9/4/2005

05:56 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing New Moon phase (7% full).
It is currently 17:53 Pacific Time on Sun Sep 4 2005.

Bawn: Central Forest(#2876RA)
The forest is dark and quiet. No, not quiet. Listening. The ancient firs rear up all around, branches interwoven in a dense roof of dark green. Fallen needles lie in a thick carpet on the ground, heaped up around the drifts of undergrowth clinging to the scarce patches of light reaching the forest floor. Every sound seems muffled, and the sharp scent of pine hangs in the air like the clouds of midges that swarm ceaselessly beneath the branches. Even the many deer who roam here seem to step more quietly than usual, and the songbirds seldom sing.
The forest spreads out around you in all directions.
Contents:
Brom
Obvious exits:
Burial Mounds  Story Tree  Caern of the Hidden Walk  Western Bawn  Southern Bawn  Northern Bawn  Eastern Bawn  

The air is thick and quiet. That's the way the bawn close to the caern has been, with hardly a bird's chirp to break the monotony of a whistling breeze. It is here the peace is broken though, by the crunches of footsteps through the area. Coming from the direction of the Burial Mounds, Kenneth and his nearly tangible dark and clouded atmosphere that shrouds him travel through the wood.

Heading through the bawn with Poe is Brom. He doesn't look too happy, as usual. It seems that he is just in a rather foul mood. He is wearing a sleeveless denim jacket with nothing on under it, and a pair of torn up pants. "Hey Kenneth." He calls over to his pack mate once he spies him.

Poe tromps along with Brom, running a hand through his brown hair as he does so. He doesn't speak, but looks to Kenneth as he's called out to, shoving his hands into his pockets.

[look Poe]
A boy that appears to be about in his teens. He's rather tall and slim, skin a light tan, with his face high-cheekboned and smooth, nose straight and lips thin and pink, chin a somewhat sharp point. His eyes are a hazel color, flecks of green within the brown of his irises. He is generally dressed in baggy jeans that hang off his hips and a shirt with some popular logo on it, and he is lithe, looking like something out of those horrible boybands. Trendy and concerned about his looks, it would seem, considering how immaculate he keeps his scruffy-clean mix. His chestnut brown hair is slightly longer than the middle of his ears, strands draping in his face, and occassionally he will slap a baseball cap on backwards to keep them behaving. He wears worn sneakers on his feet, but they're mostly covered by the tattered and saggy ends of his jeans.

Kenneth stops the moment he is called, just a pace off from a nearby tree. A feeling of occupation quickly dissipates from the air about the sullen Shadow Lord. "Yo," he greets in typical detachment. It isn't long before the philodox's gaze shifts from cliath to cub. The gaze directed upon Poe is glacier cold. "New guy?"

"Introduce yourself." Brom says, giving Poe a quick shove forward towards the Shadow Lord as he crosses his arms over his scarred and hairy chest. There is a noticeable twitch in his eye.

Poe is shoved, and he folds his arms across his chest as if in imitation of Brom, his brows crunching down to form a straight, sullen line at the look from Kenneth, expression that one of sudden dislike. "Poe, Skald...Galliard Get of Fenris cub." he says, shortly, glancing backwards at Brom.

Kenneth sniffs once, as if testing the air. "Kenneth Dagger's-Edge, cliath Philodox of the Shadow Lords." He too, glances momentarily to the Forseti before adding, "Packmate of your elder's, under Fenris." A beat. "You gotta cubname yet, Poe?"

"I'm about to call him Screams Like a Girl, because that is what he did when he got hit with an axe last night." Brom says with a grin on his face. "So far he doesn't, the cubs call him Raven. May tag him with Never-More, because if he doesn't shape up, he's going to be 'never more." He rocks his shoulders back a bit.

Poe glares heavily at Brom, lips screwing into a sour expression. "No, I don't. And yeah, I screamed. Hello! Never...been hit...with an /axe/. It /hurt/." he says, defensively. "And you wouldn't kill me, you /just/ said you were---" he tangles his hand in his hair. "You are really----really frusterating sometimes, Brom-rhya." he turns to Kenneth, still frusterated, "...it is nice to meet you, Kenneth-rhya." he says, shortly, politely.

