Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (24% full).
It is currently 10:27 Pacific Time on Tue Jan 3 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 32 degrees Fahrenheit (0 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 29.83 and steady, and the relative humidity is 100 percent. The dewpoint is 32 degrees Fahrenheit (0 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, those of a naturalistic bent might think that some minimal landscaping or planning had been done, for nestled among the winter-browned grasses are a few hardy perennials that, come spring, will create a profusion of color in the clearing.
A faint trail leads off to the east, and a bit north.
Contents:
Culls-The-Herd
Abraxas
Obvious exits:
Forest  

[look Culls-the-Herd (lupus)]
Culls-The-Herd is a prime example of what a timber wolf should be. A thick and impressive coat of pure black fur covers her frame from nose to tail without any variation. The Shadow Lord is roughly five feet in length from nose to bushy tail tip and carries herself with an aristocratic air of confidence.

[look Abraxas (homid)]
Narrow grey eyes with low set eyebrows may draw the attention first--if you discount the spidery scars down the bridge of his nose and the uglier, thicker scar along the left side of his jawline, his eyes are the feature that stands out the most, simply by nature of being just slightly less ordinary than the rest of him. And ordinary suits him well; this man won't be turning many heads by virtue of his looks. He has a strong, angular nose and a jaw that could be forgiven for being somewhere between square and rounded. His cheeks seem to have settled for angles as well. His hair is black, relatively short but terribly uneven, it sticks over his ears at odd angles and does its own thing in the back, while his bangs seem content to lay wherever they happen to fall. There's an aura of unpleasantness about his expression, even when he's not actively frowning--it's as if his mouth is simply so used to the shape that anything else looks unnatural, and the rest of his face simply follows suit.
He has the body of an athlete, but a runner, a swimmer maybe, rather than a body builder. He's also not terribly tall, standing at 5'9, perhaps 5'10 if the observer is feeling generous. The backs of both hands have suffered some sort of superficial injury, as there are more thick, stubborn scars like the one on his jaw.
His clothes don't fit him well, he might as well have picked them up out of someone else's laundry, or, quite possibly, someone's dumpster. A plain, longsleeved shirt, very worn jeans, stained sneakers that are cracking visibly, and a thickly padded, faded black jacket are the order of the day.

[look Kenneth (homid)]
Kenneth is a young, attractive looking older teen. At first glance, he looks completely Asian, though closer scrutiny hints at a mixture of bloodlines both Western and Eastern. He is tall, around 5'11" with a lean and unintimidatingly muscled, highly athletic looking body. Despite his fair and clean features, there remains a cold intensity in his eyes that leaves only on rare occassions. That severity often is matched by the tone of his voice, which itself is flavored by a mulled North Carolina accent.
Kenneth dresses well in a way that looks almost like a uniform, looking comfortable in his chosen wear, all of which sport are new and structured well in cut and simple design. A grey button-down shirt is left partly loose at the collar, coupled with a pair of fitting dark khaki slacks and oxford-like shoes. On colder days, he has a black, inner-lined long coat which serves as protection from the weather. Around his neck, a long thin ball-chain loops around with a unique and expensive looking pair of twin gold rings, both with a small glittering emerald setting.

Culls-The-Herd makes her way through the Bawn on all fours, pausing here and there to sniff at the ground. She eventually makes her way into the Sept Compound, the only place on the Bawn that she is familiar with.

Kenneth, making no effort to conceal himself beyond the natural, relative silence of his giat, makes his way into the sept's compound from the south. The halfmoon appears swirled in his own thoughts today, yet somehow shows that he is still fairly attentive of his surroundings. It's the sight of the jet black wolf that gives him pause, followed by a significant narrowing of his eyes at the creature.

Bitter-Harvest is there, though he's on the opposite edge of the clearing, and looking wound up enough as to be ready to take off at any moment. The arrival of his two tribemates does nothing to help his mood--he rises from his current sit, legs stiff, eyes narrowed, ears front. No greetings are forthcoming from the Ahroun.

