3/19/2005

08:20 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (63% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 44 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 3 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.21 and falling, and the relative humidity is 96 percent. The dewpoint is 43 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)
It is currently 19:57 Pacific Time on Sat Mar 19 2005.

Burial Mounds(#3207RJ$)
This wide clearing in the midst of short, dark pines is rough with wild grass and bare stone. The air is a bit cooler up here in the foothills than below, and the majestic peaks of the nearby mountains rear up over the eastern treetops. There is a vine-covered boulder standing under the edge of the somber evergreens to the east. The air here is prenaturally still and the grass waves not at all for there is no breeze that blows through the pines. It is silent, no call of bird thrown from the treetops to dance gaily in the open spaces. Occasionally chill fingers run up your spine.
There are +views here.
A faint path leading downhill to the west is the only exit from the clearing.
Contents:
Dillen
Obvious exits:
Forest

Kenneth, since being given a verbal sting from the Child ahroun, hasn't really moved since the afternoon. A simmering silence has been resumed, but the light has since faded and leaves the halfmoon sitting by the bags in silence. The one holding Jarred's mutilated body sports a small ripped hole, looking to be torn open by hand.

Dillen comes back in after having taken off for a run. He stops and shifts back up to homid, walking over and sitting down next to Kenneth. "Hey." He speaks softly.

Kenneth continues to stare off to space, lost in thought. The halfmoon's skin prickles with the cold, though, and given the way he's dressed, there's no denying logic. He doesn't look up, and nor does he say a word, but at least he blinks. And breathes.

Dillen doesn't speak either, rather sits and looks out into space. He breathes deep, much like Kenneth.

A section of the halfmoon's ripped jacket sleeve lies in a crumpled form on top of the ripped bag that holds Jarred. And atop that, the small gold ring with emerald gem that Jarred had given to Kenneth, as well as an identical one to Lucas, to signify their cliathdom. The ring catches the light of the stars just right, drawing Kenneth's eye again. "Fucking lies," he growls out underneath his breath.

Dillen nods his head. "Yeah. Not right. Not right at all." He growls out. "Kenneth, I'm still here for you, if you want me as your friend."

Kenneth snaps his head to the side, staring at Dillen. "Friend? Friend?!" Shoving himself up to his feet, disregarding the pain that jolts through his neck, the halfmoon snaps out at the Get. "What are you gonna do? Huh? What the fuck does 'I'm still here for you' Mean?"

"Fuck this." Dillen rises to his feet and walks across the way. "Was just trying to say that if you need someone. But it's obvious that you don't."

"No. No, I don't need 'someone'," Kenneth snarls angrily, hot words flowing down like magma. "Don't pull verbal bullshit on me, Dillen!"

"Not pulling any fucking shit on you, man. Just, nevermind. Forget I asked." Dillen shakes his head and heads back out and into the woods.

Making his way towards the burial grounds, holding a large knife is Brom, lumbering with slow strides and narrowed eyes. Soon as he comes into view, he spots the pair, watching Dillen starting to clear away. He rumbles in his throat loudly, a giant 'ahem' as he spins the blade about in his fingers.

Kenneth looks at first like he's about to stalk after, but holds himself in place. "That's right, just fuckin' keep walkin' away." The 'ahem' stops what further comment Kenneth had aimed for the Get galliard's back, and instead his eyes turn towards whoever it was who had made the sound. Black eyes glaring still, he sends invisible daggers at the newcomer.

[look Brom]
Standing tall about six foot five, Brom has the body of a brick wall. He obviously works out on an obsessive basis. His arms are thick and his chest broad, giving off the look of perhaps a well in shape football player. He has a pair of intense blue eyes that always seem to border on anger, and a well developed scowl.
Brom has long hair to about his shoulders, a dirty dark blonde that is typically tied up into a tight pony tail, pulled back from his head. He has a jagged looking scar along his neck that dips down into his shirt, and a few more along his arms that appear to have been made by claw marks. He tends to dress very plainly, a pair of beat up blue jeans with slashes and holes in them, a tight fitted black muscle shirt and a beat up looking leather jacket. Shit kicker boots adorn his feet and a large belt buckle with the picture of an axe on it.
http://homepage.mac.com/jasonaisling/brom.jpg // Best reference I could find for him, for White Bear's relief, no, he doesn't wax his chest, he's manly and probably has hair. Also, he wouldn't have much of a beard, perhaps a scruff on his chin and not as old. Brom is in his early 20's.

