Southwestern Grassland -- Savannah
Annual precipitation patterns often determine the vegetation in the tropics. Where annual rainfall is more or less consistent grow evergreen forests. Where there are marked wet and dry seasons the savannahs flourish. Throughout most of the year this stretch of the savannah recieves ten or more centimeters of rainfall a month. Between June and September, however, scarcely a drop of rain falls on the sunbeaten grasslands. Grassfires proliferate during this period and the open vistas of Africa stretch out in all directions, occasionally broken by a termite mound, acacia trees or a rocky bluff above an intermittent stream.
The impenetrable rainforest lies to the north, interceded by a rich transitional zone. The geological barrier that seperates the Congo Basin from the surrounding plateaus is to the northwest. The savannah continues for kilometers to the east.
Obvious exits:
Eastern Barrier Transition Zone Central Grassland

Nothing to sound the spring from the brush. Then, the panicked herd of gazelle scatters in all directions, grunting, snorting, bleating warning cries and kicking high to ward off the spotted sprinter. Fireborn singles out his target, a doe and her calf, fat from having recently fed on her mother's milk. The chase ensues, with twists and turns and each time the runner matches with a whip of his tail. The lunge of his paw comes out to trip the calf, and down she goes with a harsh cry. The mother wheels, turning to defend her calf and threatens with hard hooves and horns. Predator and prey face off, but with a defiant cry the cheetah slips past a wild swing of a desperate mother, and siezes the youngling in his jaws. Neck muscles tighten with jaw muscles as spotted cat tries to avoid the horns, withdrawing towards a bush. The calf bucks helplessly, unable to bleat until the light in its eyes dulls and the mother snorts in reluctant acceptance. Fireborn waits no further, before starting in on the flank, where oxygen rich muscle lies.

Curiousity killed the wolf. Faith totters in from the direction of the town called Leopoldville, and she seems somewhat confused at this; the wolf form is new to her in this setting, so her six senses are going wild. Ooh, aah, look at the bird, what's that smell? ...meat. Meat, meat, meat. But she is not hungry. So the creature who looks vaguely like an African Hunting dog settles upon her haunches, eyes on the cheetah in amazement. Wow. Those are the things they say to watch out for?

Tempts-Fate wakes up from her nap as the gazelle heard takes off in a panic. Rising, the jackal streateches and leaves the shade of the termite mound. The scent of fresh blood catches her intrest and she heads toward it, noting the scent of cheeta as well. Thats all well and fine with her. A single sprinter is much easier to harass and steal from then a pride of lions. She's getting closer now, then there is another scent on the breeze. The jackal comes up short, large ears swiving in confusion. What in Gaia's name is that? Cautiously, Tempts-Fate aproaches the strange wolf. Must be a domestic dog, that cross-bred with one of the wild dogs.

Fireborn eats hurriedly, gulping down large chunks with the barest regard for anything else. The smell of panicked gazelle and blood fills his nostrils, but another couple of scents bring his attention up for a slight moment. The cat growls, warningly, golden eyes watching for the jackal scavenger and moreso at the new smell. But he lowers his growl and continues to eat, even as the first of the vultures can be seen in the distance. Faith shifts, this time from the wolf into her human form; the girl does not seem to take any heed of either of the creatures, taking the time to pull at a flower and examine it carefully, handling it delicately.

Tempts-Fate yelps in surprise and sits down on her haunches, hard. The cat and her meal is forgotten, completly. Standing back up, the jackal gives herself a good shake and growls at Faith. Hackles raised as she stalks toward her, gait stiff. You! she demands. Who are you!

Faith's wide blue eyes fall upon Tempts-Fate and she ducks her head. A hand moves to grip at her throat, and with this motion she shakes her head. She cannot speak, you see. One might not see. So she reverts to the mother tongue, after understanding the Strider's words -- she must be Garou, that jackal. ~Cannot talk. Mother, Litany-Breaker,~ she says, blunt.

Fireborn glances back up as the jackal barks. And sees the human. The cheetah too, hisses in surprise, but only grabs his meal and backs behind a twisted tree. From there, he rips away another chunk. Surprise evident only in raised hackles, he watches silently as the jackal approaches the human. So, the jackal is not all she seems either. He sniffs, ears turned towards the two, with interest.

A growl continues to rumble in Finds-Trouble's breast, but its subdued. I am called Tempts-Fate, Silent Strider born under the dark moon. The Garou repeats herself. Who are you?

~Faith. Gaia's Child, Gaia's Daughter. Crescent moon,~ the mule answers in response in the Mother Tongue; Faith's breed might as well be apparent with her non-ability to speak.