"An axe isn't the worst thing that's gonna hurt you, in this life," Kenneth notes, his words laced with truth. Only the Shadow Lord's eyes switch back and forth between the two Get. "And you must be real sick of bein' tacked on to a skinny poet's ass all the time," he comments towards the cub. "And with Brom as your elder, you better believe frustrating ain't the worst thing he can be either."

"Oh? What is the worst thing I can be?" Brom asks as he raises up a brow to the Shadow Lord, then flashes him a winning grin.

Poe sighs at Kenneth, "I /know/ that, Kenneth-rhya but let me repeat here. Never...been hit...with an axe. Say your heart was ripped from your chest and your entrails were used as sausages. You'd probably scream. When you healed, you'd be fine. But getting your heart ripped out and your entrails made into sausages was probably highly unpleasant and hadn't happened before. So one, you were suprised, and two, you were in pain." he attempts to explain, "...what? Edgar Allen you mean? I'm used to it, my mom named me after him anyway, might as well live up to it since I'm a Galliard." he gives a shrug and then looks at Brom, "Never said it could be. I just said he /was/, sometimes." he rubs the side of his head tiredly.

Kenneth turns to the Forseti. "How 'bout a complete asshole?" It's said without fanfare, without humor, but also utterly devoid of malice. Then he turns back, directing a forward, predatorial stare at the cub. "You don't know shit about what pain is."

"Hey Ken, you're an Emo." Brom says with a snort as he gives his head a slight shake. "And no, he doesn't know what pain is, not yet. Its why he is in training. I plan on scrounging up some Wyrm shit to throw at him and Maggie." He rocks his shoulders back a bit. "So, want to find some with me on patrol?"

Poe puts his head in his hand. "Nevermind." he says, "Everything I say apparently results in, 'you don't know shit about bla-and-bla', so I'm just going to shrug when people address me with statements about myself. I don't know shit about pain, I don't know shit about fighting, I don't know shit about friends, I don't know shit about who to hang out with, what to do, or how to do it. Congratulations, you've discovered my uselessness, which has been my status since I got here. So, yeah. I'm training. What else do you want?"

Kenneth's temper suddenly flares, hackles rising invisible as he surges towards the cub. A hand shoots out to rake in the neck of Poe's shirt, to draw him close and pin him eye to eye. Nothing is said - just a deeply growled warning.

The Shadow Lord soon finds hands upon him and tugged away from the Get cub as Brom rounds about, growling deep in the pit of his throat, warningly. "Back off my cub." He says with venom in his voice, eyes narrowing tightly.

Poe is easily yanked forwards, and his head tilts up in submission, although his eyes glitter and his nostrils flare with aggrivation. He looks to Brom, but not helplessly, and he doesn't whimper or cringe for a change, instead he simply stands there, actions submissive but expression defiant.

Kenneth's fingers tighten around the cub's collar, not letting go immediately even as his pack alpha's hands pull. One hand, his left, lets go to strike at the galliard's face, but stops up in the air. With a push, he lets go of the cub and wrenches himself away from the two Get, stalking off a yard or two.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Kenneth?" Brom asks with a rumble in his throat as he puts himself in front of the cub, dwarfing him in his height. "Don't ever put your hands on my cubs again unless you ask permission from me first. He didn't do anything wrong. You threatened by his misery? You can't be the only sour ass in the Sept?"

Poe seems absolutely unphased by the threat of being hit, his eyes still glaring furiously. He's pushed away and he stumbles backwards as Brom steps in front of him, and he stands behind the giant. He glowers---it seems as if something is slowly changing about Poe, and it has just shown itself in a short glimmer. He says nothing, letting Brom handle it.

Kenneth snarls, turning around. "I'd fuckin' rip his tongue out if he were my cub. Didn't do anything wrong my ass... he's a mouthy little piece." Then his eyes shift their stare upon his pack alpha. "I ain't threatened by your little cub."

"He's a Skald, of course he's mouthy, but at least he's submissive and doesn't give anyone shit. He does as he's told with no question." Brom says with a snort. "He's new, been here less than three weeks. He'll adjust sooner or later. Going to turn out to be what Dillen /should/ have become."

"Just 'cause he porked your sister," Kenneth snorts. "From what I hear, she's the one that jumped on him anyway."

