2/5/2006

03:31 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (49% full).
It is currently 15:23 Pacific Time on Sun Feb 5 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 46 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from variable directions at 3 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.36 and falling, and the relative humidity is 60 percent. The dewpoint is 33 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:
Vera
Obvious exits:
Forest  

Dagger's-Edge is curled along the base of one of the sawed logs. Eyes closed and side rising and falling steadily, the black wolf is asleep. Even so, his ears flick and twitch, showing his resting cycle to be a light one indeed.

The sun is out and while the ground remains damp in places, it is a beautiful day and a welcome change from the constant rain that has been plaguing the region. A black form moves through the woods, head and tail high. Culls pauses at the edge of the Sept compound, noise twitching as she catches the other Shadow Lords scent.

It's just a matter of time before the philodox wakes with a start, jerking to his feet, tensed and snarling at a phantom in his dreams. Hackles stiff, Dagger's-Edge happens to have the adren in his sights as he stares forward, subconscious images still dancing towards the depths of his mind. Snort. Tiredness takes over and he flops back down with a low grunt, making it look like he hadn't seen his tribal alpha.

As Kenneth jumps to his sleep and snarls in her direction, Culls-The-Herd's hackles rise in response, tail arching over her back. And then, Dagger's-Edge falls back into sleep. Hackles relaxing, the Adren makes her way toward the 'sleeping' Shadow Lord.

A rustle precludes Morgan's arrival--she arrives in homid, wearing her usual oversized coat, with a glyph covered stick in her left hand. She looks fidgety, and the dark furred wolves don't seem to ease her whatsoever.

Dagger's-Edge doesn't fall back asleep, though he lies there a bit more stretched out and staring off in a different direction this time. When the adren's footsteps near, one of the ears on his head turns and listens in.

Culls-The-Herd sits down on her haunches and looks down at the Philodox for a moment. Bad dreams?

Morgan comes to a stop, watching both Shadow Lords curiously, but not yet making any move to approach further. One finger runs carefully over the glyphs on the stick she's holding.

Dagger's-Edge blows out a snort, turns his head and regards the adren from his spot. There's a touch of defensiveness in his demeanor towards the elder as he answers with a 'yes'. Morgan's movements draw his eyes away for just a second, then it's back to the alpha.

Culls-The-Herd's ears lay back briefly, then she looks over her shoulder at Morgan. Do you want something, cub? The Adren asks, hackles lifting ever so slightly.

[look Morgan (homid)]
She looks young, maybe somewhere around eleven or twelve years of age. Her limbs are gangly, a little too long for the rest of her, a little too clumsy to be anything but the product of early puberty. As far as her build goes, she's whipcord thin--the evidence of ill nutrition is still present, though she's begun to build some muscle tone, and her previously hollow cheeks have filled out.
Her hair is red, not the carrot top redness that is more common, but a dark auburn. The hair reaches just past her shoulders, though the length is definitely not uniform, and there are split ends galore. In spite of this, however, it has been pulled back into a tight french braid, as neat as can be under the circumstances. Her face is well shaped, with pronounced cheek bones and the promise that, given a few years, it might well prove decently attractive. Her eyes are a muddy sort of green, almost hazel but not quite.
She's wearing a pair of very worn looking khaki pants, and an old t-shirt that is so faded the original slogan is unreadable. She has no shoes or socks, but her feet, dirty as they are, look extremely calloused, very used to having no other protection beyond her own skin. There are holes torn into either side of the shirt. This allows for her metis deformity to show clear and obvious--there's an extra pair of arms about halfway down her torso. They look even thinner than her normal pair, and the hands themselves are ill formed, with somewhat stubby fingers that are mostly the same length apart from the thumb, no fingernails, and a missing middle finger on each hand (and a space for where that finger should be).

Morgan's shoulders hunch, and she visibly closes in on herself. She mumbles something, and then again, louder but not by much, "...Yes. But can wait."

