Tribe: Silver Fangs
SOCIETY AND CULTURE
North County Protectorate
The North County Protectorate is the Tribal Caern for the United States for all Silver Fangs. The traditional House seat of the Wyrmfoe Kings, the Sept of the North County has been a powerful caren for more than four centuries.
The Sept is lead by the living legend King Jonas Albrecht, bearer of the Silver Crown and wielder of the renowned Grand Klaive Solemn Lord. Before his abrupt umbral journey Lord Albrecht decreed that any Silver Fang in good standing may come to the Protectorate to negotiate, share tales, or conduct business. He appointed his steward, Ethan Morningkill Athro Ragabash of House wyrmfoe the point of contact for all such business.
Each of the known houses is allowed an emissary for open communication. Renowned for his efforts to bridge the gap between new world and old, Albrecht once and again put his words into actions. Each house’s emissary is listed below.
Unbreakable Hearth: Lady Anne Kennedy, “Moonlight’s Guidance” Adren Philidox Homid
House Gleaming Eye: Lord Byeli, Squire to the Sun Lodge for the Firebird Sept Athro Galliard Homid
House Austere Howl: Duke Richard Boswoth IV, “See’s the Hidden Way’s” Athro Gallard Homid
Clan Crescent Moon: Nightmane: Elder Theurge Lupus
House Blood-Red Crest: Grand Duke Chaitanha Chopra, Athro Theurge Lupus
House Wise Heart: Sheikh Zayed Al Nahyan, Adren Ahroun Homid
Other Prominent Silver Fang’s residing on the Caren
Chases-Street Demons, Elder Lupus Ahroun Wielder of The Twin Swords of Lothair
Andrew Morningkill, Cliath Gallard of House Wyrmfoe. Descendant of the great Issac Morningkill
Elizabeth Lenin Elder Gallard, Eldest Gallard of the Silver Fangs "Winters Last Wisdom" Crescent Moon
Uriel Tracovsky Lenin Adren Gallard Silver Fang Crescent Moon Winter's last Wisdom's final student
The most pronounced feature of the Caern is the massive english oak in which the King’s throne is made from. The great tree is the caern heart and seat of power. Inscribed on the tree with claws is the mark of every King of House Wyrmfoe for the last 400 years, the most recent is that of King Albrecht himself. Beholding the throne bolster’s the resolve of every garou, it is a symbol of all that Gaia entrusted to the Alpha wolves.
Any Silver Fang who is in good standing and has not committed any dishonor in the last moon may travel freely to the Sept. It is guarded day and night, Umbral and Tellerium by the best of House Wyrmfoe and by more than a few of other houses.
Storytelling for this Caern is handled directly by the Tribe lead for the Silver Fangs in conjunction with the ANST Garou. If a PC wishes to visit, where no Story teller assistance is needed to Negotiate or have neutral ground they may freely do so.
This Sept is also a plot device for those PC’s wishing to do rank challenges who do not posses the proper garou locally. All such challenges will be handled by the office of the Tribe Lead Silver Fang in conjunction with the VST.
These Garou are quickly coming into their own power.
Pure breed 5 families
Honorable, Glorious and Wise Dead
The Gathering for the Departed for King Jonas Albrecht
As word of the funeral event went out, a great many members of the Garou Nation contacted the North Country Protectorate to make travel arrangements. A secretive network of spirits handled these communications, helping the Silver Fangs of the Sept of the North Country to manage attendance.
Most attendees traveled by moon bridges, sometimes routing through half a dozen caerns to arrive in the North Country Protectorate. Many of these connections were created solely for travelers to reach this event, requiring prerequisite agreements between septs around the world, many that had never previously been connected.
Some attendees made the trip by plane, flying in to local or semi-local airports. Financial assistance was provided for travel arrangements (first class) through the contacts in the Sept of the North Country. Security kinfolk dressed in business attire then chauffeured the attendees to the event using circuitous routes designed to evade tracking or pursuit.
A very small number came overland, particularly those Garou accustomed to using the Lupus form for travel. Chases-Street-Demons, an Elder Lupus Ahroun Silver Fang from the sept, personally stalked the wild places nearby, guiding such travelers in safely and quietly. She also made contact with those Garou who arrived at designated wilderness coordinates using their own moon bridges, bridges like those created by totem spirits for their packs who wished to travel even more discretely.
For those who wished to use Umbral travel for all or part of their journeys, a number of Moon Glow talens, created in the North Country Protectorate, were circulated to major caerns to help make these journeys safer.