There is a louder snort. "It has nothing to do with Freya." Brom states rather firmly. "Though that didn't help things much." He gives Poe a firm nudge and starts him off towards the Caern. "We're going to the center. Join us?"

Kenneth's answer is nothing more than a low growl, and a slow start in the direction of the caern. Barely a glance is sent towards the galliard cub.

Poe is nudged and he trundles off towards the center, not even looking back to look at Kenneth. "Gross." is all he mutters as he leaves, apparently referring to the 'porking' comment.

Brom raises up a brow. "What is gross?" He asks, stopping all of a sudden. "Alright, this is like the third time you've made a nose wrinkle at the thought of fucking a girl. Are you gay?"

Kenneth glances back behind him after pulling ahead of the two Get. The Shadow Lord is silent this time, stopping beside a large evergreen.

Poe looks up at Brom, nose wrinkled. "No," he says, "I just didn't like the word he used. Porking. It...just sounded really gross in any context, male or female." he raises a brow, "And referring to your /sister/. That's...just...I dunno, gross." he can't seem to find another word for it. "I mean, if he'd said 'He had sex with' or 'made love to' or 'fucked' even. But /porked/?"

Raising up a brow, Brom says. "Dude, what are you? A lesbian or a fucking Get? You going to get offended if I say the word cock or dick or buttfucking queermo pansy ass candy cane licker?" He shoots back at him. "Porked is tame compared to half of my vocabulary. We're Get of Fenris, not Children of Gaia."

Kenneth makes no comment, though he turns back to the woods.

Poe looks frusterated again, "No that's not /it/. I don't care about fucking or buttfucking or queers or cocks or dicks or pussies or whatever. Porking just sounds gross, like a pig went after her or something, that's all, I mean, no offense to your sister. It just gave me a really gross mental image."

Brom rolls his eyes upwards and stalks off back towards the Caern. "For the love of fucking Gaia... gross? God.. dammit. Fucking pussy ass kids these days." He glances skyward for a moment. "Father Fenrir, give me strength to not kill this boy and please give him some fucking balls."

"Least his mind's not focused on sex all the time," Kenneth makes note before starting off once again.

Poe throws his arms up in the air, following Brom, "I have balls! Want me to drop my pants so you can look at them?! I just didn't like the mental image of a pig fucking any girl, okay?! It was gross!" he argues, "I didn't even flinch when Kenneth wanted to hit me! I think I'm making progress...!

Brom whirls around at Poe and leans in close, clamping his hand over his face, then grins. "Shhhhh... Shut up." He says with a growl in his throat. "Good Skald's know when to keep their yap shut."

The perceptive might notice a greater stiffness as the Shadow Lord continues walking. A hand runs through his hair, and with an annoyed rumble the Shadow Lord barks out. "Hey! Are you headed to the caern or what?"

Poe mmphs, but then just glowers, but he's obviously not so upset about the whole thing and the expression is tinged with amusement. Brom's massive hand nearly covers his whole face, though.

Brom pulls his hand back and gives him a hard poke in the forehead, then starts off after Kenneth once more. "Yeah, we're coming." He rumbles in his throat as he narrows his eyes. "By the way, been thinking about that challenge of yours for that Sept position we both want."

Kenneth keeps walking. "And?" he queries back, still directed towards the destination.

Poe 's head is pushed back by the poke and he huffs, nose wrinkling again in annoyance. He follows silently now, sticking his hands in his pockets again.

"Alright, here is my terms. You will seek out Dwight of your tribe." Brom says with a nod of his head, pausing as he looks straight at the other Shadow Lord. "And he is going to tell you a story, and from that, you will have to take apart his story and figure out what parts he is lying about and what parts he is telling the truth. Your test is to discern whether or not he is being honest with you."

Kenneth slows to a stop, looking over his shoulder. For a moment, he says nothing. Then he turns around, facing the Get philodox to gaze straight at him. "You want me to figure out if Dwight is lyin' to me or not?" the Shadow Lord asks, a twinge of disbelief coloring the normal flatness to his voice. He folds his arms over his chest, eyes shifting down as he considers. Then, he looks up and smirks. "Guess you want to give this position to me huh? I accept."