It doesn't appear that the mountain of a man is too intimidated by invisible daggers as Brom turns his hard, vicious gaze back upon Kenneth, staring him down as his upper lip curl. "What the fuck are you looking at?" He growls out in a deep tumble as he tilts his head to one side, cracking the loud joints.

"Your ugly mug," Kenneth replies coldly, apparently leaving his reason at the door.

Raising up a brow, Brom starts towards Kenneth, gripping the handle of the blade tighter in his hand, letting it free slightly side to side, shifting his shoulders. "You got balls, too bad I gotta cut 'em off."

"Fuckin' Take 'em. Like it matters to Me," Kenneth snaps back as Brom hits an even sorer spot on the Shadow Lord's list. As Dillen continues to walk off, he shifts his gaze just long enough to look at the departing galliard's back and the direction he's headed.

Dillen stops and takes a deep breath. He turns back and walks back into the area. "Fuck off Brom. Don't need that shit right now." He looks at the other Get, a steely glare.

Arms crossing over his step, the blade poking out from one side, Brom stares at Kenneth for a long moment, then snorts. "DILLEN!" He roars out loudly, eyes not once leaving the Shadow Lord, breathing slowly, yet heavily.

Kenneth now has his attention divided, the two Get clearly not in similar lines with each other. He gives 'Brom' another glance before turning back to watch Dillen carefully. Regardless of circumstance, as far as the Shadow Lord knows, there is still something that holds him closer towards the galliard than the stranger.

"Dillen, don't start giving me shit. Come here. I need to talk to you /both/." Brom says firmly in his voice, his entire posture screaming dominance as he continues to hold himself solid.

Dillen doesn't give a shit. "Then show a little more respect asshole." His teeth grit and he looks at Brom. "He's pack. And I don't care who you are or how big you are. You don't rag on my fucking pack!" The words are spit out, rage very beneath the surface.

Kenneth, hearing Brom mention the both of them, turns his black gaze back to the bigger, older Get. Dominance sure, but Kenneth was never known for his respect of a dominating force. "I don't know you. Why the hell would you need to talk to me?"

"Dillen, don't test me tonight. The moon is getting big and I don't feel like breaking your neck on the other side." Brom says with a hiss between his teeth as he turns his eyes upon the Skald, giving him a cruel grin, flashing teeth. To Kenneth, he says. "Because, I heard about your loss last night, and I figured you two could actually talk to someone who knows what its like to lose one pack mate after the next. Its obvious Dillen is having issues and I can see it in your eyes that you are too. I know very well that you two are pack, and even though you don't know me, your pack holds a special point of interest for myself. I once, led a great, well renowned Fenrir pack and I know what its like. I know the stress, the pressure, the rage that flows through your veins."

A growl from Dillen's throat and a set of clenched teeth is pretty much what greets those words. "I'm not testing you, Brom. Just letting you know that your brand of threats is NOT what we need. Understand?" He just screams that he is looking for a fight, and doesn't care what happens in it.

Kenneth looks back at Dillen, gauging the galliard's reaction to this guy and his talk. Looking back to Brom, the Shadow Lord's expression is like ice - and completely unbelieving on his supposed factoids. "So what?"

"So? This is about as caring as a killer can get. I may not be the most sympathetic of Garou, due to the fact I'm a warrior, but I do at least understand where you are coming from. Right now the two of you are hurting and you need to learn to channel that anger in a positive manner, and not one that is destructive. Intelligently." Brom taps his head. "You may feel that you won't do anything stupid, but the rage inside, especially fueled by Fenrir, will probably most make you do stupid things anyways. I just want to let you know, that its alright to be angry, and its also alright to be proud of your fallen comrade and to move on with your life the next day. As Garou, we come and go, in and out of the revolving door of life. This is your first pack mate to die, who knows, maybe next month Dillen will be called to the gates of Vahalla, or even yourself. I'm just saying that when its all said and done, death is a celebration, regardless of how your brother died."