Whatever the method of travel, the event coordinators planned some method to facilitate it with ease, comfort, and security. No player character should have had difficulties getting to or returning from this event.
Most of upstate New York is dominated by the huge Adirondack Park, the biggest park in the continental U.S. The North Country is bordered by Canada to the north, Vermont to the east, and Lake Ontario to the west. The St. Lawrence River divides the land from Canada, and is the setting for the spectacular Thousand Islands. Most of this stunningly beautiful land is filled with breathtaking forests, sparkling rivers, vast wilderness, and the tallest mountains in New York.
Through sagacious use of legislation at the end of the 19th Century, the “Forever Wild” statute preserved the natural character and beauty of the place. Lumber and mining dried up, leaving the place wild and free for tourists and Garou alike. The Adirondacks are well-populated with members of various tribes, each holding territories and pursuing their own agendas.
Somewhere within this vast territory, in southern Vermont, lies the Sept of the North Country, controlled by Silver Fangs of House Wyrmfoe. The bawn comprises the expansive Morningkill family estates. It is through this territory that attendees traveling by inter-caern moon bridges were escorted, from the heart of the caern, off of the bawn, to the distant wilderness area within the protectorate where the Gathering for the Departed would take place.
Most visitors were greeted by Ethan Morningkill, Athro Ragabash Silver Fang of House Wyrmfoe, and Steward of the Sept of the North Country. During the periods that Ethan Morningkill was occupied with other duties, visitors were greeted by Orel Tvarivich, Athro Ahroun Silver Fang of Clan Crescent Moon, and organizer of the event.
Other notable sept officials were the North Country’s emissaries for the Silver Fang Houses: Lady Anne Kennedy, Adren Philodox of House Unbreakable Hearth; Lord Byeli, Athro Galliard of House Gleaming Eye; Duke Richard Boswoth IV, Athro Galliard of House Austere Howl; Nightmane, Elder Theurge of Clan Crescent Moon; Grand Duke Chaitanha Chopra, Athro Theurge of House Blood-Red Crest; and Sheikh Zayed Al Nahyan, Adren Ahroun of House Wise Heart. These six served as hosts, attending to any special requests from the attendees.
When the ceremony began, Ethan Morningkill introduced the attending Silver Fang royals: Cyrus the Bald, Elder Ahroun and King of House Unbreakable Hearth; Tamara Tvarivich, Elder Theurge and Queen of Clan Crescent Moon; Calvin de Provence, Elder Galliard and King of House Gleaming Eye; and Mary Campbell, Athro Ahroun and Queen of House Austere Howl. He also introduced the high king’s packmates, Mari Cabrah, Elder Theurge Black Fury, and Evan Heals-the-Past, Fostern Philodox Wendigo.
Orel Tvarivich introduced the ritemaster, Anastasia Romanov, Fostern Galliard of House Wyrmfoe, who composed the tale of the High King’s passing and who lead the Gathering for the Departed.
Attendees were ushered to a secluded glen. Untouched by the ravages of civilization, Wyld energies were strong there and the gauntlet was low. The English Oaks standing sentinel at the edges each glen each bore a black cloth wrapped tightly about their trunks. Ornate gas lanterns hung from posts at various points in the clearing. There were no other decorations for the somber event.
Chairs, benches, and open areas were arranged for seating around a low rise in the center of the glen. Whatever form the attendees were most comfortable in, there seemed to be adequate amounts of appropriate seating.
Refreshments were provided. Oaken tables bore large bowls of various fruits, vegetables, and meats (some cooked, some raw). Platters of bread, baked in small loaves, were also available. And wooden cups stood in an elegant stack, waiting to dip fresh water out of the cool stream.
Silver Fang kinfolk, dressed in suits and wearing black armbands of mourning, hurried about. They guided attendees in, helped them find seating, directed them to the refreshments, and performed other services to see to the comfort of the Garou.
Attendees continued to arrive throughout the day. Some few, mostly Silver Fangs, made arrangements to come even earlier, relying upon the hospitality of the sept to house them overnight. As evening approached, the last of the attendees trickled in, using the light of the lanterns to greet their fellow Garou and find places for seating.
At the appointed hour, the kinfolk simultaneously turned down the lanterns. Ambient starlight cast a soft glow upon the gathering. At the edge of the glen, torches were lit. From that secluded area, a somber procession of torchbearers marched toward the center.
