Dog runns across the Bawn to the Cave, His Eyes are wide as he looks around waiting for instruction.
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{{ OOC: Ladies and gentlemen, what will follow here on this thread is called a moot. This is a grand gathering of the garou of the Sept. For those familiar with vampire, consider it like an all day court...| moot is a very very important part of garou society and taking part in one is not only WORTH renown...NOT attending a moot is cause for loss of renown. There are many and varied roles durinng the moot and being in one of those roles is often sought after. So, we'll get this started and let's have some fun...}}
There is a serene calm to the campground this early afternoon. Perhaps like any other, but now decidedly poignant. Less than a week ago the garou fought as one and awakened this place of power. Thunders Tempest howls out into the air, a call for gathering..."Sept...come for moot...Caern Heart..." As she moves towards the cave entrance, she pauses a few times to spring any remaining traps...Donovan Meris passes by and nods to her, moving towards the cave entrace.
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Dog runns across the Bawn to the Cave, His Eyes are wide as he looks around waiting for instruction.
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn Is to love, and be loved in return." The Violen
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Samara stands, ready to follow her pack into the cearn.
Jolene Wallace Rep = 10 - Layla Amenhotep Rep = 6 - Catalina Dragos - Aislin O'Rothlin
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Zole comes running up in his wolf form making sure to spot any traps along the way. Whatever traps he happens to see he will disable to help. When he gets to the cave he awaits further instruction.
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Tala leads the Dark Riders to the Caern Heart, ready to take part in the festivities.
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Pitre follows Tala and Samara. He still hasn't spoken much since the battle. Probably still weighing the decisions of the past week in his mind, he nearly trips over a downed tree branch once before snapping out of it and paying a marginally closer attention.
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ayven ambled up his ever present cig hanging from the corner of his mouth he watched in silence as the others showed as well along his face the skin was pocked and would tell of the trauma of that day for the rest of his life his arm was still fresh with the large Y scar where the tail of the beast had almost torn bicep from bone.
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Hearing the call, Ran rises from his daily meditations. He makes his way to the heart of the cairn, a small mantra to gaia, and the spirits of the sept, being reverently intoned under his breath as he finds a place to sit.
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Shadow walks beside Tala as they come to moot, he is deep in thought, his wrinkled eyes taking in all he sees as if weighing each person and each thought carefully before moving to the next step.
It takes a thousand voices to tell a single story. Native American saying.
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