Dillen takes in a deep breath. "So just say what you want Brom." He lets out that breath, shuddering from the anger underneath. He looks to Kenneth, "What he says is true, he did have a Fenris pack. And he is one hell of a fighter." Then he stares at Brom. "I have my personal reasons against him. Seems Rillie is his girl and I lost out on that too. So, you coming to take my pack now as well?" His teeth grate.

Kenneth narrows his eyes at the Get halfmoon. "Lucas is Dead. My tribe's elder, killed by the both of us. Right now, Brom, I really don't care about 'channeling anger in a positive manner.'"

"I know you don't care, which is why I'm here right now talking to you." Brom says with a snort under his breath. "Do you think I walked all the way out here to waste my fucking time?" He shifts his eyes to Dillen, grunting lightly, before looking back to Kenneth. "From what I was told your tribal Elder was a bag of dog shit anyways, so why the hell do you care? I also heard that Lucas guy was a pretty decent Ahroun, despite all the shit that went on with him eating people or whatever. He's not the first Garou to snap because of Wyrm taint. So, you can either sit around and pissy away your life and bitch about it, or you can suck it up and find the first Wyrm tainted thing and kill it in the name of your brother. That is how a Fenrir pack celebrates their fallen family. They don't sulk or pout or throw pissy fits. They get /even/. The Wyrm was the reason why your brother ended up in this mess, and so you need to give it back."

Dillen simply begins to laugh and look at Brom. "Oh. I am not being pissy. I truly plan to make someone hurt for this. If it is with my last fucking breath. I am going to get even. So even." A fire in his eyes, raging hard. The wolf in him is right at the surface, ready to explode from him. "Something is gonna hurt over this. Revenge WILL be mine. My teeth will taste their blood and I will have vengeance. The rest of my life will be vengeance. So fuck you about having pissy fits. I WILL bitch about it until I have the Wyrm's throat in my reach." He turns and looks down at the body of Jarred, "Since I can't have YOURS." It takes all he has to not rip open that bag and tear Jarred apart.

Kenneth simply looks at the two Get, loathing seeping into his gaze. "You think that's what this is about? Killing some Wyrm thing is gonna make it just up and disappear?" He shakes his head, turning away with his shoulders hunching.

"No! Of course it won't make it just fucking disappear, Edge." Brom says, using the formal title of the Shadow Lord. "But trust me, it sure fucking feels good right about now. When I came upon you two a few minutes ago, you were at each other's throats, when you two should be at each other's backs, especially in this time of loss. You two, if you are going to remain a pack, need to come together and gel, be /stronger/. Fenrir will see that and in turn, believe in you." The Forsetti takes in a deep breath, giving a mixed look at Dillen, unsure if its pride or irritation. "Its not about killing one Wyrm thing, its about killing the Wyrm period. You fight harder from this day on, you fight smarter, and you two do it /together/. You need to trust each other and you need to really lean on each other from here out. There's only two, not three and if you push one another away, then you truly will be alone and Fenrir will abandon you. You have yourself a powerful totem on your side and I -know- what he'd expect of you, to do exactly what Dillen just said. To get /revenge/." Its obvious this speech isn't meant for Dillen.

Dillen levels a gaze at Brom and turns away, walking away to let his rage seethe. His whole posture suggests frustration. He mutters under his breath and then reaches out to punch a tree.

"Oh fuck off!" Kenneth yells out, turning around with a barely contained rage. "Who the hell are you, just comin'' up and spoutin' all this shit? TWO GAROU DON'T MAKE A FUCKING PACK! Get it through your thick muscled skull." He grits his teeth, voice grinding against his own vocal chords. "Requiem sang it's own death song last night." Turning around again, the Shadow Lord stalks away from the pair, hands clenched at his side.