The march was led by four Silver Fangs carrying between them what appeared to be a casket, though it was too small for an adult body. These four were recognizable as the Silver Fang royals: Cyrus the Bald, Tamara Tvarivich, Calvin de Provence, and Mary Campbell. Trailing them with torches were Mari Cabrah, Ethan Morningkill, Orel Tvarivich, Evan Heals-the-Past, and Anastasia Romanov.
The four royals, upon mounting the rise in the center of the glen, carefully arranged the casket in an upright position. Tamara Tvarivich removed the white velvet covering to reveal the hilt of Solemn Lord, the high king’s grand klaive. The weapon’s blade was embedded in a white marble plinth that dominated the center of the hill. Only a small portion of the blade remained exposed, showing the Garou glyph for “perseverance” on one side, and on the other, the forge-mark of the Kutznitopf dynasty. The kings and queens each laid a small wreath over the weapon’s handle before descending the hill to take seats among the other attendees.
Ethan Morningkill spoke to the assembled, his voice carrying across the glen. “My thanks to King Cyrus the Bald of House Unbreakable Hearth, Queen Tamara Tvarivich of Clan Crescent Moon, King Calvin de Provence of House Gleaming Eye, and Queen Mary Campbell of House Austere Howl.” With each name, he gaves a small bow in the direction of that king or queen, then he addressed the crowd.
“It is my privilege to welcome each of you to the North Country on this solemn occasion. I am the steward appointed by the high king to hold this protectorate in the name of House Wyrmfoe.”
Ethan Morningkill turned to the fallen king’s packmates. “I would like to present our honored attendees, Mari Cabrah and Evan Heals-the-Past, the high king’s loyal packmates and his friends. They were with him in the end, and bear solemn witness to the passing of King Jonas Albrecht, Legend Ahroun Silver Fang, King of House Wyrmfoe, High King of the Garou Nation and Bearer of the Silver Crown.”
“And now, I present our organizer for the event, Orel Tvarivich, who provided the planning, funding, and manpower. He even created the talens that assisted some attendees in their travels.” Orel Tvarivich inclined his head at these words, and then stepped forward to speak.
Orel Tvarivich’s voice was low but audible. “Tonight we mourn a legendary king. In his youth, Jonas Albrecht did not live the sheltered life so common to Silver Fang royalty. Instead, he lived among the Bone Gnawers and made friends with the members of as many tribes as he could. He was a great uniter, one truly worthy of the Silver Crown. His name, ‘Jonas,’ means ‘dove.’ And though our king will be remembered for the great battles he led, I will choose to remember him for the peace in his heart.”
“And now, I present tonight’s ritemaster for this Gathering for the Departed, Anastasia ‘Requiem’ Romanov, Fostern Homid Galliard.” Orel Tvarivich then stepped back and took his place as the five formed a circle on the small hilltop. From a satchel, Anastasia Romanov provided ritual trinkets to the other four participants and directed them to begin their intoning.
Over the background of this rhythmic chant, Anastasia Romanov began her tale.
The Fall of King Albrecht
“I am Anastasia Alexa Dmetra Natasha Romanov Fostern, Homid, Galliard, Child of Falcon Deeded: Requiem’s Icy Prelude and Sanguine Moon’s Battle Cry House Wyrmfoe, Lodge of the Moon Alpha of the Anruth War Pack: Heads Will Roll, in Service to Zi-ma the winter Eagle.”
“To those of you who have made the journey to sit before the flames of our gathering, we are grateful. You have come to learn of the loss of our King, and you shall. But in this you will also be asked to honor him and his name, for regardless of his place in Gaia’s order, and regardless of any political beliefs… Jonas Albrecht was a brave, benevolent and righteous Garou who fought the fight for Gaia and for others until the very last breath he drew. This is the final story to honor him…”
“Tonight… we honor you...”
“...Jonas Albrecht Legendary Homid-born Silver Fang Ahroun High King of the Garou Nation King of the House Wyrmfoe Chosen of the Silver Crown Bearer of the Grand Klaive “Solemn Lord” Son of Jacob Morningkill Grandson of Isaiah Morningkill”
Anastasia began to pace as she recalled the details, an almost haunted look entering the stormy green eyes of the female Fang. When she spoke again, her voice was captivating with its strong Russian accent, and the tale seemed to come alive with every word she spoke.
“Ever since the Battle of the Red Star, King Albrecht had become restless. Some felt that it was the burden of the Crown, others thought perhaps he had become so obsessed with the signs of the Apocalypse itself that without such signs to follow, he was lacking direction. Yet few knew the truth.”