Dagger's-Edge too, looks partly to a side and gazes at the metis cub. Then, as if deciding his proximity to the others is a little close, he gets up and scoots back a couple paces before sitting. The halfmoon apparently has nothing to say, either.

Culls-The-Herd sighs heavily, annoyance clear in the way she holds herself. What is it cub? Let us get it over with.

Morgan licks her lips and stares at her shoes. "Am on Rite of Passage," she explains, tone careful and slow. "Have to get stories of other Rites. Lots details. Have get one each tribe, one each auspice."

Dagger's-Edge blinks twice, now staring at the cub. You? On a rite of passage? The halfmoon's doubt is quite obvious, but is soon tailored down to just a mildly skeptical gaze.

Morgan's cheeks go considerably pink at Dagger's-Edge's words, but she only nods.

Culls-The-Herd snorts softly, ears laying back. What have you learned so far?

Dagger's-Edge again, doesn't do anything but put his attention on the two.

Morgan rocks back onto her heels and turns her attention to Vera. "You first I ask."

Culls-The-Herd's muzzle wrinkles up, revealing a brief flash of teeth. My Rite of Passage was a long time ago. If you want that story, you will have to wait for it.

Dagger's-Edge glances back at Culls with a certain piqued interest, but also is treated to disappointment. With a short fluff of his fur, he looks towards the woods and tests the wind.

Morgan flinches visibly at that showing of teeth. "Can wait," she says hastily. Though, she doesn't move immediately.

Culls-The-Herd turns away from Morgan to address the other Shadow Lord. I can drive your dreams away, if you wish. With that simple statement, she turns and starts to walk away.

Morgan slides a step backwards, and then drops into a crouch, with her arms around her knees, and her glyph covered stick gripped tightly. Apparently, she intends to wait right here.

Dagger's-Edge flips his ears forward, then to either side. What's that supposed to mean? Though he asks, he evaluates the adren's statement, trying to read more into it by her posture as she goes to leave. Morgan is for the moment, put aside in mind.

Culls-The-Herd pauses, one paw lifted above the ground and she turns her head to look over at the other Shadow Lord. I know a Rite that will make your sleep dreamless. I can teach it to you, if you wish.

Dagger's-Edge splays an ear, still cautious but showing interest. Only if you feel it would help, Alpha, he replies after with a downward dip of his head. The cub gets a second glance again. Maybe you should give that one a task to perform, in exchange for your story.

The offer stands, Culls-The-Herd replies easily, but it is up to you if you wish to learn. Morgan is given a considering look, before the Adren turns to leave once again. Perhaps. Gaia guide you.

Dagger's-Edge licks the side of his jaw, considering. His muzzle dips again, the wolf bidding the alpha farewell and good hunting. Then he looks over to Morgan as well to see what she's doing.

Morgan remains in her spot, looking distinctly more uneasy than she did coming in, which is a considerable feat. But she doesn't seem inclined to get up, let alone leave.

Dagger's-Edge gets back up to his paws, circling in on Morgan after the alpha has left. His route is wide, but spirals in eventually to which point he stops in front of the metis. You need stories? How many?

Morgan answers without raising her head, "Need eleven stories. Is get one each tribe, each auspice. Maybe more one auspice, that oh-kay. Has be Rite of Passage stories."

Dagger's-Edge does a few countings in his head, then quirks his head. Who are you going to ask? There are not enough tribes to represent all.

"No have Red Talons," Morgan says. "Star Gazers. Cole-rhya say, just tribes we have here. Also say I can go city, I with Cliath or Sophie-yuf."

Seasons-Change? She is also on her Rite? The Shadow Lord looks skeptical again, but then shakes out his fur. What does she get to do?

Morgan nods. "Yes. She have answer questions from Cole-rhya." There's a pause, and a brief frown, "...Think she already do that. He say by half moon. Not know what she do next."

Dagger's-Edge licks the front of his nose, and sits. Tell me - Have you fought the Wyrm yet? Wet your claws on its blood?

Morgan nods again, though the motion is more of a bob than anything else. "I kill two Wyrm things."