The Get of Fenrir's face is simply stoic as he stares back at Kenneth. "You honestly think I would make this easy? There is a reason why I chose Dwight." He tilts his head slightly to one side, flashing his teeth at him.

"Just 'cause he's an ahroun, doesn't mean I'm gonna forget that he's a Shadow Lord." Kenneth smiles fiercely, and then turns back towards the caern. He walks on, not waiting for the two Get to catch up.

"Like I said, you have to pick his story apart and figure out /what/ parts he was lying about, and what parts he was telling the truth. This is not a simple truth or false test." Brom says as he follows after him. "I will be there to witness and listen in, to verify whether you are right or not in your answer."

Kenneth's expression is witnessed only by the trees. "Fine," the halfmoon replies. "Then we'll find out soon enough, who's the Master of the Challenge." He glances over his shoulder at the Forseti, and then turns back to the caern.

Brom can't help but grin at Kenneth as he looks over his shoulder at him, then nudges Poe as he continues to walk, arms crossing over his chest. "So, Poe, looking forward to getting shot?"

Poe is nudged and he looks up at Brom, eyebrow raising. "....well, it'll help me become more resistant to pain and being shot, is the point of it. But I can't say I'm exactly thrilled with the idea, no. When you're raised to fear those who wield guns because guns kill, it's a hard thing to let go. Although, now I've had an axe in my chest...this should be more like a painful prick than a horrible, throbbing gash."

Kenneth rolls a shoulder as he walks along, muttering something inaudibly to himself.

"Well, keep in mind that guns don't kill people, /I/ kill people." Brom says with a grin on his face as he follows after Kenneth, grinning to himself. "Also Poe, we need to teach you how to be inspirational as well. Its what Skalds are, especially the Get. Their voices and songs should be a ralley for the Garou."

Kenneth snorts. "Even a newly changed cub can kill a person in frenzy. If you can't control yourself, then..." He tenses in tone, "you might as well give the Wyrm a leash and call it Master."

Poe snorts, "Yes, Brom-rhya, I'm all too aware of that." he murmurs, and then smirks a bit, but gives a nod. "I suppose I do have to be rather insperational. I'm not sure what to sing about though." he admits.

"You will in time. Talk to Dillen and see if you can squeeze any advice out of him." Brom says with a nod of his head as he shifts his shoulders about.
"Thought you wanted this one to be greater than Dillen," Kenneth comments as he pushes a lowhanging branch out of his way.

Poe sniffs, "I will be greater than Dillen. For example, I know better than to /pork/ Brom's sister or any other of his family members." he smirks a bit. "But I'll talk to him. I could sing about the time uh, Clemency-rhya got her fingers chopped off and Stacey-rhya healed her."

"You could, but that isn't inspirational. Skalds don't just sing, they story tell also. Now, depending if Clemency's fingers grow back, then you want to tell that story. Embelish a bit of it if you want." Brom says with a nod of his head, pointedly ignoring Kenneth's remark as he walks along with the cub. "And yes, you better know better than to fuck my sister, or I'll cut that little pecker off feed it to you in return." He sniffs the air slightly. "You do like girls, right?"

Kenneth blows out a snort, listening to the conversation going on behind him. The going gets a little slower, with the sun set.

Poe gives a nod, "I think they will. I mean, they should. I think." he offers, brows knitting slightly. His lip curls slightly, "I like my pecker where it is, thanks." he says, voice slightly unnerved. He then glances up, "I dunno, I don't like anything at this point. No dating allowed till I Rite."

"Well, I'll make it easy for you." Brom says with a sneer on his face. "If I catch you holding hands with some dude, I'll fucking cut yours off and then slap you with it. Garou are born to breed and that is why we have kinfolk for it. You may not live long to enjoy a relationship, so its best to try and pop out a kid before your time is up and continue your blood line and hope your son or daughter breeds true." He says with a nod of his head. "And I never said you couldn't date until you Rite. If you find a nice girl, one that hopefully is a kin, but if not, whatever, then go for it."

Hundred years of fallen needles cannot quiet the sound of his feet. Dwight lumbers carelessly through the woods, cracking twigs and rustling underbrush.

Kenneth notices the cracking sound of twigs, eyes squinting into the dark of that direction. "Better get to it then, Poe, 'cause you never know /when/ that time will be up." The philodox sniffs at the air, a subtle reflex now.

