It is currently 17:41 Pacific Time on Sat Jun 29 2002.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 65 degrees
Fahrenheit (18 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the
west at 10 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.06 and rising, and the
relative humidity is 58 percent. The dewpoint is 50 degrees Fahrenheit (10
degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase (70% full).

Harbor Park -- Fountain

Situated in the center of a large, open meadow is a clustering of six trees,
a flower bed, a few steel-and-wood benches set firmly into concrete, and a
flagstone courtyard that is dominated by a large fountain.

The fountain is a wide circular pool of water some fifty feet across and
about five feet deep in most places. The sculpture in the center is a mix of
old and new, traditional and modern: eight concrete-and-stainless-steel
slabs about six feet high are set in a rough Stonehenge-like circle around
the center of the fountain. Water flows from their tops, cascading in bright
mesmerizing sheets to the pool below. Rising above the steel circle is a
large marble statue of the Water Bearer, an androgynous figure draped in
robes of flowing water. It bears a large jug carved with various Greek
symbols, from which pours a seething torrent of water into the pool at its
feet.

Cars on the nearby street have an excellent view of the park as do any
residents of the tall buildings which line the waterfront.

The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of
the park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street and the city of
St. Claire. Recent construction work is creating an earthen berm several
feet high all along the borders of the park in all directions.

Contents:
chalk drawings(#2525d)
Flowers

Obvious exits:
ManHole  Harbor Park Meadow  

Jacob wanders along the river, then looks towards the park and smiles a bit.
Seeing the fountain, he heads towards it and sits on the wall of it after
digging a penny out of his pocket.

Salem stands near the fountain, ignoring the chalk drawings, facing the
figure of the Water Bearer. His hands are clasped behind his back, his
expression withdrawn, thoughtful, pensive.

Jacob looks at the chalk drawings and frowns in confusion. He shakes his
head and notices the tall man, slightly recognizing him.

Salem abruptly spots Jacob as well, a beat or two after the cub looks his
way. He shakes off the pensive air and moves toward the youth, scarred
features shifting into something more pleasant, if still cool. "Afternoon,
Jacob. No longer grounded?"

Jacob shakes his head. "Nosir, not grounded. It's Salem, right?"

"Salem, yes." He regards the cub critically. "How are your lessons going?"

Jacob nods and doesn't look directly at the older man, then grimaces a bit.
"I'm not sure, Salem-" he cuts off, looks around to make sure nobody's
within hearing distance, then continues. "Salem-rhya. I don't really have
much of a scale to judge by, y'know? This is all so new, and I'm not sure
what I need to learn."

Salem's lips thin, and he makes a wave-away gesture at the 'rhya'. "'Salem'
will do. 'Mr. Salem' if you feel the need to be formal."

Jacob nods. "Alright, then, Mr. Salem. However," he adds with a small grin,
"If Francisco's about, you'll get the -rhya added on there. Otherwise, he'd
kick my ass."

Salem arches a brow. "Really." He files that away for future reference.
"Never mind. What /have/ you learned, so far?"

Jacob looks down at his hands. "I've learned the Litany and that I'm a
theurge. I've learned about the other auspices, and I've learned how to
change shape. And that trying to speak English in crinos form almost turns
my tongue into hamburger, but we're also working on the language, too."

Salem gestures toward a bench near the fountain where the pair of them can
sit and talk. "Good. You've got a good start. The language, yes, can be
difficult, especially when you're not surrounded by it constantly, but I'm
sure you'll do fine. Have they told you anything in detail about your
tribe?"

Jacob follows Salem to the bench and sits with one leg tucked up under him
and the other dangling. "Not really a whole lot. Just that I'm a Glass
Walker and we're more into the technology than other tribes."

Salem sits down next to the cub, arms folded across his chest, boots planted
firmly on the ground. Even seated, he doesn't entirely relax. "Well. I'm not
a Galliard, but let me tell you a story. It will give you some, mnh, insight
about our kind."

Jacob nods. "Yessir. I'd appreciate that." He grins and adjusts his glasses.
"And Francisco's trying to beat some respect into me, too. Sometimes it
takes, sometimes it don't."

Salem glances rather sharply at the cub, as though trying to gauge whether
he's being serious. Then he leans back and begins. "A long time ago, before
history, when humans lived in mud huts and were first showing themselves to
be far more than mere animals, the leaders of the Garou decided to assign
some of their number to keep a closer eye on the hairless primates. They
called this pack the Warders of Man, and they soon became quite fascinated
with their subjects of observation. They saw the humans create tools that
the Garou had never thought of, that they'd never needed, and were amazed,
and copied them."