“The Red Star was defeated, yet the Wyrm was still corrupt. The Triat was still out of balance. Many had cheered when they learned of the sacrifice of Meros and heard the workings of Walks-the-Seven-Circles, for they believed in their hearts that the Apocalypse had come and been averted. That we, the mighty Garou of Gaia had turned back the very enemy that sought to end her and all that we hold sacred. We had stemmed the tides of blood, and though countless Garou had died gloriously in that battle, we had come out the victors.”
“King Albrecht couldn’t let go of the thoughts that plagued him. If the Apocalypse had been averted, why was the Wyrm still out of balance? Why was a decimated Garou Nation still fighting a now-much-larger enemy? And what of the Weaver?”
“No, the High King needed to seek answers. He needed to know what else was driving the war. Maybe defeating the Red Star had only delayed the inevitable. As a true warrior and leader of the Nation, he knew that he had to find answers. Entrusting his closest allies and the other worthy leaders of the Nation to look after things in his absence, King Albrecht set out on a journey with his pack-mates, Evan Heals-the-Past, Wendigo Philodox and Mari Cabrah, Elder Theurge of the Black Furies.”
“After consulting with his packmates, Albrecht set off on a course for the Summer Country. The thought was that they may be able to seek greater knowledge from one of the First Wolves. Along their journey, the triad met many dangers as they travelled through the Umbra. Packs of Black Spiral Dancers stood in their way at what seemed like nearly every turn… yet they were a mighty Eagle Pack, and they shredded their enemies with a ferocity and a cunning rarely seen outside of the most skilled Garou of the Nation. Solemn Lord claimed many a head in the name of Eagle as they journeyed. But Black Spiral Dancers weren’t the only dangers to await them in their trek.”
“The three had just finished doing battle with an aspect of Whippoorwill, nothing that they couldn’t handle with their combined strength. They were following an Airt towards the Summer Country, when suddenly...”
Anastasia pauses for a moment, her voice dropping to a lower, softer pitch. The pregnant pause gave a slightly menacing flare to her tone. Her eyes hardened as she stared at each around, as if waiting for someone to attack, then with a sudden punch of her words, she continued.
“...they were thrust into a pocket realm of the near umbra, the airt having closed around them. Too late they realized it was an ambush; too late they realized that this pack was different. They knew what they were doing, and what they were after. As King Albrecht and his pack slaughtered one after another, from the side a second pack hit. Before long they were being overwhelmed. The second pack went straight for King Albrecht, ignoring his packmates. Blood stained the earth, a mixture of the Wyrm-ridden, corruption-spewing traitors to Gaia and the three garou.”
“Albrecht fought bravely and valiantly, Solemn Lord slashing into a few. One swing, he watched the head of a Dancer roll to the feet of its pack alpha. He locked eyes with the alpha and knew that this was going to be too much for his small pack. They had finally met their match, but it had come in the form of not one, but two packs.”
“The alpha, who carried what looked like a pain dagger and some sinister fetish whip, barked at two of his packmates as they started to go for an injured Mari, ‘NO! Kill the King. I want his crown!’ Albrecht’s fears were realized, and his last noble act, he turned to look to his packmates, his eyes locking with Evan’s as he shouted over the sound of his Grand Klaive smashing into a warhammer to parry. ‘GO! NOW!’ Across their pack link, he spoke to them. ‘Remember where we have been and where we are going.’ He then turned back to face his death.”
“The Black Fury would hear of no such thing and rushed into to help her packmate, to defend him, to do anything she could to stem the tide of battle and change the outcome. Her claws tore into another body as blood spurted and stained her body. One of the Dancers turned and raked his claws down her body, leaving a trail of torn flesh. The king, seeing his packmate slowly getting torn to shreds, turned and picked up the kicking and howling Black Fury. In but a beat of a hummingbird's wings, he threw her towards Evan. The Wendigo was able to catch to her, her body bleeding and torn from the attacks. He began to drag her away. Mari fought him, trying to get to Albrecht, but the wounds were exhausting her.”
“Evan gripped Mari by the waist, holding back the thrashing and howling Black Fury. ‘No!’ she shouted as the younger Wendigo pulled her further and further from the fray at the command of their alpha and high king. It took all of the strength that the Wendigo had to tear her from her alpha’s side, but the Dancers were all too eager to allow it.”
“As Evan moved in front of her, using the bulk of his body to push and lift her with him, Mari hung over his shoulder, her eyes peering through the cluster of Dancers that surrounded their good friend. It was hard to see what was happening with the shuffle of the Dancers, but all at once, the crowd of them tilted their heads back and howled with an elation rarely heard from the savage and depraved Wyrmspawn.”