Poe gives a sigh, "Yeah, you've made that sort of clear with the names you call Basil." he murmurs, "Hey---I can't find a nice girl. I'm /here/. Surrounded by /Garou/. The only female I know is Maggie, Brom-rhya, and that's the biggest no-no ever. So yeah. Not going to do that anytime soon, I'm in the middle of training, I don't even want kids yet."

"Well, I'll introduce you to a nice girl or two when your training is over with." Brom says with a grin on his face, then glances over towards the crashing noises, eyes squinting.

Dwight walks his cowboy boots out of the wood and onto the trail, with branches sliding over his thick arms and chest. He gives a sharp-toothed grin as he appears. "How come ya never introduce me to no nice girls, Brom?"

Kenneth stops dead in his tracks when he sees Dwight, tensing under some unseen electric zap. He stares in the direction of the other Shadow Lord, teeth gritting. "Fuck," the philodox growls quietly.

"Because you already have that asian slut that likes to crawl into your lap and dry hump you." Brom says with a snort as he eyes Dwight up and down for a moment. "You don't need a /nice/ girl. By the way, I told Kenneth about my terms of challenge. He said he was looking eager to talk to you."

Poe eyes Brom, "If you want." he replies, "I mean, thanks, uh. I think." he puts his hands on the top of his head and gives a half-grin, "I mean, if I live through my training."

"Guess I do, don't I?" Dwight is scratching his chest, leaving smudges on his sweaty wifebeater. Of a sudden he grins, real sharp, a glint in his eye. "Surprises me you remember that, Muscles, on account a how drunk you was." He's walking up to Brom, but his eyes cut to Kenneth, a 'that so' kind of look in them.

Kenneth exhales sharply, sending a lightning glare at Brom. As Dwight approaches, he counters the look with a narrow-eyed stare. "I'll talk to him in due time."
"Whats wrong with now? The story isn't going to change." Brom says as he pops his neck from side to side, then eyes Dwight as he approaches them, grinning slightly. "I think best when I'm drunk for some reason, huh?"

"You hurt her feelins, ya know," Dwight says, with a cruel smile. "Should a seen her pout the next day, cuz I wouldn't fight you." He slugs Brom in the shoulder as he goes by, circling in on Kenneth. "Waaal, don't be bashful. Got me some good stories, like how I killed the demon bull by Red Swamp. My date with Sally Fomor. How I cheated on my Fostern challenge. Christmas Eve in the drunk tank."

Kenneth's jaw tightens, withholding a growl. The young philodox, however, is not pleased. "Fine!" he grunts. "If we're gonna do this, then let's get to the caern like we've been meaning to do, and do it right." The halfmoon abruptly spins to face the caern once more and stomps off in that direction.

Brom sneaks a look to Dwight and punches him in the arm in return, then hooks an arm around his neck and shoulders as he starts off. "So bro, we getting drunk tonight, right? Maybe you can bring your eye candy over to my place and I can get my wife and all of us have a good time, huh? I got a keg at home."

Center of the Caern
This is the central point of the 30-meter-wide clearing. The ground is a mixture of dark, rich, muddy soil mixed with clay, though there is an occasional patch of grass. At the center rests a large white boulder, immovable even by the strongest crinos. The boulder is shot through with streaks of quartz that produces scintillating colors when light strikes it just right. It is, for lack of a wholly adequate word, beautiful.
Around you, twenty yards in every direction, stretches the caern. To the southeast, a waterfall plummets over the edge of the chasm into a small pool in the caern; nearby, to the southwest, steam comes from cracks in the ground, perhaps some of the same water. Northwest, a rocky spar juts out of the ground at a low angle, showing a sloping but smooth top. The chasm walls narrow a bit to the northeast, causing some of the mist to swirl in that area.
Obvious exits:
Rock Slab  Windy Spot  WaterFall  Steam Vents  

Kenneth storms his way all the way to the caern center without a word, and from there, shifts with little difficulty to his warform. Ears lay flat against his head, and his muzzle wrinkles along the edges as he awaits the others arriving.

Dwight considers a little minute, rubbing his grimy hand over sharp stubble. "Sounds good to me," he says, "minus one. It'll be like Indecent Proposal, cept I'm better lookin'. Also broke." He walks his cowboy boots onto hallowed ground, easy as he pleases. Throws a smile to Ken.