"Who the fuck am I? I am Brom Gustaffson, Rips off the face of the Forath, Cliath Forsetti for the Great Get of Fenrir, once proud Alpha for the Duatha-Bloth Fenrir pack of the mighty White Oak Sept, son of Samson Gustaffson, Adren Skald, grandson of Thorn Gustaffson, Modi Hero Athro, both who have died for the greater glory of Gaia." Brom says in a deep rumble as he takes a few steps, right into the path of the Shadow Lord as he stares at the other. "And you are WRONG, Shadow Lord." He says with a deep, throaty growl. "One Garou does not make a pack, but two still does! If there was only TWO Garou left in the world, those two would be a pack, regardless of how much they hate each other because its what Gaia bids of them. You two are brothers of war, so get that through your own thick /stupid/ skull. A pack is your family and right now." He points at Dillen. "He is the only family you got. If you throw that away, you'll have nothing. Understand that?"

Dillen beats into the tree a few more times and then sinks to his back against it. he hangs his head, looking down at the ground. Finally, a voice comes. One that is calm and controlled. "Brom. You speak a lot of sense. Please. We don't need the lecture. Let us mourn."

Kenneth turns around, at distance. "If you're so keen on following Fenris and killing the Wyrm, then /You/ pack with him, Oh-High-and-Mighty One."

"Fine. Then as of this moment, I seek acceptance into the pack of Requiem." Brom says with a challenging growl back to the Shadow Lord, lifting up his lip. "But only if /both/ of you stay." He rocks his shoulders back to pop the joints in his back. "I would be proud to pack under Fenrir once more and give the Wyrm something to fear."

Dillen gives a bit of a sniff to those words. He rises to his feet and looks at Brom, crossing his arms over his chest. "After the moot, we will consider your offer." Hoping to buy some time for discussion once the two have stopped raging about Lucas' death.

Kenneth snorts, turning his back again to the Get. "Then your application has been rejected," he replies angrily.

Brom shrugs his shoulders as he eyes Kenneth, then snorts out loudly. "Your loss then." He says, tilting his chin to Dillen, then starts off through the woods.
Dillen looks at Kenneth and then to Brom. He shakes his head and then moves off through the woods.

"The next time you decide you want to take over pack, Brom," Kenneth says aloud, "be more subtle about it and don't say you wanna be in it just because it has a 'special point of interest'."

Rumbling, Brom says in a growl. "I never said I wanted to /take over/ your pack. I said I wished to join the ranks." The Forsetti says, shooting his eyes over to Kenneth. "I did not come to the West to lead, I came to kill the Wyrm in the great name of Fenrir." He turns and watches the Shadow Lord, fists squeezing up tightly.

Kenneth turns halfway back around, eyes narrowed. "Yeah, sure. And a big guy like you is gonna tuck tail and take orders from the likes of me and Dillen? Don't shove 'I didn't come to lead' shit on me."

"Hey man, not my fault your just a pissy ass coward." Brom challenges back to the other Half Moon. "Maybe you don't want me in the pack because you're afraid I /will/ take it over. If your pride overwhelms your courage, then I don't want to be apart of your pack. This is why I can't stand you Shadow Lord fucks, all of you are so paranoid about the knives in your back while you plot about the ones you are about to put in others. Fuck yourself, cry baby. When's your birthday? I'll send you a fucking doll to play with. I came here in hopes to help out what could have been a great pack in the making, but you are willing to just it go, right? Two doesn't make a pack?" He says, his teeth flashing. "You already deemed the pack worthless."

Dillen leans against a tree, just out of sight. He listens quietly to the argument, also making sure that Brom doesn't attack Kenneth, or vise versa, without him near.

"Why fuck yes, I'm paranoid about knives in my back you walking sack of shit," Kenneth barks back, sarcasm coloring his voice. "Because it's guys like you who like to say one thing and turn around to whisper on the sidelines, 'Ooh, lookit the pissy coward Shadow Lord! Oh look, he lost his dick while fighting vampires because his FUCKING ELDER TOLD HIM TO CUT A DEAL WITH ONE! MAYBE I'LL CUT HIS BALLS OFF TOO!'" The Shadow Lord holds his calm no longer, form twisting up and sprouting fur as he takes to his warform as he roars at the other philodox, giving another inch to the Beast within.

