blade in continuous motion; letting it whistle through the air. For a few minutes he tried to lose himself in the motions of fighting, but something just felt off. The air was too thick here, the grass too green. He let out a snarl, coming to a stop and staring at the sword in his hands. The blade was long and wide, it shone and glimmered in the light. It was dented and scratched, but there were no signs of real usage on it. This was a blade that had never spilled blood in earnest.

Jest like this Sept, it seems. At least not since the Ravenous Ghost...

Disgusted, Rends returned the sword to its rack and instead drew out the Dreamknife and Ribcage, their weight a familiar comfort in his hands. Stomping past the Fianna to a more open part of the sparring ground, Rends closed his eyes for a moment to settle himself, then took a breath and flowed into a series of whirling strikes and stabs. It was the gentle cousin of his Rage driven martial art. Ribcare flew in a deadly arc, careening through the air with all the grace of an arrow in flight but the power of the Great Wolf guiding it ever. Quick and sure, the Dreamknife split the air and clove between unseen plates of armor, into unprotected eyes and open maws. Rends managed to lose himself in the familiar motions for a time, finding solace and refreshment; the motions reminding him of his place in the world.

Heaving out a final breath, Rends let Ribcage fall to the ground as he drove the Dreamknife forward, through the eye of an unseen foe before him, opening his eyes, he saw that he'd gained a small audience.

"Shoulda told me I'd be performin'. Coulda sold tickets." He said with a chuckle.

"Indeed." Red Hand stood nearby, a long knife of glittering black metal whirling idly in his well-manicured hands. Rends could feel the younger Ahroun sizing him up, assessing him for any and all strengths or weaknesses.

"Your choice of weapons and style represent an interesting dichotomy, Rends-the-Gar. Bludgeoning brutality coupled with deadly grace. I have heard much of the prowess of the Fenrir, but have had little opportunity to see it in action."

The White Ash's Wyrmfoe was a lean man with dark features, his otherwise fine attire covered in a veneer of dust. The knife spun, flipped and pirouetted, and Rends realized it was crafted of glass the color of jet, its edge honed sharper than a straight razor.

"Care for a bit of practice? A little blood is fine, but I would ask that no gifts were to be used in our friendly challenge." The Shadow Lord's eyes glittered and he licked his lips, his eagerness apparent.

Rends sizes up the well dressed Shaow Lord, then waved him forward.

"Let's see what ya got. Ain't no better way to start the day than with a good spar."

As Red Hand shifted into Crinos, Rends stashed away Ribcage and gripped the Dreamknife with his thumb resting on the back of the blade. He and Red Hand raised their blades to each other in salute. Dancing back and forth on the balls of his feet, the White Ash's Wyrmfoe swung and lunged in place. Whether limbering himself up or trying to distract him Rends didn't know. In response Rends planted his feet firmly, raising his left hand up and holding it open. They faced each other for a moment, Red Hand slowly starting to circle around to the left of the larger Get. Rends remained still as a stone, keeping his stance.

With a snarl, Red Hand darted forwards and shot the knife forwards towards Rends' face. It only took a small adjustment to block the attack, and Rends made it almost without thinking. His left elbow caught Red Hand just above the wrist and arrested the attack. With another snarl, Red Hand surged forward and caught Rends in the ribs with his knee, driving all his weight behind the attack. Rends caughed with surprise and pain. One of his ribs had never healed quite right after being broken, and Red Hand had delivered a savage blow directly onto it. The Wyrmfoe strained against him for leverage, seeking to drive his advantage home.

Instead he went flying backwards flipping through the air when Rends gave him a mighty shove. Landing on his feet he hesistated before resuming the fight, seeking his senior's approval. Rends wiped the blood he'd coughed up from his lips, surprised to find it there. Then he smiled. And he laughed. He looked up at the Shadow Lord, giving him a nod. Then Rends raised up his knife and strode forward with a hungry gleam in his eye.