Jacob settles in, always engaged by a good story.

Salem continues, obviously warming a bit to the subject. "Humans don't have
hides, or fur, or armor. No claws or sharp teeth. The one thing that Gaia
gave them -- Francisco has told you about Gaia, yes? -- was a mind that
could create and hands to give form. Some Garou will deride humanity as
being nothing more than upright monkeys and puppets of the Weaver,
forgetting that without the Weaver, the Wyld is nothing but chaos. Useless,
dangerous chaos. The Warders of Man understood this, and with the ideas that
humanity gave them and their own knowledge of the spirit world, they crafted
their own tools, and thrived." He pauses a beat, then adds, dryly, "The
other Garou were not pleased."

Jacob smiles. "Nossir, I don't imagine they were."

Salem says, "There was talk of disbanding the Warders of Man, but
fortunately, this didn't happen. Time passed, and humanity thrived, and the
other Garou, afraid and angry at this, decided that humanity needed to be...
controlled." His mouth twists into a humorless, bitter, ironic smile. "Thus
began the Imperigium, thousands of years of bloodshed and fear, when Garou
on the full moon would charge into human villages in the war form and slay
the 'excess' of their 'flocks.' The Warders of Man were still small in
numbers, still barely more than a pack or so, and had no power to keep the
other Garou from committing this slaughter. /But/ they knew that, usually,
direct Kinfolk were often spared. And so, the Warders of Man moved into
humanity's villages and mud cities and adopted as many as they could into
their families." His chin lifts a notch. "The Bone Gnawers have always lived
on refuge and trash, but it was /our/ tribe which first left the forests to
make the cities our own."

Jacob simply nods and allows the older man to continue.

Salem takes a breath. "Time passed. The Impergium ended, thanks to the
Children of Gaia and the Stargazers. Afterward, humanity truly thrived, and
we've thrived with them. Though our name has, obviously, changed. In the
1800's, we were dubbed the Iron Riders, for the way we rode the new railways
that were expanding across the country at the time. Later, Garou who visited
us in the cities started calling us 'Those Who Walk Among The Glass' -- and
the name stuck. Hence, Glass Walkers." He arches a brow. "Questions?"

Jacob shakes his head. "Not that I can think of. It's a pretty
straightforward history. Thank you for sharing that with me."

"It's something you should know," says Salem. "Where you come from. What
puts you, as a Glass Walker, apart from the rural tribes, or the other Garou
who choose to live in the cities, or even the Bone Gnawers." There's an edge
of distaste in his voice as he mentions Rat's tribe.

Jacob nods. "Absolutely. If I do end up having questions, and Francisco's
not around, can I come to you, sir?"

Salem looks a bit surprised. "Of course," he says, as though there's no two
ways about it. "Every Walker past his or her Rite of Passage is available as
your teacher, Jacob."

Jacob blinks. "Nobody has said anything about that to me. What's a Rite of
Passage?"

Salem pauses a beat, then shifts his weight, nodding. "Ah. It's... a final
exam, of sorts. You may do it alone, or we may send you with one or more
other cubs, depending on circumstances. Afterward, you'll be considered an
adult of the tribe, a Cliath, with all the privledges and responsibilities
thereof. You'll have graduated."

Jacob says "What kind of responsibilities?"

Salem studies the cub for a moment. "Has Francisco told you about /why/
there are werewolves? What our ultimate purpose is?"

Jacob shakes his head. "No, nothing like that. Just stuff I needed to know
about myself and what's going on. No history of anything. He told me about
the Weaver, the Wyld and the Wyrm, though."

Salem rubs at his bearded chin. "Mmn. The Wyrm is why we're here. Why Gaia
decided to take humans and wolves and create killing machines. We, Jacob,
are at war."

Jacob grimaces and swallows. "Yeah, he said that."

Salem nods, looking all-too-characteristically grim. "/That/ will be your
primary responsibility. Protecting the world from the kind of evil that may
very well destroy it, that most of humanity has no inkling of. As a Glass
Walker, the focus of your duty will be in the city, though certain
circumstances will draw your claws out to the forests as well."

Jacob nods. "So long as I can get online, I'll go wherever they tell me."

"That," says Salem, almost but not quite smiling, "is why you're fortunate
to be a Glass Walker. Other tribes would condemn such leanings. We encourage
them."

Jacob grins. "Well, then, I'm glad I'm not something else. I couldn't deal
without my laptop and my Visor."

