A Rallying Cry

[Pete]

((Heh, Victor cant be the only one preparing for war. Les do eht.))

The Lycans found themselves in quite a predicament. For all intensive purposes, Europe was lost to them, the Vampires already controlled the greater part of the continent. The same Vampires which had already spread the seeds of destruction in America, the Lycans last foothold. Alena, The Mother of Lycanthropy, had been captured, they still held out hope that she might liberate herself... but chances were that Victor, The King of Vampires would do everything in his power to make sure that never happened. Perrin Goldeneyes, the next in line to lead the Lycans was killed as well, there had been rumors of his successor, but they all lead to dead-ends. The last remaining of the three was Vincent Valentine. It would have to be Vincent to lead the Lycan assault. Vincent to unite the Wolves under one banner, to free Alena, and to crush any potential Vampire threats to The Den. For now, the Lycans wait. Messages had been sent to all known werewolves with the help of Mikel Machernum, among them Pablo, Namir Black, Arai, Vincent, and Pete. Pete incidentally was the first to arrive at The Den. Soon there would be many more... together, they would rise against Victor and the twelve Vampire Clans. In the mean time, Pete checked his watch and tapped his foot impatiently. She was to arrive any minute now...

[Arai]

The den was dark as two light gold eyes surveyed it. Of course, appearances were decieving. Arai knew that the lights could be blazing inside and yet it would appear deserted from the street. She knew because she had helped design and build it. The lycan den was impressive and a top secret to anyone but the few who lived there. She hadn't seen it in a while. Her roving feet had carried her far and away to Europe. Unfortunately, through a series of unfortunate events, she had found little. Lycans that were there did not want to leave, for most were older and bound to protect the cities they considered their territory. But the vampires were everywhere. Rarely did a week go by without some incident. Not all were bad, however, as Pete or Namir might claim. One vampire had been decent to her. More than decent. A slight flush coming to her cheeks, she shook her head. It would be best to avoid thinking of Jasper here. The other lycans would no doubt evict her from the pack if they knew. And that might just kill her inside. The pack was like her family, now that her real family had deserted her and thrown her out. Being an outcast a second time would devastate her. Assuring herself that no one was around to see her entry, the small redhead slipped to the door. She was in within a few seconds. The place was indeed lit up, and Arai sensed that she was not alone. "Hello?" she called, wondering who had gotten here before her.

[Pete]

The familiar red lights flashed into life and the buzzer sounded. Perimeter breach. All the excitement died down as Arai stepped through the threshold. False alarm. Pete made a mental note to have the alarm system fixed. "Hey Arai!" He greeted her enthusiastically, following up with the usual bone crushing bear hug. "Just the girl I was looking for. What took ya so long?" He inquired. Now two of the Lycan Council members were here, as soon as Namir, Jarrod, Pablo, and Vincent arrived they would begin to hatch their brilliant plan. Well, they could live without Jarrod... It wasn't exactly a secret that Pete despised him. But the enemy of the enemy is my ally he supposed. Jarrod would fight. It was a necessary evil. "Lets head to the top floor and wait for the rest of the gang" He said, quickly scrawling a note on a sticky pad and posting it to the door.

[Szandor Colden]