Dagger's-Edge shows a degree more interest. What kind? Where? Come on, talesinger. Show your skill.

Morgan licks her lips and fidgets. "While back, Cole-rhya take me in car. We drive long time, go to forest that not here. We do things, fight, talk, long time. Then we smell something strange. It smell like blood and bad things, so Cole-rhya say for me go one way, he go other way. So I do. Walk short ways, follow smell. Then I get attacked. It look like wolf, but not, spell bad. It bite me, but I kill fast. Then I follow smell more. Find clearing, have two Wyrm things, look like wolves too. One have weird teeth, one have ropes on back. They eat dead stag. I attack bigger one. It bite with weird teeth, hurt lots, one with ropes hit me with ropes too. Bite arm, here..." She indicates a spot on one of her upper arms. "Break I think. Lots blood. Hurt very much. But I kill it. Then other Wyrm thing, it get scared, run away. I try chase, but dead Wyrm thing still biting me, can't make it let go. So I make noise, Cole-rhya come and kill it."

Dagger's-Edge listens patiently, ears forward. The story seems to capture enough of his attention that he reacts in all the right places, looks when the old injury spot is pointed to, and growls deeply when it ends and the things are killed. Though short, he seems satisfied enough with such a performance, even if he doesn't seem very impressed. What happened after? he asks.

"We destroy bodies," Morgan says. "Make sure no break Veil. Then come home. I get new name, Eyes-of-Fire."

Why that name? He asks, looking up to the girl's eyes by association. At least he doesn't seem to associate the name with the metis.

Morgan explains, "He give it me before, 'cause he want me attack him. So when I do, he says pretend I that. Pretend he Wyrm thing. Pretend I have fight him."

Dagger's-Edge flicks his tail, still not convinced of the association. But, he accepts it, and gets up to his paws. You say you are looking for stories of rites of passage. I can tell you of mine.

Morgan brightens considerably. "That help lots, Kenneth-rhya. You want me do something first? Or is just tell?"

Dagger's-Edge pads over, shoulders rolling as he shifts to his Crinos form. All the better to look impressive, and tell the story. ~No task. You told me a story. So, this is mine. My story is of myself, and of Lucas Thunder's-Forge. We were both Shadow Lord cubs, but I was marked with a kinfetch. Thunder's-Forge was not. The elders let him choose his tribe: he chose the Shadow Lords.~

Dagger's-Edge continues, somewhat short. ~Storm-Singer was our tribe alpha. Fostern, galliard. Sometimes he was called Song-of-Fury. Either way, he was arrogant and I hated him.~ A side of his lips lifts, then lowers. ~The task we were given was to go into the city. There was a vampire. A leech. A bloodsucker. Storm-Singer told us to make an alliance with him. Convince him that if he gave us information, we gave him the luxury of living - and protection. Thunder's-Forge was confident. But the vampire was not convinced. -I- was not convinced. One of the vampire's helpers took out a silver knife, and the vampire told us: Prove yourselves. He chose me, and I fought the one with the silver knife.~ He makes a few clawing motions, one to represent his attack, and the other to represent the knife. ~I went high. He went low. I felt the burn of silver for the first time, and there is -nothing- more physically painful.~ He snorts deeply. ~But in the end, I killed the ghoul, and the vampire was afraid. He knew the power we Garou had. So we made our deal and returned. Storm-Singer named us both cliath. Our names were chosen. Dagger's-Edge, my name. Thunder's-Forge, his.~

Dagger's-Edge concludes with a final note. ~Few know about this rite. Many will not acknowledge it. I do not care, so long as I have my revenge on that vampire the next time I see him. I owe him much,~ he growls loudly, and clenches a fist hard before shifting back down to his lupus form. The solidifying of his wolf form is finished off with a shake of his fur, and he sits. That is all there is to tell.

Morgan leans forward, listening intently. She doesn't interrupt, not once, though her brows wrinkle here and there, and at the description of silver, she gives an emphatic nod. "...I remember that story, Kenneth-rhya. It good story. You find vampire, you kill very good."

