6/9/2006

11:57 AM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (88% full).
It is currently 11:45 Pacific Time on Fri Jun 9 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 53 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.11 and steady, and the relative humidity is 89 percent. The dewpoint is 50 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius.)

Ash Grove(#4024RJh)
Within this dark forest dominated by the canopy of the tenacious, light-hungry pines is a place where a stand of ash has established itself and fought off all competition. The ashes allow the rays of sun and moon alike to lance down through limbs which bear nothing more than clusters of rust-coloured keys, such that undergrowth abounds and the forest floor is even clad with a bright green sward of grass. Bright white bits of bone peep through the green, testament to a history of food offerings in this place.
These habitual offerings have accomplished their purpose and, during daytime, a great number of carrion birds roost in the branches of the trees, predominately the large black bodies of crows and ravens. The grove is deserted at night, the birds having left for other sanctuary.
Contents:
Stacey
Clemency
Obvious exits:
Forest  

Clemency is sitting cross-legged against a tree trunk, huddled up against the rain that's falling steadily, and looking even more grouchy than she normally does, if such be possible. One hand is holding a half-eaten and very battered-looking sandwich from which she occasionally takes a desultory bite.

Far-Cry's black furred form weaves around a trunk of ash, nose working as he scents out the sandwich amongst the scents brought to him by the breeze. The Shadow Lord pauses when he picks out Clemency's scent as well, but picks up his pace to a slightly quicker walk, circling around the full moon until she can see him clearly.

Clemency looks at the black wolf over the sandwich, and gives a shout as she recognises who this is. "Hey, you! Where've you been hiding?" The end of her shout is softer than the beginning, as though she's deliberately turning her own volume down, and there's a wary look on her face.

Far-Cry turns an ear back and then forward, finding a spot to sit. Found Walks-the-Middle-Road first. Saw kin next, he explains simply. The halfmoon glances skyward. Full moon and news of the Enemy brings me back here. Patrolling old pack territory.

"You heard then," Clemency says, still in a low tone as though she fears being overheard. "We're attacking them soon. Guardians are leading. Did you talk to Stacey about plans?"

Far-Cry snorts with a paw scraping the ground. Only that the Alpha Guardian wants select ones to go, others to stay and guard the heart in case it is a distraction. In this form there is no disguising the annoyance in his posture. I would go, if they would have me.

Clemency meets annoyance with annoyance. "They'd /better/ have me along," she snaps, "after that colossal bitch Jacinta accused me of doing nothing just the other day. That was such a false accusation it's not true."

Far-Cry notes that he has been checking this area, should they circle around. The Shadow Lord then gazes off in a random direction and eyes the ahroun from the corner of his eye. When did you return?

Clemency scratches her head. "A week... maybe a little more," she responds, hesitantly. "Ever since I got back, my sense of time has gone kind of crazy."

Far-Cry dips his head, agreeing on that front. Walks-Middle said we were gone for more than a few moon turns. It does not feel that long. His eyes return to the ahroun. Our gift for following Coyote's whims.

Clemency snorts. "Have you tried to get back to the place where we were? Well... where we ahrouns were. I don't know where you and Grey went..."

Far-Cry looks hesitant, but then bolsters himself back up. I only remember the red tree opening up a path, but the path lead to some far away spot of the Shadow. When I stepped sideways to this side, I found myself far away and came back. Where did you and the others go?

"We three," Clemency says, "found ourselves in some strange umbral village. It seemed to be medieval. We were told of a great vampire who lived in a castle nearby and terrorised the people. But when we slept that night in the local inn... we woke up back here. At least I did... in a forest halfway to the Pacific coast, miles from anywhere."

Far-Cry cants his head, facial expression twisting to a curious, but not too interested consideration. The philodox rumbles quietly, and then dips his head. Whatever Coyote wanted us to do, it is not as important as defending here. So he concludes. Have all returned?

"Yeah. All back now. I still can't shake the idea," Clemency says, "that there was something in Coyote sending us there... that it wasn't just a big prank. But a few people I've spoken to think it was, so I should try to stop worrying. I need to spend more time in the Umbra as a whole..." She shrugs, and a piece of bread falls from the sandwich to the grass. "But yeah, caern comes first. Has to. I'm not leaving the bawn till there isn't a single Fallen One near."

