5/3/2005

07:08 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (33% full).
It is currently 18:43 Pacific Time on Tue May 3 2005.
Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 65 degrees Fahrenheit (18 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.96 and falling, and the relative humidity is 54 percent. The dewpoint is 48 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius.)

The Sept Compound(#2075RAM)
Sweeping branches of trees form a sort of natural roof overshadowing most of this clearing, no more than an open space of grasses and beaten earth in the heart of the forest. Some pains have been taken to keep wear and tear on the area to a minimum, so the firepit tends to shift from time to time. The firepit, several sawn logs polished from use, and a stack of firewood discreetly piled up at the base of an old spruce under a tarp, are the only signs of constant occupation. However, a student of such things might think that some minimal landscaping or planning has been done, for the meadowlike profusion of grasses and other plants has an unusually high concentration of brilliant flowers, which attract a number of bees and butterflies.
A faint trail leads off to the east, and a bit north.
Obvious exits:
Forest  

Lying at the base of pine tree at the very edge of the compound, Dagger's-Edge is found in a peculiar position of rest. The relatively nice weather and slowly darkenening sky sends the sunlight filtering through needles, rays striking a dappled pattern onto his black fur. But the Shadow Lord himself looks abnormally comical, with his back thrust up against the tree, a foreleg bend over his chest while the other sticks out to one side, and tongue tip poking out from between his exposed teeth. So this is what a Shadow Lord looks like when no one's watching. How odd.

Walks-Middle wanders into the Sept Compound, her nose lowered as she sniffs about, checking out who has been around lately. Catching the fresher scent of Dagger's-Edge, she lifts her head and looks about, lolling out her tongue in amusement when she sees him. She starts forward again, heading towards the center and lets out a chuff to let the Shadow Lord know she is around.

Dagger's-Edge's ears twitch at the noise, and whatever reverie had been spurred on by a moment's peace is shattered as the halfmoon flips up to his belly in a hurry, scanning the air with nose and ears before eyes. It's a moment or two between takes that he finds Walks, and amidst a rumbled groggy greeting, the Shadow Lord tries to rehydrate and unstick his tongue from his teeth.

Walks-Middle circles the fire pit and then looks over at Dagger's-Edge, cocking her head to the side. She hopes she didn't disturbed him too much and wonders how he is. She pauses to glance about, then adds that it's a good day.

Dagger's-Edge finally loosens the tongue, and sneezes once to clear the dirt from the end of his nose. After a long shake, the Shadow Lord replies that the day is good, yes. He takes a moment longer to answer the former query, flopping down back onto his haunches. He is good too, but now has to go live at the cub-safe-den, now that elder's-den has nothing left, not even water or light.

Walks-Middle lowers her tail and looks generally sympathetic as she sits back on her haunches. At least there is the cub-den, she tells him, and the cubs will be safer with him around. Will... your elder be helping with the other den?

Dagger's-Edge earflicks. Severs, the black wolf indicates with a rather less than enthused growl, is not likely to help. But, I don't expect him to either. Thunder's children look out for themselves first, their underlings after, it seems. The halfmoon snorts, but with resolution and not exactly all that much care towards the state of his tribe elder. Rolling down to his belly again, Edge uses his teeth to comb through the fur on his forepaw, idly. And besides, hunting is free.

Walks-Middle tilts her head to one side as she listens. Your tribe has strange ways, she tells him. At least, different ways than I'm used to, although I suppose the same could be said of any tribe. She looks out into the forest, then lowers herself to rest on the ground, crossing her paws and laying her head on them. Does Dagger's-Edge think I am wasting time with Hope?

Hope is your cub, Dagger's-Edge rumbles, his posture undeniably getting stiff at mention of her. And the Shadow Lords are no less strange than the Children of Gaia, only that ours is a way of waging war, and yours is a way of waging peace. Still the mention of Hope encroaches onto the halfmoon's mind. The black wolf looks off to the woods, as if searching for his answer.