Culls-The-Herd shakes out her fur, removing some of the water that was weighing it down. Lifting her head, the wolf sniffs at the air and after a moment, focuses on Kenneth. Who are you? She asks, ears pressing forward.

Kenneth likewise combs a hand through his own, shorter hair. The ahroun is glanced to, before he switches back to the unknown. "Kenneth. You?"

Bitter-Harvest seems perfectly content to be ignored just now. He sits back down, though his muscles remain tensed beneath his thick fur, and his tongue, impossible to hide for long in the more lupine forms, gives in to the impulse to loll in a swift, heat induced pant.

Culls-The-Herd's ears slick back in clear annoyance, before the wolf turns into a woman. Vera pulls her hood up, protecting her head from the rain and partially obscuring her face. "I have noticed that few of the Garou here feel the need to give their full names, or even a minimal 'proper' introduction. I am Vera Culls-The-Herd, also known as Separates-Wheat-From-Chaff. Adren Ragabash of the Shadow Lords and daughter of Black-Fang, Fostern Philodox. Granddaughter of Rides-The-Lightning, Adren Ahroun and once Warder of the Sept of Dark Snow, and great granddaughter of Finds-The-Lost, Fostern Ragabash." The woman pauses, dark eyes focused on Kenneth. "Again, who are you?"

"Kenneth," the halfmoon repeats, leveling his gaze upon the woman. He's long in an immediate reply, giving her a visual examination. "Dagger's-Edge, cliath philodox of the Shadow Lords. I don't make a habit of revealing everything and anything about myself to strangers."

"Giving your Tribe, Rank, and Auspice is common curtesy," Vera responds darkly. "Nothing more."

Bitter-Harvest hunkers down a little further, and eyes the other two balefully. He licks his muzzle once, and then, thankfully, that serpentine tongue disappears back into his maw, which closes firmly.

"A courtesy that has lots of power, given the weight of someone's name, and the Veil," Kenneth levels back. He catches the tongue flickering from the ahroun.

Vera snorts. "Please. Are we not on the Bawn, protected by the Guardians and the Warder? Did I not speak to you as a wolf? What fear have you of breaking the Veil to a wolf?" The woman smirks. "Perhaps you are afraid that when the wolves who are not kin discover the Garou, they will gather together in council and then attempt to wipe use out?"

A small shiver starts at about shoulder point on the Ahroun Lord, and makes it all the way to his tail before he gives a shorter, more vigorous shake. Bitter-Harvest stands, annoyance threading throughout his posture, as usual, and starts toward the forest itself.

The sound of four paws trotting in rapid tempo accompanies a scent that will be familiar to Bitter Harvest, though the homid noses of the other two probably won't catch that clue that Guides the Stars is on her way.

Sadly, it would seem that scent is completely lost on him. Bitter-Harvest stops, one massive paw raised, ears quirking. But, to the observant, his nose never so much as twitches. Not once.

Kenneth curls back his lip. "Well excuuuuse me," he snaps back in a half-second's worth of defiance, biting back more. He turns around, also about to depart, until Guides-Stars' rapid run bring her closer.

The dark form is soon visible, and the philodox chuffs greetings to Kenneth and Vera, though only glances at the mule briefly. It's not a dirty look, though, just a normal acknowledgement.

It's more than he's been given so far, and it's at least a faint distraction from Vera and Kenneth, whom Bitter-Harvest is once again eyeing, in the manner one eyes an inevitable explosion. His attention shifts toward Guides-Stars, and he gives that same neutral acknowledgment in return.

"Don't you dare turn your back on me, Kenneth!" Vera snaps, standing up far straighter. "You show all the manners of a week-changed pup, then complain when you are corrected. Now, you turn your back on me." The woman snarls, upper lip twitching.

Kaz can be heard a bit away, singing "If I Had A Hammer" somewhat loudly. (But not badly.)