"Bullfuckingshit! The Get of Fenris are above breaking promises, especially when I'm a Forsestti!" Brom says with a loud snarl as he starts forward towards the Shadow Lord. "Your totem is not just one of totem, but HONOR. If I was to join your pack I would treat you like an equal, like a brother and I wouldn't try and sabotage you. Why the fuck would I want to piss off my own father Fenrir for?" He comes right up into Kenneth's face, not taking a shift yet, staying firm in his homid form as his fists squeeze, not an ounce of fear dancing in his eyes. "So what is it going to be? You going to piss on everyone's cornflakes, or you going to give me a fucking chance to help you guys be a stronger pack?"

Dillen steps back into the area, his arms folded over his chest and watching the two. He doesn't say a word, simply taking note of what is going on and making his presence known.

Dagger's-Edge snarls back wordlessly at first, teeth displaying in full feral threat. ~There is no equal in the Garou world, Get. And you give me no reason to believe you, half moon or not!~

Brom snorts loudly up at the Crinos, arms crossing over his chest. With a shake of his head, his eyes are obviously disappointed as he hitches up his shoulder, shifting off to the side, walking away from the Lord.

Dagger's-Edge keeps his lips peeled back, still glaring with burning eyes and pinned ears at the other philodox as Brom walks away. Fur standing on end, the Rage just radiates out of the Shadow Lord and mixes with the high tension that surrounds him. Then, he too turns back around and growls out loudly, willing himself to calm down and make the shift back to his birthform. As he shrinks, Kenneth's frame shudders under the resistance, forcing him to drop down to a knee and stare at the grass balefully below him.

The Get doesn't even look behind him as he continues to carry on his stride, flipping the machete about in his hands once again, rolling the handle back and forth. He is even whistling now, a slow, morbid tune.

Kenneth doesn't look behind him either, instead keeping his position for a time until his breathing smoothes back over. When he does manage to resume the vice-like grip on his Rage, the Shadow Lord stands and turns back around. It looks like he is headed after Brom, at first.

Still, the Get walks, his stride lumbering as he sniffs the air at times, but otherwise, doesn't look back. His whistle doesn't falter, and what is left of Luna's light dances off his blade as he easily treks through the burial mounds.

Once it looks like he's about to catch up, Kenneth breaks off in the direction of the Get to head back to the bodybags. There, he drops down to where he was before, sitting on the grass. "Fuckin' bloodthirsty Get," he growls to himself, staring back down at the bags.

Dillen lets out a grunt of air. "He's right, you know."

Not looking up, Kenneth doesn't reply to Dillen's comment.

"Fucking asshole is right and he knows it." Dillen looks off in the direction that Brom went.

"You go and believe him then," Kenneth replies curtly, words clipping off.

Dillen gives Kenneth an even look. "And you know it too. Do you want to just sit here next to that corpse and be pissed off? Or do something about it? What do you think Lucas would have done if this had happened to you? Just sat there and groan? Fuck no. He'd be kicking ass and taking names, moving on and showing this fucking sept that our pack is still the greatest, living what the three of us wanted. And I hate to say it..." He points in the direction of Brom. "That is what we want to be. Warriors."

Kenneth jerks his gaze off the bags, glaring at the remaining Get. "Don't even start to think you know why I'm here, Dillen," he growls. "Are you gonna just up and deny everything you said to Lucas yesterday? That you are a Bad Alpha? Even if Lucas were alive right now, he would've left the pack anyway." Gaze slicing back to the bag that holds Lucas' body, the Shadow Lord glares at it bitterly. "We didn't do shit but get our asses kicked by our own pack totem. Then we just ran around like headless chickens while he went and broke over 3 laws of the Litany. THEN, we couldn't even stand up to a fuckin' elder to set things right. Face it. Requiem is a fuckin' joke."

"I never said I was a bad alpha. I said I regretted the fact that I was naive and didn't think to have him cleansed. Told him what I told him when he was chained up, that he'd have to fight me for alpha. Wasn't about to just give it to him.." Dillen walks and stares right into Kenneth's eyes. "It is only a joke if you believe it is, Kenneth. What Lucas did was not our fault. His actions were not our fault. We got Fenris. He doesn't choose losers. Now, if you want to just give up, be a weak man and not stand up for who and what you are, fine by me." Dillen reaches in and grabs Kenneth by the shirt, pulling him (If he can) to face Dillen. "Or you can honor his memory and be someone. By Gaia, I will NOT let him die in vain."