Rather than backing down or darting to a flank, Red Hand sprung forward. Quick as a snake bite the obsidian knife flashed forward, cutting the air and little more. Fast as he was he could not match the Get. Each time he lunged or slashed Rends slapped the blade away with his open hand. He scored some small scratches, but they did nothing to slow Rends' counter attack and the Shadow Lord found himself shifting from furious attack to desperate defense in the space of a heartbeat. The Dreamknife tasted his blood, scoring a long scratch along his arm, then again on his chest. Now off balance, Red Hand ducked low, then lunged forward again, seeking to scare the Get back with the thought of a knife in Rends' bad rib and stagger him again. Rather than dodging though, Rends stepped forwards too and took the hit, slamming his left arm against his own side, pinning the Wyrmfoe's hand and minimizing the damage from his attack. Red Hand felt a chill, despite the warm sun on his face.

With practiced efficiency, Rends slammed his knee into his foe. Red Hand desperately yanked and clawed in an effort to get free as the air exploded out of him, but Rends dropped his knife and grabbed Wyrmfoe's other hand mid swing, smashing his head down onto the bridge of Red Hand's face hard enough to daze him. Rends moved into his next attack, but before he could Red Hand coughed out a surrender. Rends released him, both catching their breath for a moment before Rends gathered their dropped weapons and returned Red Hand's blade handle first.

"Not bad. Ain't often I find someone what can give me a good showing with knives. We need more Garou like you out on the field doing real work."

Red Hand took the blade, grunting his thanks. "I should habe known bedder than to eben mock-challenge a Get." His words were nasal and distorted, and he frowned, probing his injured face gingerly before he grasping just between his eyes and straightening his fractured nosebridge with a small straining pop.

"That was, ah, illuminating, yes. You acquit yourself well. I have little doubt you will best your foe in Houston."

Red Hand shrank into his homid form, dabbing at the twin lines of crimson that leaked from his nose.

"I feel compelled to ask- why are you here? The others of your tribe are carving out domains in the west or spilling blood in the water off the coast, but you lead your ragtag followers here... or at least, you allowed Mocks-the-Night and Illiana to bring you here. I think I know what those two have in mind, and I thought I had your measure also, but now, I am not so sure."

Rends chuckles as he sheds the war skin, adjusting his Ranger hat to block the larger part of the sun's rays.

"Well I've gotten some practice in lately; we did jest get back from a Fenrir moot and I spent a good time in the Honor Pits."

He pauses for a moment, considering the question and its implications.

"You could say that I'm here to support my pack and help the Shadow Lords and Silver Fangs get their houses in order. They's also the question of Houston. We knew we'd end up there sooner or later fer a while now, and we got scores to settle there. But that ain't really what you wanna know is it?"

He narrows his eyes, taking renewed measure of the Fostern.

"I reckon it all goes to the difference between our Tribes. Get can never be content to sit quiet at home and work behind the scenes. We's always lookin' fer new lands to take or new foes to best. That's what Robert's war is all about. He's under the impression that the only Wyrm shit worth killin' is out there in the desert under Uktena holdings. That's where he and I come to a difference of opinion."

Rends motions out and around them, to the Caern as a whole.

"Roaring Jack died thinking that before we can go out and conquor new lands we need to make sure we have a firm hold on what we have. He had this place in mind, particularly, and sent my pack here to help in whatever way we could. He may have died before we set out, but I gave my word and I honor my word. I reckon if Robert really knew what we's afraid we'll find in Houston he wouldn't be so eager to push out West quite yet. But he's been blinded, sitting safe in Breakwater with his Warpacks around him champing at the bit fer some blood. I want to help clean this place up, and make a start at least in Houston, but I also want to make sure the rest of the Nation knows where we need to be focusing our efforts. I want the Get to know they can't jest listen to the Rage inside them. Conquest is worthless if you lose home while you're away."

"Your offer of support is very helpful, and one of the wisest things Nightclaw ever did was take you up on your offer." Red Hand smiled, his disdain evident in the curl of his lips. "While I do not think we are in danger of losing our Caern, we are not in a position to be as aggressive as you or Roaring Jack may have wished, not yet."

The younger werewolf looked away from Rends, his gaze drawn inexorably to the south, where the lazily winding Buffalo Bayou disappeared into the wooded hills.