Kenneth stops dead in his tracks, stiffening with a withheld growl. He turns his gaze back over his shoulder at the woman. "What? I excused myself from the conversation."

Pausing as she smells the tension in the air, Guides the Stars sinks to the ground, laying low. Not hiding, but not drawing attention to herself either.

Bitter-Harvest seems to be of the same mind--he wheels about once again, ears lifting, and starts off in the direction of the singing. Singing, it seems, is more preferable than an angry Adren.

Kaz emerges out of the trees, and then stops short, eyeing the Lords dubiously, "An' all I wanted was a fire," she mutters.

Bitter-Harvest chuffs once as he spies Kaz. ~You might get one,~ he mutters. ~Very shortly.~ He takes another step toward her and then pauses again, once more with a front paw raised. ~Are you still looking after the no-tribe cub?~

"No, you did not," Vera growls, bulking up into Crinos. Dark shadows form around the black crinos and the temperature in the area seems to drop. Dark, terrifying, and looking like a shadow made flesh, Culls' snarls loudly. ~You were rude and disrespectful! 'Well excuuuuuuuse me,~ Culls' snaps, ~is not how you excuse yourself from a conversation. You forget your place, Cliath. You forget your Honor, Philodox. Now, can you show that you maintain some Honor? Or, will I have to correct you the way I would correct a green cub?~

[Culls-The-Herd pages to the room: Icy Chill Of Despair. Woo gifts.]

Kaz says, with only 1/4 of her attention on Abraxas, "Uh, yeah, but she's courtin' the Uktena. Prolly gonna join 'em, once they get their act t'gether." Her words are, it must be said, extremlely distracted. "Why?"

Bitter-Harvest can't be said to be terribly attentive to his own conversation either--he looks over his shoulder at the bristling Lords, and flattens his ears completely against his skull. ~I think I have just about mastered that Rite. I would like to perform it for her, soon, if possible, as long as there are no objections.~

Turning back around, Kenneth takes a long look up at the crinos. "I am NOT a cub," he replies with a freezing coldness in his tone as he faces her, clearly fighting back against warring factions. One side, eventually, wins. "If I happened to /offend/ you, Culls-the-Herd-/rhya/, I apologize." He tilts his chin slightly to one side, though the movement is like bending a solid steel pipe.

Kaz says, vaguely, words coming slowly, "None on my part. I'll ask her about it, although she's kinda firmly in the hate camp just now."

[look Culls-the-Herd (crinos)]
Regal majesty is not something that one would normally associate with a nine foot-tall killing machine, but that is the aura exuded by this beast. An elegant lupine head tops a muscular and powerful body that is covered with black fur from head to toe. Deadly looking claws top each finger and toe, while the Crinos' maw is filled with dagger-like teeth. Dark golden eyes stand out as a small spot of colour in Shadow Lord's face and a necklace made from three separate sets of vampire fangs decorates her neck.
Culls-The-Herd carries herself with a deadly grace, every step screaming out her good breeding and confidence.

~It's not important whether she likes me or not,~ Bitter-Harvest replies, in the sort of manner that suggests he finds such a thing utterly unlikely anyway. ~I wronged her uncle, and her, and I wish to repay.~

~Then you should learn not to act like one, Kenneth,~ Culls' sneers. ~You have all the sincerity of a Fomori begging for its life. You were rude Kenneth. Will you remember you manners from now on?~

Kaz says, "Um, yeah." She shakes her head and tries to refocus on Abraxas. "I'll talk t'her. Thanks." The look she shoots toward Kenneth, after this, is incredulous.

Bitter-Harvest seems satisfied, as he lowers himself back onto his haunches and turns his full attention back toward his own tribe. There's a ripple along one side of his muzzle, a brief baring of teeth, and his ears remain completely flattened.

Kenneth again has to lockdown, dousing down the ashes within. "I will," he grates out with a quiet wobble of tone. Eyes purposefully turned to a side given his tilted head, the halfmoon stands there unmoving, vulnerable.