Dagger's-Edge clears his throat in a rough cough, reaching up to scratch at part of his neck with a foot before replying. He goes very still and bares his teeth fiercely. I will. His dead-blood is Mine. Those black lips lower, and he gets up to show he's departing. You have one story now. Hunt well for the rest, Eyes-of-Fire.

Morgan gives a tight little almost smile, more a grimace than anything else, but she's clearly beaming. "Thank you, Daggers-Edge-rhya."

[And later on in the evening...]

08:52 PM
Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (51% full).
It is currently 20:44 Pacific Time on Sun Feb 5 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 38 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.27 and falling, and the relative humidity is 85 percent. The dewpoint is 34 degrees Fahrenheit (1 degrees Celsius.)

Bawn: Western Forest(#3018RA)
Tall Sitka spruce and sequoia crowd around and above you. Many of the trees are old, their branches twisted into impossible shapes, trunks broad and draped with lichen, mosses and creepers. Tendrils of moss hand down from them like green spiderwebs, snaring the unwary with cold, ghostly fingers. The patches of younger growth are dense and pale, needles tinged with silver. Matted undergrowth huddles sullenly in the occasional small clearings, clutching with thorns and burrs at the legs of those who would pass. Deer seldom venture here, but the forest is full of rustlings, and tiny glints from wary, watchful eyes.
The forest spreads out to the east, bounded on the west by Sunrise Road. From farther to the west, one can occasionally hear the distant sounds of the town of Kent's Crossing.
Contents:
Stacey
Obvious exits:
Highway 22  Overgrown Path  Sunrise Road  Farmhouse  Caern of the Hidden Walk  Creek  Central Bawn  Southern Bawn  Northern Bawn  

Stacey makes her way through the western bawn, heading vaguely east in direction. The Child's expression is thoughtful, accepting, and, although tense, it lacks the stunned sorrow from before.

Dagger's-Edge incidentally is moving northwest, coming from what could be determined the direction of the southern bawn and compound area. He lifts his head when the wind brings the Child's scent, and the lupus'd Shadow Lord gives a growling whuff.

Stacey turns and looks around at the sound, taking a moment to spot the Shadow Lord, and starts walking in his direction. "Far-Cry?" she calls. "How are you?"

Dagger's-Edge shakes his fur, taking a few steps forward towards the Child as well. Tired, he rumbles slowly. Not sleeping well, moon too full. Yourself, Peacemaker?

Stacey shrugs. "I'm doing all right. Better. Trying to get things in order before the Moot." She kneels down, tilting her head and offering a small smile. "You wouldn't happen to be making a trip to the city between now and next Sunday, would you?"

Dagger's-Edge splays an ear, looking up towards the sky. Half moon. There is still time to go into the Scab, yes. Then he looks back at the ahroun. Why?

Stacey takes a deep breath. "I need a favor. You see, Andrew's birthday is next Sunday, and he's all I've got left. Well, Karl might still be around, but I haven't heard from him in months. I was... well, I wish I had, you know, a small cake or ice cream, something to make it special for him."

Dagger's-Edge slowly sits down, ears tilting back just a tick. Does he deserve it? considers the Shadow Lord. Then he thumps a paw down as if in decision. I will ask Kin. She has ways to get those things.

Stacey lets out a small sigh at the question. "I think he has improved, Far-Cry, I really do. And I'd rather give him this chance to be a new person than to keep harping about what had happened." Then she grins. "And thank you! I'm sure you kin would be able to help." She wrinkles her nose. "I'm going to have to find a way to get in touch with my own kin at some point, to let them know what has happened."

Dagger's-Edge twitches his ears, vaguely washing over in amusement at the ahroun's grin. Alpha of the tribe needs to make others happy - even the cubs, he notes with a chuff. Where to put it, after? The cub safeden?