Dagger's-Edge snorts at the smiling Lord. ~Just remember whose side you're on,~ the philodox rumbles at the older ahroun before looking over to Brom. ~Unless he's already told you this story.~

"I have not heard this story before." Brom says with a rumble in his throat as he crosses his arms over his chest, then pokes Poe hard in the shoulder. "Take notes of what is about to go down. We're about to find out who the next Master of the Challenge is."

Poe follows Brom in and makes a noise at the poke, before shoving his hands in his pockets and nodding. "Mmm, this is something to take note of, certainly."

The Shadow Lord warrior winks at his tribemate, and wanders around a little, getting his thoughts together. "All right," he says. "You ready, Kenny? Promise I'll clean it up a little, we're in mixed comp'ny."

Dagger's-Edge blows out a snort, ears pushing forward. ~Just get on with it,~ he growls out impatiently. Now the philodox's attention focuses upon his tribemate, scrutinizing.

Brom leans himself back a bit and looks to Dwight, awaiting to hear his story.

[From afar, to the room, Brom taps TOG]

Seeker steps into the center of the caern and looks around, quietly observing the scene for the moment.

Dwight begins to talk. His voice is among his better features. Rough, to start with, as he puts his adventures back together in front of challenger and challenged. Stops and starts, and 'no waits', but they smoothen out, lubricated by his slow country drawl. His story's strange, wild, absurd, with a dash of heroism, and a streak of stupidity. Digressions come and go, swears flow like water, and the bullshit cries out for hip waders. By the time he's finished, without fanfare-- asking Poe if the kid's got any cigarettes, everything is so confused that Kenneth and Brom might have trouble telling their ass from a hole in the ground. Also a miracle that the caern totem hasn't appeared to kill him halfway through.

Poe just sits there, looking mildly astounded, and he looks to Kenneth with wide eyes. "Good luck." he mutters.

Dagger's-Edge listens all very intently, his expression not changing much at all with the look of concentration and focus he has upon his tribemate throughout the story. When it finally ends, the Shadow Lord philodox inhales deeply, turning away with a grunt to look off somewhere. That direction happens to be pointed towards the Warder himself, at which point the halfmoon schools his expression. Ears and tail twitch in pensive deliberation, all taking a long time to sort through. When the Shadow Lord finally turns back to the Get Forseti, it is with a willful eye. Slowly, the Shadow Lord picks through his tribemate's tale. ~.. And there is no /possible/ way you'd have lived through a fight with ninjas on a pirate ship sailing through a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico. This isn't American Ninja part Twenty...~

Seeker arches an eyebrow slightly as Dagger's-Edge looks his way, but otherwise makes no reaction to the story.

After listening, Brom can't help but grin as he glances over to Dwight. He punches the Shadow Lord in the shoulder. Clicking his tongue slightly against his teeth, he says. "Sad thing is Kenneth. He actually did. He did not deviate away from the truth, not once." He pauses for a moment, then says, rather bluntly. "You live a fucked up life, Dwight."

Dagger's-Edge sharply glares back at Brom. ~There is /no way/ there are ninja on pirate ships in the fucking Gulf of Mexico! The only way that would be possible is if there was some spirit of the Bermuda fucking Triangle out there screwing with him to prove some Gaia forsaken point that he shouldn't even /think/ about building giant robots to fish out these suppose were-sharks that live and breed in the goddamn Atlantic Ocean!~

Poe cluelessly asks, "There are were-sharks?!"

Dagger's-Edge adds, in afterthought, ~And what the fuck would Frank Sinatra have been doing out there? Vacation cruising? That's a damned lie if I ever heard one.~ He stares hard at Brom, completely unbelieving that he could be wrong.

Seeker nods to Poe. "We call them the Rokea. I have never met one, however."

Dwight grins a sharp, mean little smile; he's enjoying the mess he has created, even if Brom has just beat out his tribemate for the position. "All right," he says, looking for smokes. "I mighta let you INFER a little. But ya know.. about them ninjas, I let those fuckers have it. Halloween night at the Pirate Ship-- used to be a good beach bar, til it got too fruity."