Kenneth gets grabbed by the shirt, but pulling him is a different story. Torn as it is, the shirt ripped even more under the added tug. Still, Kenneth stands with it, and his hand shoots up to grab for Dillen's wrist. "Call me weak again, Dillen, and I swear to God I'll punch you so hard, your non-existant past lives are gonna fall on their asses." Hinging on just that, Kenneth glares right back into the Get's eyes, the Beast inside eagerly pushing at its cage.

Dillen looks straight into Kenneth's eyes. "You are weak." He says in a plain and even speech. "If you give this up. You are." His eyes level on the hand at his wrist and then back down to look at Kenneth.

Kenneth just sees the forming 'w' on Dillen's lips, and in a renewed flash of anger, the on edge Shadow Lord surges back up to the beastly form of his crinos side with frightening speed. A deafening Rage-filled roar follows after, but instead of punching as he had said he would, the halfmoon swings his free arm around with claws bared right for the Get.

Dillen does his best to dodge the swipe and get out of the way, backing up to look at Kenneth. He bulks up to Crinos as well, charging the other and aiming himself right at the other's midsection, going for knock over.

Dagger's-Edge only barely catches the Get's clothing, claws catching and ripping a few new holes. Seeing the Get shift and then charge at him, the Shadow Lord digs in with a low crouch. All ten claws come out, contrasting with white fangs as he roars again. The crinos titans crunch against each other with the heavy thud of hundreds of pounds hitting like two freight trains, but the Get's inertia proves a touch greater. Going down on his back, the Lord halfmoon snarls thunderously, claws swiping great furrows out at the Get's flesh without mercy.

Claws ripping through his flesh, Bane doesn't let up. He begins and furry of punches at Kenneth's head, no claws, directed at the knock out and not the kill.

Dagger's-Edge takes punch after punch, but even as his muzzle cracks and blood flows fresh, the halfmoon loses himself to the attack. Swipe after swipe of his claws carve against the Get's flesh, until what seems like an eternity of punches later, the halfmoon's blows weaken and his eventually stop.

Bloods-Bane pulls himself off his packmate and flops on the ground. The wounds bleeding out and all over. He lays there, breathing and pushing back the urge to do more. ~Not weak. Just hurt.~ He finally says before he pulls himself up against the rock and looks at Kenneth.

Dagger's-Edge lies there dazed and unresponsive, bleeding once again as the sudden violent struggle had opened up old wounds and created new ones that are fast knitting. His broken muzzle tilts awkwardly off to a side, bleeding profusely. Long minutes pass before the Shadow Lord finally does come back to himself, healed by the regenerative gift, but still slick with his own blood. He turns and rolls slowly up to all fours, panting for breath instead of breathing through his nose.

Bloods-Bane doesn't move from his spot. He looks at Kenneth and shakes his head. ~You are not weak, Edge. Only acting from rage and not from thought.~ He is healing as well.

Dagger's-Edge pins his ears back, but doesn't look up at the Get. Rather, he simply shifts back down, assuming the form of his birth rather than one to heal. "I'm just dumb like that I guess," he utters with a spit of a mouthful of blood out onto the grass. Struggling up to his feet once more, wobbling a little from the imperfect balance sense in his battered head, turns to walk off a few feet away. The anger hasn't left, but it has died down again, to be replaced by the cold and hollow darkness.

~Shift and heal, Edge. Go hunt, work it out of you.~ Bane speaks. ~Let the anger push you, drive you. But do not give up. Once you give up, the Wyrm has won.~

Not looking back again, Kenneth drops down to sit on the grass further away. Every so often his hand lifts to his face, wiping off the blood from his face. "Just leave me alone," he mumbles dully.

~Can't do that. We have a bond, remember?~ Bane grunts out and rolls to his own side, resting to heal.

Kenneth doesn't quite catch all the motions of the Get, but that he doesn't leave seems to hammer in the nail even more. But, the Shadow Lord is just too tired and too injured to continue along any lines of brash actions or words, and so remains silent.