"We have an opportunity with you here. I want you to know that if and when you Coyotes return, we should certainly consider what steps need to be taken in order to facilitate a change in leadership- one that will be unafraid to slay the mockeries that dwell in the capital."

Rends strokes his chin, considering.

"If we have our way, the Silver Fangs will be back in charge. Rawest Wind is the rightful king here, and we ain't got no plans to put an imposter on his throne. We's got a couple ideas fer how to bring him back from Harano. Now don't give me that look, we's done it before and we can do it again."

He chuckled at the Shadow Lord's expression before becoming serious again.

"I know that ain't what you wanted to hear though. Rest assured, I got a couple ideas fer what to do with you. Nothing's set in stone yet, but our business in Houston will have a lot to say about it. If things happen how I want them to, you'll be in a position to affect real change not only in Houston, but throughout the Republic."

Rends gives him a knowing look.

"It'll be good to have a friend in a position like that. I imagine we could get a lot done. I wanna be clear though: the Silver Fangs rule the White Ash. We's doing everything with that in mind as our ultimate goal. Besides, wouldn't it be nice having a grateful King backing us up?"

A look of disappointment flickers across Red Hand's face before he recovers. "Of course. I only meant that Rawest Wind may need a new Beta when the dust settles. I think I would be a better executor than Hard Rain or Brave-in-War. I did not mean to imply an overthrow of our King..." The Shadow Lord arched an eyebrow and cracked a small grin. "Though I am surprised you of all people would still support Rawest Wind, given his present condition."

The Shadow Lord leaned in, taking a tone of confidence with Rends. "There are some here who fear that the Galveston Fenrir would stage a coup, or that the Sicarii would even assassinate the elder, should they deem him unfit."

Drawing back, Red Hand paced a few short steps as he continued: "I am glad that you do not seem quite so interested in conquest as your brothers and sisters; could you go into more detail regarding these changes on the horizon?" Rend Hand pointed at Rends, a note of excitement creeping into his carefully measured voice. "You have a reputation as movers and shakers- I hope you do not begrudge me for wanting to get a piece of the action."

An odd look passes over Rends' face for a moment, memories clouding his eyes.

"I've heard the Music of Oblivion. I've tasted Harano, even if I ain't ever really bit into it. Don't be too eager to abandon them what lose sight of our mission and fall to despair. If despair never touches your heart, you can never really know joy. I reckon you can't really know what it is to lose everything until it's all gone. I wish I'd known that while Chief Bowl lived..."

Rends refocuses on the Fostern, fire rekindling in his eyes.

"That said I know strength ain't jest how hard you can kill someone. All across the Republic folk speak of the fallen King and ask how they can fight when our greatest leaders fall to despair. Well while Robert's wasting time out in the West, I plan on slapping some sense into our leaders. The Nation cannot succeed without strong leaders, folk who can unite us and lead us against the Wyrm when the End Times finally come. My tribe will be there at the front, leading the charge into Hell its self and on to victory. Before the end the Wyrm its self will know fear when it hears the howls and feels the claws of Great Fenris' brood. That strength will carry us through the war, but we need a different kind of strength to get us there. That's what the Silver Fangs, and only the Silver Fangs can give us. They've had their time to mourn the loss of their Queen-to-be. It's time to be Garou and get down to business."

Rends unclenched his fists, taking a breath and shaking his head as he adjusts his hat.

"I ain't worried about the Fenrir making a play jest yet. Robert's gotta at least put some time in out West makin' his war to avoid losin' face. After that, who knows? Maybe the Get will be due fer another change in leadership."

He gives a meaningful look before continuing.

"The Sicarii..."

He scowls; the word leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

"I reckon Mal's jest the type to stage a coup if he thinks it'll work with his plans. All the more reason to wake up Rawest Wind and take away any reason to remove him."

He shakes his head, face scrunched in a frown.

"Hell, I wish I could know what we had planned comin' up, but they's jest too much in the air. Seems this is jest how things go fer us. One thing at a time. First we deal with the Necromantis. If we survive that, we can decide on the rest dependin' where we stand then. Fer now, keep your ears to the ground and lemme know if anything interestin' pops up."