Anastasia tilted her head back and howled with savage joy and triumph, to accent her words. The chilling howl echoing around those gathered, a howl that may bring goose bumps to those that heard it. She let the howl ring before continuing her story.
“Blood sprayed through the air, coating the fallen beasts, and the very last thing that Mari could recall seeing was the alpha of the Dancer pack raising the Silver Crown high over his head and staring down at the headless corpse of King Albrecht in his homid form. Solemn Lord lay mere inches from his lifeless hand.”
Anastasia stopped to take a breath, visibly shaking as her head tilted to the sky. She closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek which glistened in the firelight. After a moment, she inhaled and released the pent up breath. Her voice rose to a normal pitch, although there was sadness dripping from every word.
“The horror she witnessed was soon obscured by distance as Evan ran with all of his might, carrying out his alpha’s final order and taking the wounded Black Fury with him. She finally gave in and collapsed in her sorrow while Evan ran until he found a place that he felt they would be safe within that Gaia-forsaken pocket realm.”
“When finally Mari had regained her composure, she began to summon chameleon spirits to their aid. They would appear as the pack’s members for when the Dancers came looking to claim their heads, giving the two a better chance to get away.”
“‘We can’t leave without reclaiming him.’ Mari spoke toward Evan. And just as she spoke, a flash of silver wings appeared before her as their Eagle totem appeared. The two stood there as the totem spoke to them, sadly informing them that Albrecht had truly fallen, and that his link with the totem was regrettably severed.”
“The Fury howled in outrage as once again the feelings flooded over her. She wanted nothing more than to find the beast that had taken his life, to tear his skin off and throw him into a pool of molten silver. But she knew that even that would not assuage the pain she felt at the loss of her ally and friend. Evan lent a consoling hand, laying it on her shoulder but she shrugged it off.”
“‘Let’s see if we can find any remains, Mari. His house and tribe would want that much at least.’ Evan’s words rang true, and the two turned to head back to the spot where the deed had been done. When they arrived, there was little that remained. The group of Dancers had already moved off. One of them had apparently jammed Solemn Lord into the ground amidst a pool of blood—blood that could only be Albrecht’s, serving much like a grave marker.”
“That wouldn’t do, however. Mari ripped the grand klaive from the ground, refusing to let such a renowned weapon remain as little more than a memorial of the death of her king in some unknown pocket realm.”
“After a few moments of contemplation, Evan spoke up. ‘Maybe we could follow the scent trail to find his body?’ Mari nodded, all too willing to risk anything to reclaim the fallen Fang’s remains.”
“Reportedly, the scent trail was difficult to follow, mixed in with the various scents of filth that usually accompany Dancers and the other foul scents of the realm itself. Eventually, they came upon a shimmering wall before them and the Elder Theurge identified it as an exit from the realm. That was where the scent trail headed, so the two journeyed through and began a march that lasted for many days.”
“After the fourth day, the scent trail was getting nigh upon impossible to follow, yet with the aid of some spirits that Mari had called, they were able to keep to the scent. Up ahead, was the remains of a long-dead Blight where Umbral trees stood dead and desiccated, their husks little more than reminders of the spirits that once lived. The ground beneath them was a mixture of ash-gray and black, and there was a foul presence that could be felt upon the air. The scent lead right into the middle of the Blight, and the two resolved to make the journey.”
“The few hours of walking they did seemed like days. And each step brought to them a hungrier feeling. Aside from the fact that they hadn’t eaten in some time, there was something within the area that was sapping their strength. Just when it seemed as if they would be unable to move further due to the hunger pangs, Evan looked up and cried out. ‘What the hell is that?!’”
Again the Wyrmfoe Galliard paused, letting the horrified cry of the Wendigo echo before she continued to explain the sight. Her voice pitched low and dripped with malevolent shadows, enough to eclipse hope and remind those present how terrible the sight of Wyrm could affect even the highest of us.
“An archway stood in the midst of the Blight, encrusted with the skulls of many different shape-changers, some of which had long been forgotten. The eyes of the skulls seemed to bleed, creating a sheet of putrid blood that covered the opening of the archway. A dull throbbing energy emanated from the arch, and a pedestal upon which was sat a bronze bowl and a silver knife stood only a few yards forward of it.”
“As they approached, Mari looked it over made her assessment. ‘It’s an Anchorhead… and it doesn’t go anyplace friendly.’ The Theurge came closer and began to study the cryptic markings and foul mockeries of the glyphs of the Garou which were ritually carved all about the gateway. With their combined knowledge the study of the gate led them to a most chilling conclusion.”