News of the gathering Lycan forces in the United States had reached Szandor fairly quickly in Europe. Among the Lycan community, hushed words passed from person to person, hinting at the goings-on across the ocean, news and subtle talk buzzed throughout the sanctuaries, setting a constant vibe. Although his relationship with any of the members of these American Werewolves was nonexistent on a formal level, in the interest of the Race as a whole, Szandor had been keeping a silent eye on the entire Den since he first received word of its convergence. They were young, both in age and years of Lycan experience, as far as he could tell, but they were feisty and full of heart. And they had been able to recruit a surprising number to their Den, despite the overall Vampire domination of the country, so Szandor had heard. It was obvious to him what was being planned; that North America would be the host of the next (dare he think, last?) great battle between the two Immortal races. And the land mass was huge. Although the Vampires seemed to be spitting out insane numbers of their kind, many Lycan allies had begun to gather in the States as well. The thick feeling around Szandor hinted that this would be a very costly battle; long and arduous. Especially so, because his Mistress Alena had been captured by the new Vampire King.
With the mass assembling of Werewolves from around the world to this new Den in New York, Szandor knew the time had come. He needed to be at this meeting, especially if the Lycan Leaders here were young ones. He needed to see for himself what the gathered Lycans were made of, to help this movement and be directly involved in it; for Lycanthropy. Before leaving Europe, Szandor had met with Adele Holst, asking and encouraging her to join him in the States for this moment. This was something that she needed to participate in as well. But she had been going through some conflicts of her own just before he’d left her, and he was unsure if she would come to the States, much as he would wish her to.
In New York, Szandor followed his instincts, and the silent transfer of words among the native Werewolves to find the location of the Den. Not quite what the Den in Sweden had been, but the old factory that served as the new base of operations for his brethren seemed well established and inconspicuous. Szandor made his way around to the back, so as not to be seen by passer-bys, and caught the still-fresh scent of a female in the area, though no trace of her was to be seen. Following the scent trail, he entered the old run-down looking factory from the entrance that the unseen she-wolf had used moments before, a sticky note in place. That isn’t obvious. But then an alarm buzzer went off at his entrance, before dying down. Lifting an eyebrow, Szandor looked nonchalantly around the front room he’d walked into. No one present, as the note had suggested. Ascending the winding staircase, Szandor walked calmly, passing the 2nd and 3rd floors without any consideration, and finally making his way up to the 5th floor, to find that the room here needed a code to enter. He placed a hand on the thick wall, and decided against knocking since it likely would not have been heard. Oh well, he thought, someone would be here soon. Someone had likely heard, if not felt, his presence into the Den.

[Arai]

Crushed within a rambunctious hug, Arai breathed in the scent of Pete, the scent of the den, and the faint trace of lycans. Home she surprised herself by thinking. It was her home now. Nodding her assent, she followed the taller blonde to the top floor. From here they could admit anyone who entered, as well as survey the surrounding streets for activity either friendly or dangerous. As they got up to the room, the alarm went off again. "Need to fix that thing," Arai murmured, busy getting the door open. In short time they were inside; a veritable safehouse within a safehouse. Walking to the screens, she only saw glimpses of someone. Male, older than Pete. Obviously another lycan; how else would he have gotten into the building? But she did not recognize him. He was coming up to them, she realized. So he was not a new lycan, for he knew the drill. His presence came closer, and Arai could pick up a steady confidence, one borne of age and experience. This was no young man. Her sensitive hearing picked up footsteps approaching. Then they stopped. He was at the door. With a nod at Pete, assuring him she thought he was okay, Arai opened the door from the internal lock. She was confronted with someone who was indeed older than they. He looked to be a veteran, she noted. Her pale amber eyes scrutinized him for a moment. He had that sense of wildness about him. She was almost positive he was a lycan. Probably from Europe, too. "Greetings," she said after a few seconds, "I am Arai. Welcome to the lycan den."

[Szandor Colden]

Here was she who had led him into the factory. Szandor looked at her from his position while she opened the door and tried to square him up. But his gaze passed easily over her for the brief moment to survey the room and its inhabitants. Both fairly young; the boy seemed so more than this young woman. It appeared to be a trend of this new generation of Lycans, all young, barely out of their teens. Although, the one who called herself ‘Cursed’ seemed around the age the Mother had been at her first transformation; in any case, she seemed mature and calculating. Briefly he wondered who among the Lycan race would take away someone’s humanity at such a young age, because neither particularly seemed to have been born into the trait, but he kept his thoughts reserved. “It is nice meeting you, Arai,” he spoke clearly in English, and entered the room. “There will be more arriving, no doubt?” He addressed neither specifically, but both of them at once, “I will save my introduction until everyone has gathered.”