Walks-Middle lifts her head and looks over at his as he speaks, seeming to agree. I will do what I can. I think I can teach her most of our ways, but I worry about combat. She lets out a huff and shakes her head. One trouble at a time; I get ahead of myself.

Dagger's-Edge rumbles lowly, ears flicking with an agitation. Worry not about the cub's fighting skills. Worry about how she could be of any use to us, and to the Mother, looking the way she does and thinking the way she does.

Walks-Middle snorts and scowls at the ground. The thinking is the first thing I mean to change. If I can tackle that, the rest should be easy enough. All this would be easier if I knew her auspice as well, but without knowing her birthday... can that even be found out?

Dagger's-Edge flicks his tail, not particularly concerned about it. If birthmoons are supposed to affect our place on the Mother's face, then you will see it through your teachings to her, how well she learns and what she learns or takes interest to. The Shadow Lord follows this logic, though his paw scrapes at the ground beneath him. If you know a knife-moon, maybe they will find a spirit who can find out. But I think it would be easier to just teach her the things she should know first, no matter what her moon is.

Walks-Middle rises up to a sitting position, seeming a bit restless. You are right about that, of course, and I will start with the basics, but I will also seek out a knife-moon. I have matters I need to discuss with one anyways, perhaps Fights-for-Hope.

Dagger's-Edge perks his ears at mention of the Gatekeeper, but the interest is shortlived. What kind of matters?

Walks-Middle looks confused for a moment, then seems to remember her previous thoughts and parts her mouth in a lupine grin. Fights-for-Hope knows about spirits, and I would like to learn about Uktena.

Dagger's-Edge splays an ear, tail waving cat-like behind him. Why not find an Uktena to find out about Uktena?

Walks-Middle looks off to the forest, then back to Dagger's-Edge. I will speak with them as well, but neither of the Uktena here are knife-moons, and Rags-Torn-to-Rags can be difficult to reach. And I want as much information as I can find out.

Dagger's-Edge gives his head a quick shake, licking at the sides of his muzzle in thought. Or ask the Wendigo, since they are close to them too, the Shadow Lord rumbles after another moment. What if it is not Uktena that answers your pack's call? The halfmoon tilts his head, showing in his posture and expression a sort of knowing of this sort of experience.

Walks-Middle tilts her head. Then it will not be Uktena, she says matter-of-factly. Thank you for the advice about the Wendigo, I will speak with them as well. I spoke with Three-Blades about that incident, as I ran into her on the bawn. I need to speak with White Bear, though. A lot of the story does not make sense. Such as... why did he not want the two-legger killed, but then killed him anyways?

Dagger's-Edge snorts, his hackles lifting on the ruff of his neck a touch. Because White Bear does what he wants as a Guardian, no matter what the aftermath is. The Shadow Lord growls low, but the hostility dies off with a forced calm as he lowers his head onto his paws. Forath-Ripper has already spoken to the Warder, and to the Alpha. Warder said he would speak to the Alpha. Alpha says she will speak to the Warder. The Shadow Lord's tail lashes behind him, thumping the tree trunk in a wordless feeling of frustration. But, he doesn't go beyond to express all of his thoughts. The philodox glances back to the ahroun. And now the Warder has passed his new laws about humans on the bawn anyway.

Walks-Middle lowers herself back down to the ground as Dagger's-Edge growls, tilting her head as she looks up at him, as though trying to appear unthreatening. The new laws are good, she says, skirting around the other subject. It will be good to have a clearer idea of what is to be done in such circumstances.

Dagger's-Edge sneezes again, willing his lips down over the tips of his teeth as he doesn't want to direct the hostility towards the Coggie. The philodox rumbles assent about it being good to have clear ideas, but says no more on it. Then, abruptly, Edge gets up to his paws and shakes himself once more. I am going to find something to eat, he tells the ahroun. Maybe I will come back later, or be near the cub-den again after.

Walks-Middle sits up again as he rises and watches as he leaves. Gaia guide your steps, she says, and then she stands to her feet as well and starts off into the forest.