Fireborn catches the barest of the Garou tongue, having spoke with Striders before. A crescent moon. The cheetah's golden eyes glitter. But not a Strider? He thinks to himself, quietly, debating whether to approach. No.. for now, he had a meal to finish.

Tempts-Fate sighs heavily, then looks over her shoulder as the wind blows the scent of fresh meet in her direction. She's hungry and whines softly, in simpathy with her rumbling belly. Refocusing her attention on Faith, the lupus seems uncertain about what to do next.

Faith decides to scurry off in the direction of Leopoldville.

Tempts-Fate lets the Gaian go, thinking about this stange incounter. She will have to go back into the two-leg place and find this mule again, at one point.

Fireborn has devoured most of the calf, but there are some leftovers as his meal was slowed down by the strange encounter. He rumbles now, thoughtfully. The scent of Faith will go remembered, for now. But the cat's secret will not be revealed yet. He eyes the jackal, warily.

After Faith is long gone, Tempts-Fate turns her attention back to scavanging. Fireborn should be mostly satisified now and there is the possibility of left overs. Trotting over to the cheetah's hiding place, the jackal pokes her head into the bushes.

Fireborn barks a short cough at the jackal, as the scavenger comes almost face to face with him. Wanting an easy meal from a cat? The fire consumes what it sees, but leaves what it does not burn. And some, are too interesting to be burned by crude flame. The runner backs off, leaving the jackal the meal. You were lucky this time, blackback. Had the ape not come, I might have driven you away.

Tempts-Fate watches the cat warily, as she slinks forward and grabs a broken leg bone in her jaws. Backing of quickly, she brings the kill out into the open. Easier for her to get out of the way, if the larger cat decides to change his mind. Ears swiveling and remaining alert, she begins chewing the remains of the carcass.

The jackal does indeed have the interest of the cat now. But he has eaten, and shows no more interest in hounding the hound than attempting another swipe at the gazelle herd which has re-converged further away. The apes always leave a strange scent behind, don't they... he purrs musingly. And sometimes the blackbacks like them just as much. A black ear ringed with soft ivory fur on the inside turns to the jackal.

Tempts-Fate looks up at the cat, growling softly at his continued interest in her.

[Tempts-Fate's desc]
A golden jackal stands before you, tan fur that same color of the surrounding grasslands. With a darker saddle of black guard hairs, speckled across her back. Large pointed ears rest on the top of Tempts-Fate skull, framing a delicate face and elongated muzzle. A bushy tail rests on her other end, golden like the rest of her body. These small canines are well known on the savannah, killing their own prey, scavenging, and stealing from larger predators when the opportunity arises.

Fireborn returns the soft growl, his more smug. He turns on a paw, the growl turning into a slow purr. The ape understood you. I have not seen others with such white skin to do so. It would do both our kinds well to warn of that the newcomers are not merely apes. The other ear flickers, along with a thoughtful curl of tail.

Tempts-Fate's hackles lift all the way now, she doesn't like being caught out like this. Her large dish-like ears lay back, flattening against her skull. You are more then you seem, yes?

Fireborn turns his gaze from the savannah to the jackal. The shine of his golden eyes in the twilight give her the answer. If you are of the blackbacks that understand the apes, the fire might have more answers than burning questions. The cheetah coughs a laugh, humoured by the jackal's distress in a strange way. The spotted runner carries messages for the blackbacks as well, sometimes. In exchange for favors.

Tempts-Fate grunts, settling down on her haunches. This one does the same, she admits grudgingly.

Fireborn turns and sits, regarding the jackal. You stay with the local blackbacks, Troublefinder? The cheetah seems content to wait for the jackal to finish her meal, if she wants.

Tempts-Fate does not. She goes back to eating, as she continues to watch the cheetah. I came from far away.

Fireborn purrs in thought. Why? You bring messages for them? Your kind likes to run, as the fire does over the dry grass.

Tempts-Fate came to look at the white two-legs. They are causing alot of trouble and the spirits are unhappy.

Fireborn growls lightly at the mention of spirits, but it is with tones of interest. You speak with the spirits well? There have been many interesting events lately, in this place yes. The cheetah licks the front of his muzzle. Interesting, indeed.

Tempts-Fate does not, but she knows those who do. There is little meat left for the jackal to eat and she steps away from the carcass, leaving the skin and bones for the vultures.