[Arai]

Feeling that she had been measured and found at least adequate, Arai felt confident enough to reply, "Yes, we are expecting more within the day. You may sit with us here and await them, or, if you are tired from your travels, the male quarters are located on the third floor, and you may take any room that appears to be unoccupied." Aside from Vincent, whom she had met very early on in her days as a lycan, this was the first older lycan she had met. Vaguely Arai wondered if lycans were usually bitten at such a young age. If so, then there was no telling how old this man was. Lycans aged slowly, so she had been told, and as such he could be many decades older than he appeared. At any rate, age was wisdom, and they certainly needed a lot of that here. Though the current generation of werewolves were young, agile, and most importantly ready for battle, they lacked the careful discipline and knowledge that the older generation had. Unfortunately, the lycan mother, Alena, had apparently been captured by the vampires. Which, if Arai understood correctly, was a big factor in going to war with them. Honestly, she was more of the mind to live and let live. Some, like Pete, held a terrible image of the souless creatures they fought. Having experienced the other side through Jasper, she decided that not all vampires were wholly evil. But the leader, this Victor she heard of, certainly sounded to be so. Personally Arai would not mind if someone else were to fight him. Fighting in a war by itself was enough for her. Deep down she was a healer, not a warrior, and it showed in her passive nature towards the other ancient race. She wondered how this newcomer would lean in the battle. Was he aggressive, like Pete, or more of a thinker, like her?

[Vincent Valentine]

The mighty Vincent Valentine, one of the oldest of Lycans walked in un-noticed, due to his dark great cape, walking in the shadows, he then took the stairs to the top floor, un-noticed. When he reached the top floor he saw many younglings, he recognized a few familiar faces, especially pete's, whom he had known for some time. "Pete...How are you my friend?" Valentine said as he showed his presence to the young Lycans. "Is this who have come?" Valentine asked the Lycans. 'This can't be all.' Valentine said to himself.

[Jarrod]

"Plus one more," came a strong voice from behind the older lycan. Jarrod had arrived. The alarms had gone off upon his entering, but stopped once he stepped over the doorway. Sounded like something needed fixed. He had never been to the den, but Namir had told him where it was. Namir... Jarrod wondered where she was. She was not here; he could sense her presence, sweet and exhilarating, whenever she was near. There were others, though, he knew as he entered. Following the staircases, the curious Jarrod could not help but peek in occasionally on the floors. Second and third were some kind of dormitories. No one was there, though. Fourth floor was a training facility of some kind. Wow, this floor was intense. He wished he could stop in and try out some of the equipment. But there was a meeting to get to. He had followed the stairs to the final floor, finding himself behind two older guys. This was interesting. Before he had always been the oldest lycan within the few he had met. But here were the masters.

[Namir Black]

(this is after I met vincent)
Namir scuffed down the concrete sidewalks in her combat boots. Her hands were jammed in her pockets and her head full of curly black hair tucked low. She had just gotten back from Sweden, and she'd taken her time, cleared her head, or at least as much as she could clear. Now she had to face the boys. Face them and know that she had to make a choice... Her mind began to argue with its self as it had over the weeks in Sweden. When she was on the plane she thought she had already made up her mind, but now, as her nerves got to her, it seemed like she could only entangle herself in the sticky web that she wove. In an attempt, she shook her head to try to clear her mind again. There were bigger issues at hand now, the war that they'd all been waiting for was looming ever closer. The vampires were practically breathing down their necks sitting comfortably in the White House. Namir could only get more angry and more determined when she imagined Victor's sinister,smug face in the oval office. When the angst driven teenaged lycan glanced up she noticed she was right in front of the den.
Check right, check left. she looked over both her shoulders for anyone watching. Clear. Namir's slender figure slipped through the entrance of the den and into the warmth and comfort of the lycan's home. Her stomach tied its self in knots with anticipation, Jarrod's smell had just hit her, and like a sucker punch, so did Pete's. God, why did this have to be so hard? She'd never been more nervous, and more uncertain. A yellow slip caught her eye and directed her up stairs. Her boots clomped on the stairs as she ascended them. She was closer behind Jarrod than she thought, she heard his entering line with time to let him get settled in the room. The last two flights of stairs dissolved as it seemed, she didn't even remember climbing them, she thought only of seeing Jarrod's sea foam green eyes against Pete's piercing blue ones, scrutinizing her move, feeling like they demanded a choice that very second. All she could do now, was put on a brave face. She squared her shoulders and poked her head through the door. "Make that two," she offered a smile to lighten her face and glanced around the room. There were the familiar faces of her closest friends, an acquaintance and someone knew. Her grey eyes roved knowingly over him as she pulled through the crack in the door, probing into his mind, and figuring out his name and species at least, as to make sure there was no traitor among them. There was to be no Judas, or he would be cast aside mercilessly by her own hand.