Poe gapes at Seeker. "..../really/? Wow." he says, "That's fuckin' awesome. What other kinds are there?"

Brom nods his head slowly, then turns his eyes upon Kenneth, raising up a brow. He crosses his arms over his chest.

Dagger's-Edge erupts with a snarl so loud it rattles the air about him. The wolven expletive is nearly strong enough to make Talons flinch and push their cubs back to their dens. Shaking with fury, he glares first at Brom, then Dwight, then Brom again. Jerking his chin back, the aggravated halfmoon concedes. ~Have your damned Master of the Challenge,~ he snorts.

Seeker says "Many. The Bastet are were-cats, Gurahl are bears, Ratkin, were-rats, Mokole are the crocodiles, Corax are were-ravens. Most despise us now, because we once declared ourselves the true warriors of Gaia and made war on the other shapeshifters, nearly wiping them out. There are few left now of the other breeds. One of the many tragedies of our history."

Poe listens attentively to Seeker. "That's awful. I would have loved to see them---that sounds really cool. I didn't know there were other animals you could....be born as, weres, I mean. I wonder what they all look like. Especially if they can take the forms we do. That must be /crazy/."

Dwight just smiles his vague little smile.

Seeker says "Their forms are similar to ours. There have been a few in this area: some ratkin, a bastet, a corax or two. We see them very rarely."

Brom nods his head slowly to Kenneth, then glances over to Seeker as he speaks to Poe. Taking in a deep breath, he extends his hand out to the Shadow Lord Half Moon.

Seeker nods to Brom, Dagger's-Edge and Dwight.

Dagger's-Edge looks down at the extended hand, like he'd much rather bite it off a la Fenris than give his own to shake. Sportsmanship wins out, though, and the philodox clasps the other's in his great furred claws firmly, not crushingly. The shake doesn't last long. Retracting his hand, Kenneth melts back down into his breed form and huffs.

Brom releases the firm grip and then glances over to Seeker, then says. "By the way, I think Kenneth has something to tell you." With that, he makes his way over towards Poe.

Poe nods to Seeker, "Well, doesn't seem like their numbers are doing too good, but it is good you see some and not none." he murmurs, voice distracted and thoughtful, but looks up as Brom heads over towards him.

"Zero in on -what- somebody says. -How- they say it." Dwight notches his chin up, measuring Kenny with his eyes. His smile's turned to something of a smirk, on his scarred and purple face. "Might be, they are trying to get you to think something else, jump to some other conclusions. As a master of challenge you will hear all sorts of things, accounts and excuses, and some as damn strange as I told you now." The word he used was 'will'. Will hear. Despite his cruelty he seems to expect Kenneth will try again.

Kenneth mutters, "Feel like a fuckin' galliard with all this crap." The measuring look is returned towards Dwight with narrowed eyes. Rather than reply, he tells the Shadow ahroun, "Alicia's asked us to hunt Cutter out and get him involved in talen making. We're supposed to get revenge on that bane from the Great Hunt, if Touch Deer has his way about it." Including Brom in, with begrudging looks, he adds, "Birdseye's investigatin' the tire fire outside of town, supposedly, but Requiem should be on guard in case something nasty comes outta it. And," he turns to Seeker, "I am sure the Warder knows already about the behavior of his Guardians, especially Circle Keeper's attack on his own tribemate." The Shadow Philodox focuses finally on the Warder.

Brom grows silent as he listens to the Lord and the Strider.

Seeker nods. "I am aware of the situation."

Dwight puts a dirty fist into his palm. "Great Hunt part two. Good, I knew ole hoss wouldn't let that go by. I'ma check back up on the Walkers, see if they got the toys I ast for." He's nodding as he strolls by Kenneth. "We'll talk later."

Kenneth tosses his head, saying nothing as his tribemate passes by. Only when Dwight is a few paces away does he utter a low, "Yeah." A rough exhale following, he looks back to the Warder. "And are you plannin' on doin' anything about Circle Keeper's actions?"

Seeker says "I haven't decided yet. I haven't had the chance to speak with Circle Keeper regarding the situation. Have you reached any sort of conclusion yourself?"