Fireborn gives his fur a quick shake, licking away the blood around his muzzle. You know you tread on the territories of the cats, jackal. He eyes the lupus some, as if to drive the point home. Then he curls his tail about his forepaw. The paler two-legs have strange ways. I go with some of them, soon, up the river to explore. There are, however, things to watch out for here. One named Asura's Horn. Driven mad by Asura's sicknesses. The horned thunder smashes boulders like birds eggs, so the fire hears from the storm. And there have been serpents in the sky, as well. He stands to his paws, having finished his warnings. Watch yourself well, blackback. You and I know, this land is full of hazard.

Tempts-Fate's jaws part in a very lupine grin. I have walked the territories of cats since I was whelped. The land is full of serpents, that is why I came.

Fireborn points his muzzle to the jungles. The apes will soon wish to travel up the river, searching. From what I have heard, there is more to find than just baboons and junglecats. An ear flattens. Asura makes her home and tempts Cahlash with the darkness. The serpents continue to thrive, even as we cut their bodies with our claws. The cheetah gives his fur another muscleloosing shake. I go to the dens of the apes, now. There is still much for me to hear before the lions roar. He dips his head to the jackal. The fire can be spotted, amongst the grasslands. His own feline grin creeps over half-open jaws. Good hunting, blackback.

[Later in the day...]

Central Commons -- Leopoldville(#359RAJMs)
The center of Leopoldville is carved out of the vegetation that surrounds Stanley Pool. Most of this vegetation has been cleared to allow for a central commons. Small groupings of date, palm and banana trees clump together about the square, but the thick underbrush normally found along the lakefront has been cleared away. A number of huts line the periphery of the square as well, serving as homes to many of the native families -- particularly those who have converted to Christianity. Expeditions oftentimes set up camp in the commons while awaiting final supplies and preparations to go upriver.
The central trading post for Leopoldville claims the eastern side of the quad, while the docks are a short distance to the northwest. To the west lie the offices, barracks and the messhall for the Association. At the north end of the quad sits the blockhouse, while the south end is dominated by the church.
Contents:
Catherine
Obvious exits:
Docks North West South Trading Outpost Tent Encampment
GAME: This room may be monitored with +watch.

Catherine supervises as a troop of exhausted porters bring in marked crates. The boxes are being stacked alongside the trading post; the young woman is pacing nervously, a paper in her hand along with a stub of lead. She appears to be making marks on the sheet, as the boxes are brought in.

Azi comes in, looking rather dusted with grass bits and such though he doesn't look like he minds. The native takes a few moments to take in the bustling scene and then glances up to Catherine. "It seems everytime I see you, you are worried. It is not healthy." The rolling French from the dark man comes drifting towards her as he crosses over from the road.

Catherine glances up, flashing the man a warm smile as she reconizes him. "Tremaine! I've been hoping to see you."

As if by instinct now, Azi checks around for any watchers before he returns the smile. "As I have been seeking you for a few words about the journey. Had you questions for me?"

Catherine comes toward him, closing the distance as he does. "Will you come with us?"

Azi clears his throat softly as she comes closer. "If the boat's captain and crew can bear another. I have told you before, of my own feel for the lands beyond my knowledge." He smiles again. "Though your other friend, M. Lachlan, does not take liking to me at all." The native, as bad as the statement sounds, seems humored by it.

Catherine shakes her head minutely, and her expression sobers. "Don't worry about that. I need a translator. And he'll answer to me, if he gives you any trouble. White man or no."

Azi chuckles, low and purr-like. "You bring many supplies, for just one journey. How long do you plan to travel up the river? Until you find the source?"

Catherine shakes her head minutely. "No. Probably not as far as the falls. I hope, at least."

Azi meanders a little closer towards the direction of the porters and the boxes. "What do you bring that requires so many?"

Catherine glances to Azi. "We need enough trade goods to trade for food, to feed the expedition. Also to trade for anything else we might need. Provisions in case of emergencies, weapons, medical supplies..."

Azi looks thoughtful. "I often wonder, why explorers take so much with them on their journeys. But, the river you travel is unknown, and you wish to be prepared. I understand." He turns his gaze back to Catherine. "I have not found the jungle guide amongst the people of this town. Would you leave without him?"

Catherine presses her lips together a moment. "We leave in a week," she says quietly. "If we must, we'll find someone on the way. If the Pygmy doesn't turn up by then."

Azi thinks upon the time schedule, turning back to watch the boxpile. "And if I cannot go?"

Catherine catches her lower lip between her teeth. "Then I will regret your absence," she says plainly, "and pray that Swahili and French and Tchokwe will be enough to communicate a little."

Azi tilts his head to the woman, watching her for a moment, her facial expression. His own eyes carry the speed of his thought, and a hand clenches slightly on the other side with debate. "How long do you plan your trip?"