Stacey nods, still smiling. "Yes, the Farmhouse. I'd be able to stop by there long enough on Sunday to celebrate with him. You know he'll be turning seventeen? Gaia, I feel young."

Dagger's-Edge's ears stand up, then flatten back. Older than I am, he notes after a moment's calculation. Surprise, surprise. The philodox snorts again, but still with some amusement. He does not act his age.

Stacey laughs loudly at that, then covers her mouth. "I agree. Maybe that'll change, too. I'm going to ask Yi-rhya if she wouldn't mind taking him to the city for a bit, training him as a Ragabash. Maybe that will help? It seems she's had a good influence on him so far."

Dagger's-Edge flipflops his tail in a sort of lupine shrug. They share the same birthmoon. After a pause he looks up at the ahroun again. You know of Eyes-of-Fire? The four-armed cub. She and Seasons-Change are on their rite.

Stacey raises her brows and nods. "I saw Morgan the day Cole started them on it. I know that Morgan, at least, is supposed to collect stories from each tribe and Auspice. I hope they do well."

Dagger's-Edge dips his head in a bit of a human nod. The mule and I told stories to one another. She told me about her Wyrm battle, and me about my.. rite. The philodox rumbles low. It reminded me of a certain bloodsucker.

Stacey nods, glancing away briefly. "Well, then she has Shadow Lords covered, at the very least. I suppose she'll have to talk to me about mine as well, unless Karl shows up."

Dagger's-Edge grunts quietly, the reminder of the leech adding another brick to that wall of tension built inside. What is the philodox's rite? The other cub's?

Stacey shakes her head. "I do not know. I only spoke with Bug when she returned. I was at the Farmhouse at the time, met the Strider, Gypsy."

Dagger's-Edge looks over. A Strider? I have not met this new one, he notes aloud. Aren't Striders bringers of bad omens? By some stories, anyway.

Stacey raises her brows. "You keep talking about bad omens and sinking ships lately. This one doesn't seem like a typical Strider, so I don't think she counts toward bad omens. She hasn't been around many Garou, so she's a little new in some ways."

And why not? The Shadow Lord gets up, tail whipping to a side. The Hidden Walk weakens. Two packmates of mine, gone. And now there's a... a cub of a Strider that comes to replace them?

Stacey laughs. "Not a cub! Just unfamiliar with some of our ways, like the concept of Chiminage." Then she sighs, becoming more serious. "I see where you're coming from, but that seems a dangerous way to think. Others will come to fill in what holes were left, you'll see."

Dagger's-Edge, not one to flare in anger for long, boils down to a dim simmer again when the ahroun's laughter reaches his ears. How can she be rited and not know what Chiminage is? This is trying to fit a small paw into a big hole, Peacemaker. There are not enough to fight already. It makes the burden on us greater. Heavier.

Stacey leans forward, setting a hand on the ground in front of her. "Then we must make ourselves great enough, strong enough, to fill what holes have been made, to carry that burden. This Sept has suffered losses before, it has suffered defeat before! But it has come back. It will continue on now and will grow strong again. I have faith in this Sept. I have faith in us."

Dagger's-Edge looks off into the woods searchingly. His ears lay flat against his head, teeth tips revealed in a crinkle of his muzzle skin. For awhile, he says nothing but his posture is stiff and angry. Then, slowly, it smoothes back out, showing just how tired he seems to be. The halfmoon stands and looks back to the Child. Just like the tribe you were born into, he observes with a quieted response. Always looking for the light.

Stacey smiles gently and moves back, settling into a cross-legged position. "Of course. I have to. The day I don't, well... I hope it never comes."

Dagger's-Edge curls his tail around his leg. That day will be a black one, he agrees. In the meantime, you enjoy being at the top.

Stacey smiles and stands. "Take care, Far-Cry, and thank you for your help. Again. I ought to continue on. Need to get some sleep, and there are still several people I hope to speak with before Moot."

Dagger's-Edge licks at the side of his muzzle, and stands with her. Good hunting, Peacemaker. I will bring your wanted-things for the cub soon.