zg_shadows | [Garou]

I sit there quietly, under the tree and I twist the blade between my fingertips, tipping it back and forth until I can see mother Luna shining through a break in the clouds as grandfather keeps his watch on all that goes on beneath him. Even here in the umbra he makes his presence known, and whilst I can feel his pride within me, it seems muted, almost disconnected.

The raven sits quietly on my knee and through its eyes I see myself, lowered to the point of a metis, by nothing more than a pissed off kinfolk. Stripped of all dignity by a spoiled little litany violating bitch. Let down by leaders the sept is expected to trust. I see the wounds still knitting closed from my latest humiliation.

My eyes drift up briefly to grandfather, but quickly drop again to the blade. I have brought shame to him, and this is not something that will easily be forgiven. I have held back where before I would not even have needed to think before I acted. I would have struck like lightning and been gone before the dust settled around the corpses. I let my pride, and confidence in the ability of others stay my hand, and now grandfather deafens my ears to the results until it’s too late. I held faith in the concept of justice, rather than delivering it where I should.

I find dark amusement that half the sept believe I am something I have proven unworthy to be. I tilt the blade until the sign on my wrist is clear, and for a moment I let my mind wash back over the tales I heard so long ago that inspired my choices, I think back over the faces of those who never saw my blade coming, stating each of their crimes as I do.

When was it I became so weak, when was it I lost my pride and sense of purpose. I have become arrogant in my ability to speak rings around those who focus so much on their martial talents and forget to use their minds, I have become complacent in the knowledge that when the time comes I CAN act, and when act after act has occurred that should call forth the rage in my blood, now I only feel that weight of despair as I know soon after will come another.

London is a poison, perhaps not for all, but most clearly for me. It does more damage to me than any silver bullet ever could, and soon it will spell my death. I focus my attention for a moment and the gnosis appears in my hand, this one above all more special than most as it is a direct gift from grandfather to me, I almost imagine I can see small crackles of lightning flickering over it, but put this down to an overactive imagination.

I slide the gnosis along the blade, relishing the quandary of being able to see and hold it, but not feeling any pressure as it drifts along the blade.
So many questions could be answered so quickly, should I just think his name right now, but what use is an easy solution when the arm is too weak to act on what the heart knows to be true?

For a moment the blade looks hungry to me, and for fear of starting something that gaia knows I’ll never live to finish, I pull my hand away, and without really thinking about it offer it up to the skies, but grandfather doesn’t want my offering, at least not at this time.

This must be finished the way it was started, the honourable way. My name, my rank, my reputation, they mean nothing, so long as justice is done. If words don’t win the war then the sept is already lost, and other options may then come to play, but for now… I am a galliard, and I will sing the truth loud and clear, for I have no reason to lie, their acts damn themselves and their allies with them.

And then, finally, I will be able to purge this poison from my veins, and lift this lead from my heart, until I can truly sing with pride of who I am once more.