Catherine purses her lips, glancing down for a moment in thought. "I can't say," she says honestly, looking across to him again, the blue eyes cloudy. "Perhaps a month or two. But if you have... other obligations I would certainly be willing to negotiate a more limited agreement with you."

Azi notes, softly. "I have no obligations, save the watching of the land. More and more of the Europeans come, and they find want to hunt and gather here. Perhaps I should have seen the lands of the sister that wished me to travel with her over the deep waters she spoke of. To lands like France, and England, and Belgium." He scratches at a spot on his neck. "But then, I have this journey to take with you, over the river here. It is travel enough."

Catherine swallows, a flicker of confusion passing through her eyes. She nods, then, offering him a pale hand. "Bien," she says quietly.

Azi takes her hand gently, as was taught to him. His movement is a bit stiff from lack of habit, as he shakes with firm grip but gentle movement. His eyes glint slightly with anticipation of an adventure, but there is a difference in the lay of his face regarding the excitement. "Will you return here, if you find him?"

Catherine nods quickly, offering a worried smile. "Of course," she says.

Azi lets go of her hand, still feeling a bit awkward of the gesture. "Then," he says with a slow exhale. "Then we will find him, and learn about the dark forest, and bring back tales to regale the populace here." The slow, trademark half-smile of his returns.

Catherine answers it with one of her own. "There is," she adds, "the matter of payment. But if you'd like to think on it for a time, we can speak tomorrow or the next day."

Azi arches a short eyebrow at her. "What matter of payment?" he queries, as if he were almost foreign to the concept.

Catherine watches his face. "That is part of what we must decide. If money means little to you, perhaps there is something else that will. Assistance for your people or your village."

Azi thinks upon this. "Had we not discussed this before?" The Swara taps a part of his wrap with idle finger. "It is better to see first, whether your offering will apply when I return here." He smiles. "We will see."

[Catherine's desc]
Like most redheads, this young woman has a pale complexion, with a generous smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her delicate features have a Celtic stamp, and in fact she is quite lovely by European standards: fine bone structure, a small but eloquent mouth, a strong defiant chin. Blue eyes, the color of the North sea in a storm, study the world around her with the bright, intense curiosity of a sharp mind. Her build, though willowy, gives an impression of graceful resilience; perhaps it's her confident bearing, or the focused energy that usually shows in her movements. She looks to be barely out of her teens, with none of the lanky awkwardness of adolescence. Though quite fluent in French and Swahili, she speaks them with a lilting rhythm that hints at her origins.
She wears the dark, flowing cottons of the Tuareg desert nomad: a dark-indigo tunic with long sleeves, belted at the waist, with a longer layer of faded purplish-black cotton reaching nearly to her knees. Both tunics are slashed at the side seams, revealing full-cut black trousers. The pants are tucked into ankle-high boots, black leather, the soles soft enough to keep her steps quiet.
In this humid heat, the girl does not wear the full head-wrapping and veil--but during the day, a dark-blue cloth usually covers the bright coppery hair, sometimes wrapped in the intricate style of the Tuaregs without the covering for the face.

Catherine nods, accepting that for the time being. "If that is your wish. As long as we have an agreement that you will stay with us for a specific length of time... say, at least two months?"

Azi licks his lips, gazing up into the sky. "Two months. Two turns of the moon's eye. That is a long time." He turns his dark eyes back to the woman. "Only, if I am granted leave to go where I wish, unwatched, while you camp."

Catherine takes a careful breath, meeting the man's gaze as she seems to consider this. "I will give it... but if there should be any trouble, realize you may be implicated somehow if the men know that you walk apart in the night."

Azi nods slowly. "That is something which will be dealt with as it comes. I will not stray far." His eyes gaze back, telling of simple motivations for the request. "I sleep apart from the men and their crews."

Catherine nods. "Certainly." There's a flicker of sympathy in her eyes.

Azi takes a deep breath and exhales satisfied. "Then," he inquires, "Is there anything else to be talked about?"

Catherine's mouth quirks up at one corner, slightly. "Well. We always have a great deal to talk about, but I ought to get back to my work."

Azi chuckles again, the unique purring characteristic in his low tone. "Then I will bother you no longer." He dips his head to the woman. "One week's time, then, give or take a sun."

Catherine answers him with a quick nod, and a smile. Then she turns and makes her way back to the chaos of the boxes.

Azi gives a departing nod before continuing on his stroll. "Do not look so worried, Mlle. It is not healthy." His chuckle floats along through the air as he walks down the road towards the river.