Culls-The-Herd takes a step toward Kenneth, looming and terrible. Her crinos muzzle lowers down, hot breath washing over the Philodox's face. ~Good, because next time I will treat you like a cub. You may go now, Kenneth.~ Turning around, Culls' shrinks back down into her birth form.

Kaz mutters, "Uh, yeah, I guess he /will/," in a vaguely stunned tone.

Bitter-Harvest doesn't respond verbally. He looks generally unhappy with the matter, however, and very, very clearly uncomfortable. He shifts his weight to his left side.

Kenneth takes a care not to breathe when the crinos fangs come close. Very close. Too close for comfort. When the finally pull away, that's when the halfmoon's ribs expand beneath his clothes and pull for a fresher breath of air. Once the adren returns to her birth form, he straightens his head back up and stares darkly at her back before turning about one more. The philodox himself undergoes more change than degree of unraveling in his previous, controlled calm, but he manages to put a yard or two between himself and the ranked newmoon. It's only now, that he seems to notice the others once again, but makes no greeting.

Darkness, half-seen, still surrounds Vera and stands as a reminder as to why many fear Grandfather Thunder. Irate and back stiff, the Ragabash turns her attention to Kaz and Bitter-Harvest. "Afternoon."

Bitter-Harvest's muzzle is still twitching, and that doesn't end, /especially/ doesn't end when Vera turns her attention toward him. His return ~Afternoon,~ is amazingly stilted, even for the usual distortion his voice receives, and his limbs have become even stiffer.

Kaz says, "Uh." And then offers, tentatively, as if afraid of offending over the merest greeting, "Good afternoon?"

Kenneth remains with his back turned for a minute longer, not looking at anyone as they exchange tentative greetings. Then he forcibly turns back around, words slipping from him in deep, but unchallenging levels. "Are you taking tribal eldership?" It's clear the question is directed towards the adren.

Vera turns back around to look over at Kenneth. "Yes, I will be," she replies simply. "I'd suggest that you get used to having me around."

Bitter-Harvest's neckfur ripples forward and then back. More displeasure, which in this form, no matter how hard he tries, is still quite visible.

Kaz mutters something under her breath, but for some reason doesn't look displeased. Intimidated, yes, displeased, no.

Kenneth, now eyeing the ragabash from a distance, adjusts his coat. "And your Chiminage, completed?"

"Nearly," Vera replies simply, stance growing a little more relaxed. "I said that I would be claiming it, but I do know my manners. I will be waiting until my Chiminage is completed."

Kaz finally breaks out, "Jesus fuck, Kenneth, will you shut the fuck up? You already hadda practically swallow your fuckin' /tongue/."

Bitter-Harvest gives a brief, short snarl. It's not directed at anyone--in fact, he's looking at the ground--and comes out more as an audible release of his tension more than anything else.

Kenneth turns his gaze upon the metis. The fingers of his left hand twitch and curl, then uncurl. "I'm only catching myself up to speed, Kaz-rhya," he utters in reply. "Because the Shadow Lords have no galliards here to pass the information along about these matters."

Vera smirks. "Well, hopefully that is an oversight we will be able to correct in the future. Now, if you'll excuse me," Vera murmurs, turning to each Garou in turn. "I believe that I will be on my way. Good afternoon." Turning, Vera starts to walk out of the compound.

Kaz just shakes her head at Kenneth, and the murmurs, "Walk with Gaia," toward Vera.

Bitter-Harvest snarls again, the motion still directed at the ground, though this time it is louder, longer, and happens just as Vera has stepped out of sight. He drags one heavy paw over the ground and half turns from the other two.

Kenneth makes no comment about the 'oversight', only once more giving a slight nod to the departing ragabash. That same nod seems to serve for his own departure note, as he turns around once more and heads south.

Kaz considers Kenneth's departure. "Does he /always/ want to commit suicide, or just occasionally?"