2/16/2005

06:49 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (53% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 51 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 9 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.24 and falling, and the relative humidity is 33 percent. The dewpoint is 23 degrees Fahrenheit (-5 degrees Celsius.)
It is currently 18:27 Pacific Time on Wed Feb 16 2005.

Around the Lone Boulder
The sparse forest gives way here into a vast clearing, entirely devoid of trees or heavy underbrush for great distances all around. Low, thick grass, a palish green in color, grows everywhere underfoot; it sways ever so gently in the chill winds that seem to settle in across this open expanse with unusual frequency. The occasional darker shoot or dandelion weed makes its way up amidst the rest, but the hilly territory is on the whole a uniform color, reminiscent of a moor. Adding to the image is the single, ponderous old stone, a grey-brown in color, settled uncannily in the dead center of the expanse as if it has perched there alone since the dawn of time. Grass grows up around the weathered boulder, but its vaguely-flattened top clears the grass by a good many feet, at least chest-high to a good-sized man. The sky, often grey, is a presence in this sudden openness, appearing from amidst the treetops to arc high over the grass and stone.
Woodland tracks lead off into the forest to the north and south, while the boulder itself stands at the center of the clearing.
Contents:
Thunder's-Forge
Obvious exits:
Forest Boulder

It might be possible to miss the lump of black fur curled up in the shadow of the boulder, if he weren't quite so big. Lucas and his hispo form, he is fond of it. The deer he and Dillen brought down the other day is now nothing more than stripped, cracked bone and a few tufts of hair. Thunder's Forge is napping in the twilight hours, probably have spent most of the day in the same lazed position - only in the sun.

Just as the sun makes its final retreat behind the dense trees of the north woods, another black figure emerges from its place of hiding, padding silently into the area surrounding Forge's perch. Behind it, a third four-legged shadow trails discretely.

Behold! It's a conspiracy of Shadow Lords. The sept would tremble if they knew. Or, they would, until they saw the rather lazy Ahroun half leaning against the stone and apparently sound asleep. Well, he's not drooling, at least.

Edge has his head distinctly kept low, ears flat against his head as he trails behind the Shadow Lord elder. Submissive, but tense, the halfmoon flicks his tongue in and out from between his teeth as he works to contain himself and move silently. Coming upon the sleeping ahroun, the halfmoon's ears sweep forward, and his expression changes to a nearly jealous one at the sight of such peace.

Closer, closer, closer moves the Fostern Galliard. Until he's mere yards from the sleeping Ahroun. And then, into the night, Storm-Singer gives a short, sharp BARK!!

With a sharp jerk, Thunder's Forge comes alive. The hispo erupts from the ground and wheels with his mouth open and teeth bared, a threatening snarl booming from his chest. He brings his front paws back to the earth with a solid thump, his head low, hackles flared and his tail up and straight as a fuzzy pine tree. Only once his nose picks up who it is does his tail lower, a sound *HMF* from his nostrils showing his annoyance at being so rudely disturbed.

Edge looks like a smaller, but just as irritated black bottlebrush as Forge comes alive with threatening snarl. Lips peeled back, the halfmoon bares his teeth, ears folding back as well. Once the ahroun calms to a point, Edge looks back to the fostern and snorts, daring to express how that wasn't such a smart thing to do.

Storm-Singer can't concel his glee at having successfully sneaked up on someone. He fairly prances around, though he recovers his decorum. ~You should never have let me sneak up on you like that, Forge~

A pink tongue flicks out between white fangs that are still showing, if just not quite as much. ~You're lucky you weren't standing closer and that I could smell you.~ Thunder's Forge remarks back in a surly manner as he forcefully flattens his fur back out, though parts of his hackles can't held but flick back upright in betrayl of his remaining irritation.

Edge turns a tight circle, looking around through the woods and in a way feeling vulnerable. Sneezing again, he plants himself onto the ground at a medium distance from either party and splays an ear. Your scent skill is weakened, if you could not smell the two of us from the woods, he remarks at his packmate.

Storm-Singer flicks an ear in agreement. ~Still. You did come here to take your rest and quiet your soul. Have you had any luck? I may have other news for you, if not.~
~Well I was rested.~ The Ahroun notes with a brief huff as he slumps back onto his haunches. ~It is quieter here and easier to relax, but I can't stay here forever either.~

Edge remains silent, instead observing packmate and tribe elder with interest. His nose lifts as he scents around, noting how Bloods-Bane isn't there.

Storm-Singer shifts to his glabro form, his voice a deep baritone as he speaks to Forge. "So here it is. We may have a solution for you. A spiritual one. Mystical, I mean."

Thunder's-Forge furrows his black lupine brow and leans forward, head tilted at the Elder curiously. ~What?~

Edge lifts his nose up at the glabro. Does it involve the Get Gatekeeper?

Jarred nods. "I spoke to my packmates. To Jamethon, and the others. He may have found a way to help you, though he can make no guarantee.

~Well, it's worth a try, isn't it?~ Thunder's Forge eyes the Galliard closely. ~What is his idea?~

Edge licks the side of his muzzle, noting, I spoke with the Gatekeeper as well. He said something about needing a halfmoon for something as well. The phildox is perfectly vague, yet seems unembarrassed about not knowing the details of what Jamethon had said.