“‘It’s an Anchorhead alright. And it leads straight to Malfeas!’ Evan growled, turning to the Fury who had also figured that out and who was standing before the pedestal. ‘Wait! What are you doing?’”
“Mari lifted the silver ritual knife and studied it for a few seconds. The scent of blood was about the area, but it was fresh upon the edge of the bowl and the handle of the dagger.”
“‘It requires a blood sacrifice to enter.’ She returned, as if assuming that Evan was already on-board with the idea of them trekking into Malfeas to find their lost pack-mate’s body.”
“‘Mari… we can’t go in there.’ Evan’s voice spoke in a quiet but certain manor. ‘Even if we were to pass through unharmed, we would never make it out alone. Two Garou marching into Malfeas? It’s suicide. And Jonas wouldn’t want that. He gave his life that we would be able to live and finish this task.’”
“‘Anyone else speaking like that and I’d call them a coward.’ Mari snapped at Evan, her eyes nearly full of rage as she eyed the Wendigo. But as the seconds passed, her mien softened a bit. ‘Unfortunately, you’re right. It would be a dishonor to him for us to throw our lives away just after he sacrificed himself for those lives. Glorious as it might be to throw ourselves into the jaws of the Wyrm, I will not dishonor him like that. If and when the fight gets brought here… it will be with others, loyal to the Nation.’”
Anastasia stopped for a moment again. Another tear fell down her soft cheek, leaving a glittering trail in the firelight and shadows. Her eyes stared into the crackling fire as she continued to speak once more, her story coming to an end. It was clear, the emotion and despair that saturated her voice.
“King Jonas Albrecht gave his life to ensure that his pack survived. A brave warrior in life and a noble garou in death. His name will be forever etched into the Silver Record for his deeds.”
With that, the young Wyrmfoe Galliard shifted into a pure white crinos. A deep battle scar across her chest and a gruesome one from her left hip to her left knee showed bleached white bone, with skin healed and stretched over parts of missing chunks of flesh. White lines showed where something silver had carved into her in a crisscross pattern and then healed that way.
Slowly, her muzzle rose toward Luna, those stormy green eyes closed, and she let forth a long howl of mourning and loss, a song full of pain and deep sorrow, a requiem for king and legend.
The lyrical howl echoed somberly around the gathering, and all those attending lifted their voices to howl in mourning with her.
When the howl finally tapered off, Anastasia concluded the rite. Then she turned and limped from the torchlight, disappearing into the shadows beyond.
Once more Ethan Morningkill stood forward to address the attendees. As he did so, the ritual participants extinguished their torches and the kinfolk attendees turned up the lanterns once more. Ethan Morningkill replaced the white velvet cloth, covering the hilt of Solemn Lord as he spoke. “Thank you all for coming. Everyone is welcome to stay for as long as they need. The sept’s hospitality is open to all, and it would be a good idea for us to leave at separate times so as not to draw attention. This space will remain tended until dawn for those of you who wish to remain to mourn, or to mingle amongst one another and renew ties of kinship with our fellow Garou.”
With that, the four royals return to the hill, packing the marble plinth into the wooden casket, and bearing Solemn Lord out the way they came in. The remaining ritual participants filed out after them. In their wake, the kinfolk attendees brought fresh bowls of food. They also brought casks of locally brewed honey ale.
For the rest of the night, Garou of all tribes periodically took to the hilltop stage to remember King Albrecht to their fellows, to eulogize the fallen legend, to sing his tales, and to otherwise mourn him. Others simply mingled, making introductions and renewing old bonds. At least for the night, old grudges were forgotten.
Out of Character
This event occurred on the evening of Wednesday, June 11th, 2014. Storytelling for this event is handled by the Silver Fangs Tribe Lead in conjunction with the Garou ANST.
Players do not need any special permission to have attended this event, just the approval of their VSTs. This event is a (very) soft proxy. If your character attended, please email the following address: <email@example.com>. Include the following information in the body of the email:
Name: Rank: Titles: Etc.: Miscellaneous Details or Appearance:
It is our hope to assemble a complete list of attendees at some point in the future, a list that can be referenced by other players whose characters were there.
The Silver Fang Tribe Lead also recommends that all attendees receive 2 temporary Honor Renown for “Participating in an Epic Gathering for the Departed.” This is a recommendation, one that must be confirmed or denied by each player’s VST.