[Szandor Colden]

“Thank you, I will wait here,” instead of choosing a seat at the conference table, Szandor stepped off to the side along the wall. As the other Lycans joined the room and sat down, he wanted to be able to see them all at once. This was their meeting after all; he was merely sitting in for the moment. He was curious to see what this group would come up with, hear what their plans were first, before saying anything. So, he waited.
The gentleman who entered in the cloak gave off a vaguely familiar scent and vibe, but Szandor had come across many Lycans in his life, and could not pinpoint an exact moment where he may have met this wolf before. This man seemed to be familiar with the rest of the members of the Den, and appeared to have more than a few centuries under his belt, which could be taken for a good sign. Any traces of his thoughts were expertly concealed, however, and his face and eyes remained hard and unmoving as two other Lycans entered. He could feel the female searching him for answers, and sensed her untrusting suspicion. An unheard, short laugh came out in a breath, and with his eyes he dared her to attack him. He was no traitor; it was sickening the amount of disrespect given to superiors these days. But not another thought was given to her, and Szandor looked briefly over the other Lycans.

[Vincent Valentine]

Vincent noticed one particular Lycan, whom was much older and calmer than the rest, he knew that he had been around almost as himself, he also could sense that he was more careful of his feelings than the young, im-mature Lycans.

Vincent walked towards Szandor, and placed himself next to him, and said with a silent voice "Do you think tthe young ones should become more mature?".

[Szandor Colden]

Szandor did not watch as Vincent approached, but nodded toward the other Lycan as he was addressed, “One cannot force maturity upon children, Brother. That comes with age. Living under the threat of imminent attack will make these pups grow up faster than they ought to.” He met Vincent’s bold gaze for a moment and scratched the stubble on his cheek, “It’s a shame when we must send our children to fight the wars of their fathers.”

[Vincent Valentine]

"It is indeed a shame that they need to fight our war, but it must be done." Vincent said to Szandor after he had replied to Vincent. "I hope they are mature enough to fight this war, or else all will be lost." Vincent then added as he look at the young Lycans in the room.

[Namir Black]

Namir caught the last thought of Szandor. Disrespect? She shot a look back his way that begged him to try anything. Most of the pack was on her side anyway, if anything started she knew that her friends would be behind her with staunch loyalty, but Namir herself was not a viper with whom to be toyed. Especially not now. Instead of wasting her time on the arrogant elder she turned back to the group whose faces she came to adore. The lycan didn't immediately approach Jarrod or Pete, but came over to Arai instead. "Ruthless bunch aren't we?" she spoke calmly to her friend with a hint of sarcasm slipping into her tone. "Nervous?" she implored, knowing that her own answer, though she would never admit it, was yes. She could lose both Jarrod and Pete in this war, not to mention the others... But she'd fight, and not give any lip because she loved them and she was loyal to the cause that they fought to win. The vampires were just pompous pricks anyways, they couldn't take over, the human race would be depleted for sure..