Jarred continues. "He didn't give me the details. But he requested something of one of his packmates, and I am to get something from you. It will involve him speaking to the spirits. Probably a summoning. In the end, a spirit will probably watch over you and protect you from your own rage."

Thunder's-Forge looks a bit disgruntled at the idea of a spirit hovering over him 24/7, but given the alternative, he can't really argue. ~What does he need?~ He asks in a rather 'pray tell' fashion.

Edge exchanges a glance with his packmate. The philodox, too, is dubious but not about to question the powers of spirits.

Jarred hesitates a moment. "A wooden bowl of your blood."

Thunder's-Forge puffs up again and gives the best imitation of a scowl a dire wolf is capable of. He doesn't seem to like that idea much. ~And how do I know he wouln't try to curse me? Can he be trusted?~ He splays his ears, bristling with suspicion.

Jarred shrugs. "He is my packmate, and even before he was my packmate, I would have trusted him with my life."

Edge coughs aloud; a wolf's laugh. But in doing so, he splays an ear and shakes himself, throwing off the doubt. The halfmoon growls quietly, He is a theurge, the Gatekeeper, but he is also a Get. This summation seems to suffice as the halfmoon's explanation of why it would be ok to randomly spill Lucas' blood into cookingware.

Thunder's-Forge continues to look most aggrieved at the entire situation, but he's grudgingly forced to admit out loud that if it is what's required, than he'll do it. ~But if something goes wrong...~ He says and trails off in a growl that needs no translation.

Jarred says "IF something goes wrong, we'll deal with it. But you don't have many other options, now do you?""

Edge sniffs. The ritual will be performed when?

Thunder's-Forge goes quiet in a sullen agreement with the Elder, his shoulders hunching up as he sits there, looking to his packmate when he asks his question.

Jarred turns his head in annoyance at Edge. "It will be performed when Fights-For-Hope decides it should be performed. He is Theurge and he is Fostern. You would do well to have a little respect for that which you don't understand."

Edge rankles at the elder, hackles lifting up involuntarily. Head snapping to a side, the halfmoon gets up and stalks off a distance further from the galliard, and closer to his packmate.

~I would advise him to do it before the full moon.~ Thunder's Forge remarks without looking at either of his tribe mates. ~But this is his area of experience. When does he need my blood?~

Jarred laughs at that. "Oh, well done, Edge. What a show of solidarity. You've tought me a valuable lesson, my boy." He looks back at Forge's question. He will let me know when. He will step into the Velvet Shadow and consult the spirits and when he is ready, he will notify me of his need."

Edge looks back at the elder once he's chosen a new spot, and sits down onto the dirt a fair pace away. He pointedly keeps his eyes off the tribe elder. Only an ear turns when words are spoken, and the halfmoon goes silent again. With the crackling feel of his tension though, he keeps down whatever snappish remark he had wanted to quip, instead turning to do a bit of impromptu grooming of his fur.

The Ahroun's disliking and probably distrust of the spirit world becomes somewhat evident as his ears lay flatter. He'll leave the spooks and their strange ways to the crescent moons. He'll kill them should the need arise. ~Very well. I'll be waiting.~

Jarred nods to Forge. "I'll let you know." He turns to return to the woods, but glances back at Edge. "Are you coming, or would you prefer to stay with your packmate this evening?"

Edge makes no movement towards the elder, ears laying back against his head. From the stare he gives as his wordless reply, it appears he would rather die than be left alone in the company of the irritatingly higher-ranked elder again.

Thunder's-Forge looks between the two and tilts his head up and then directing his eyes towards the stripped deer remains. ~We can hunt. I am hungry. Then we can find Bloods-Bane.~

Jarred laughs good-naturedly. "Someday, my dear Philodox, you will grow used to my unpredictability. Very well then. Stay with Forge. He needs your companionship more than I now. And Dillen should be back soon. The three of you can... I dunno. Play cards and roast s'mores or something. "I'll be back tomorrow."

Edge flashes his teeth at the elder in an annoyed show and snort before turning back to his packmate. Hunting is good, but it is dark and the moon is half.

Jarred calls over his shoulder as he departs. "Perhaps you think you'll escape punishment for your insolence, Edge. For now, I shall leave you to that illusion. Reality, however, will come knocking soon enough. I don't tolerate disrespect." He voice fades off into the night.

~If I wanted to sit around a fire and sing songs I would have joined the Children!~ Thunder's Forge bark out to the retreating Elder before looking to his packmate with a rather serene 'so what?' expression on his face.

Edge pauses pointedly, eyes narrowed with contemplation of the elder's threat. Then, he turns back to his packmate. The prey will be hard to find, and I am not keen on stumbling about in the dark looking for it. Not tonight. The halfmoon suppresses his hackles with a flop down onto the earth, a sudden lack of appetite having come upon him as he stares off in the direction of departed galliard.

Thunder's-Forge lets out a loud snort of frustration and pushes himself up to his paws, tail flagging upwards. ~Then I will hunt and you and Bloods-Bane can pick at what's left.~ And with that, he seems to have every intention on leaving the Philodox behind to sulk while he finds dinner.

Edge waits until the galliard has stepped away beyond what he thinks is a decent hearing range, before he rises back up to his paws stiffly. His tail sweeps up, then levels out with a lash as he looks towards the ahroun with a growl, Fenris might have taken your gut, but he did not take away your appetite. The halfmoon trots to catch up, stirred into action by the ahroun.