A low growl rattles in the back of the Philodox's throat as he looks away for a moment. Kenneth gathers his thoughts before gazing back to the Warder. "You know he has this 'thing' about attacking people when he thinks they're threatening his dominance. The same happened here. He felt he would take it upon himself to ask Tamara to teach his packmate some rite. She said she'd think about it, but wanted to talk to his packmate instead. Whatever the hell she said, obviously he didn't like it. Thought she was saying that his packmate was stupid, or didn't perform rites well. Well, in any case, she got uncomfortable and started leave, but when she turned her back on him, he took it as a challenge and attacked her. You know what happened after that." The Shadow Lord pauses almost to add effect. "Tamara owned his ass. But apparently she went 'n apologized for kicking his butt afterwards. Now while any of us're on the bawn, the Warder and the Guardians have dominance here. But goddamnit, this ain't about no shit dominance. He asked Tamara a favor, she refused, and when she went to leave he got all offended. He thought it was a challenge to his dominance, but I certainly didn't hear Tamara sayin' she challenged him."

Brom clears his throat. "When Kenneth spoke to Tamara, I was witness to it and my gift said that she spoke the truth that night."

"Regardless, neither of them went to the Master of the Challenge." Kenneth glances over to Brom for a moment, before turning back. "Apparently challenges that could result in bloodshed and incapacitated Guardians don't /need/ Masters of Challenges to mediate, according to Circle Keeper, who said he heard as such from Megan. Whatever the hell he said, it all boils down to this: Even if she's a metis and not a Guardian, Tamara's a cliath. Circle Keeper's a cliath. If there was a challenge for dominance, then fuckin'.. they should have brought it to the Master of the Challenge, or at least waited to put this shit down proper. But they didn't. If there was a challenge, Tamara lost it when she decided she was gonna leave instead of put up with Circle Keeper's leg-lifting. He took the dishonorable route of attacking her from behind. A Guardian who attacks sept members for no good fuckin' reason is a piss poor Guardian, in my opinion. If it were me, I'd come down on his ass like a four hundred ton silver newspaper. But, I'd rather hear what you think of all this first."

Seeker says "That may be so, but turning your back on a fellow garou can be construed as an act of disrespect."

"And that gives you reason enough to attack them when their back is turned?" Kenneth retorts, arms crossing over his chest.

Brom lets out a loud snort. "Turning away and bidding farewell is not a act of disrespect. Not every challenge has to be settled with a staredown or a throw down. He demanded her to teach a Rite to Horace, she polietly declined, he started insulting her, she polietly told him Good Bye, and then he attacked her. The point is, where is the fucking line of courtesty, morals and challenge? So, because she's a Metis, she is not allowed to simply walk away from a confrontation?"

Seeker nods. "I see. What would be your suggestion as a philodox, Kenneth? I expect you to weigh both sides of the story carefully and make a fair, balanced decision, of course.

Kenneth bites down, arms lowering to his sides. The Shadow Lord inhales deeply again, eyes narrowing. "Just 'cause I hate Circle Keeper's guts doesn't mean I'm gonna be an ass. Maybe Tamara shouldn't have turned her back like that, but she doesn't know any better 'n a metis would, and God knows what the hell Jacinta feeds Circle Keeper to make him such a bitch to deal with. Fuck, get asked a favor and then get stabbed for not agreein' to it... some request." He shakes his head roughly and looks off towards the broader side of the caern's rim. "In any case, I think your Guardian needs to fuckin' learn some real manners. Not every little thing someone does is a challenge to him." The halfmoon returns his gaze to the Warder. "Make him do somethin' that will restore his honor. Like... have him swear off dominance challenges for a month or something."

Seeker nods. "I will take that into consideration, and I will speak to both Circle Keeper and Jacinta. Excuse me, but I need to make my evening patrols. Goodnight, gentlemen."

Brom nods his head slightly, then lets out a breath as he rocks his shoulders back, but otherwise stays quiet.

Kenneth sends off the Warder in silence, before glancing over to Brom. His eyes stray towards the sleeping Get cub, then back to the Forseti. "I'm headin' back," he announces.

Brom nods his head and gives Poe a kick to the leg to wake him up with a start, then says. "Alright. I'll drop Sleeping Beauty off and then get home to my wife. See you tomorrow."

Kenneth utters a wordless reply with a nod, and with a turn, shifts down to the lupus and trots off.