Salem does smile now, albeit thinly. "I only wish we had a Walker theurge
locally who could teach you the finer points of the Weaver and the digital
web."

Jacob grins almost impudently. "Well, as soon as I get trained up --
Francisco said something about Tobin teaching me -- I can teach whomever
else comes along behind me."

Salem arches a brow. "The Fang? Hmn. He'd be acceptable for giving you the
basics, at least. I'll see about talking John into sending you to a more
Walker Sept before your Rite of Passage, so you can get the finer points."

Jacob nods. "If you say so. I'm just overwhelmed about all the sheer amount
of -stuff- I have to learn, stuff that's been goin' on forever without any
of the regular humans knowing."

"That's... understandable," says the scarred Philodox. "And be sure to let
us know if you're feeling overwhelmed."

Jacob half-laughs, mirthlessly. "Is there anything that can be done if I get
overwhelmed? I've got to learn all of this and the sooner I'm ready to pull
my own weight, the better off we'll all be, won't we?"

Salem replies, evenly, "Yes, but I, personally, would rather not see you
burn out, either."

Jacob smiles. "I'm not going to burn out. If I get close to burning out,
I'll let someone know. It'll be obvious, trust me."

Salem dips his head slightly. "Good. Any other questions? The other tribes,
perhaps?"

Jacob nods. "How do the Walkers view the other tribes? And almost as
important, how to they view us?"

Salem tilts his head back, looking at the gibbous moon as he considers. "The
Black Furies are primarily defenders of the Wyld and of women. Many distrust
us, or at least our male members. For their part, the Furies are
honorable... if rather meddlesome." His mouth twists. "The Bone Gnawers are
mongrels. Dogs. Scavengers. Some are better than others, but never forget
what they are. Garbage eaters." No, no bias /there/. "Some like us fine,
others resent us for our wealth or try to take advantage of that. The
Children of Gaia are peacemakers, and the most tolerant of our affiliation
with the Weaver. The Alpha of the Sept is a Child of Gaia, as well as a
Theurge. Perhaps we can arrange for you to meet her." He pauses. "The
Fianna... mn. In a nutshell, they are very... Irish. Bards, drinkers... it's
said they have dealings with the fae as well. Like the Furies, they can be
honorable, but they are also very... moody. The Get of Fenris are, bluntly,
thugs. Nordic thugs. There are exceptions, but..." He grimaces. "The worst
of them supported Hitler, and the best tend to be the type who give worth to
strength above all. Strength and battle prowess. The Red Talons are all wolf
born, and wish the extermination of humanity. They hate us. Period. The
Shadow Lords..." And here Salem's face twists. "The Shadow Lords are
untrustworthy. Never turn your back on one, or give one your secrets. The
Bone Gnawers are better companions than the Lords. The Silent Striders...
noble jackals, if a little too much given to being mysterious loners. The
Stargazers were the same, but they've abandoned the Garou Nation. And the
Uktena and the Wendigo are Native American, and hold strong hatreds for
those who rode the iron horses and brought civilization to the frontier."

Salem thinks back, then adds, "And lastly, there are the Silver Fangs, who
style themselves as kings. And, like human royalty, are often inbred and
sometimes deranged. At the very least, they tend to be eccentric."

Jacob nods. "Alrightythen. That's a lot to take in."

Salem looks wry. "And that does not even include the three dead tribes, or
the tainted one."

Jacob frowns in confusion. "Dead? Tainted?" He pauses. "Tainted, meaning the
Black Spiral Dancers."

Salem nods. "The Dancers were once called the White Howlers, a tribe related
to the Picts. The Wyrm attacked their homeland and turned their kin into
fomori. In a rage, the Howlers descended into the Wyrm-pit that had opened
in their land, but instead of slaying the taint, they became possessed by
it. Those that emerged were the Black Spiral Dancers, and they went out and
either killed or turned every other Howler."

Jacob shudders. "That's... disturbing. And they have our Caern in their
power right now?"

Salem's arms are still folded across his chest, and now his hands clench.
"Yes. They do. Hopefully, not for long."

Jacob swallows again and looks decidedly uneased. He glances at his watch.
"Oh, shit. Rhiannon's expecting me soon." He looks at the older man. "Thank
you for taking the time to talk to me, sir. I really appreciate it. But I've
gotta book my little ass back to Rhi's and quick, or I'm in a world of
shit." He stands and slings his backpack on.

Salem dips his head. "It was a pleasure, Jacob," he says, and sounds quite
sincere about that.

Jacob nods. "And for me as well, Salem." and with that, he spins and hauls
it on outta the park as fast as he can down the riverwalk.