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
Morgan
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."