Far-Cry roughly growls. Then you would be stuck here forever, as this is the last in this area. The Enemy has us surrounded, ever since its fall and retaking, so said Song-of-Fury.

"You're fucking kidding," Clemency gasps. "I know Seattle is full of the bastards, but the only time any of them have been seen round here since I joined this sept, we chased them away... would have killed them but they had too much of a start. That was last year. Are you seriously telling me they're all over the city and the surrounding countryside, or was Song-of-Fury speaking loosely? Who the hell is Song-of-Fury anyway?"

Storm-Singer, the Shadow Lord replies quite neutrally given the ire he holds for the mentioned, the elder whom Thunder's Forge and I killed. Then he shifts back to the other subject, Maybe not immediately here and eyeing this place like a snake eyes a bird's nest, but similar.

Clemency raises her eyebrows at the mention of an elder done to death, but doesn't pry further once the wolf changes the topic. "Sure, we must always be vigilant," she says, "but there's a difference between knowing they're out there and could launch an attack at any time, and /knowing/ that they have the caern /surrounded/ like a fucking ring of tainted fucking steel, y'know?"

Far-Cry bows his head once with the difference stated. Else we would not have any times of peace to challenge our elders in, he replies with a small, small feeling of black humor. The halfmoon gradually lowers himself down to lie on his belly, sphinx like and facing the ahroun.

Clemency reaches out with a wry smile to ruffle the inky-furred wolf's neckruff. "And I would still be Elder of my tribe," she says meditatively.

Having met up with Dillen earlier and been updated on the Ian situation, Stacey walks along with the Get through the bawn, still chatting about upcoming events. Their steps eventually bring them near the Ash Grove, close to Clemency's position. Upon hearing the Fang's voice, Stacey calls out a, "Hello, there!" and picks up her pace a bit.

Dillen picks up the pack as well and upon seeing the Philodox, Dillen cannot help but grin. "Kenneth..." He says softly, giving his head a nod. It's either that he doesn't quite no what to say or is just damn glad to see his friend.

Far-Cry's fur prickles underneath the touch, having not expected physical contact. He endures it rather calmly though, looking over the Fang. Not Elder anymore? Who is it now? His ears flip back as he ventures with, Not Truthstalker is it? Like he were horrified at the thought of it. His question is partly interrupted by the arrival of the others, and he turns his head to look at them. Dillen gets a familiar chuff of greeting, but it isn't anything by way of jumping up for joy.

"Blackriver claimed it in my absence," Clemency says, "and I could not in all honesty persuade myself that I would do it better than her, so I allowed her to keep it upon my return." At Far-Cry's headturn, Clemency also turns, to see the two new people approach. "Stacey!" she calls out. "What's new? Is it time?"

"Hey, Clemency, Far-Cry," Stacey greets them, grinning broadly. "Things might be tough now, but it is still damn good to see you both here. Anyways, not yet, but real soon. I wouldn't be surprised if we moved against them early tomorrow."

Dillen just takes in the people that are around him. He's glad to see Kenneth and that shows, but more than that, he listens at the moment.

Fighting soon? Far-Cry glances between the newly arrived pair, lingering a little longer on Dillen before turning back to Clemency. The lupus can be considerable. Less talk, more action. She has a different view than those trained here. In a way, the Shadow Lord also adds in the undertone of that view being more welcome.

Clemency jumps to her feet and clenches her fists in eagerness. This has the regrettable consequence that the already battered half-eaten sandwich she's clutching is turned to shreds of bread and cold meat, and she eyes it with a rueful look. "And is your pack alpha leading it?" she asks in tight and cautious tones.

Stacey tenses slightly, then nods to Clemency. "Yes. Jacinta-rhya would be the leader. I believe Jamethon-rhya will be among those guarding... unless things have changed since I last spoke with my packmates."

Dillen snaps out of his stir. "Wildfire will surely jump in in you have need of them." An uncomfortable air can been felt around Dillen speaking of the new pack.

"She spoke ill of me in the farmhouse," Clemency complains bitterly. "I insist that I should be allowed to fight these creatures. Not only because I am a great fighter, but to prove the falsehood in her words when she accused me of doing nothing." She starts to pace back and forth, giving Dillen a small nod at his offer and a tight smile.

Far-Cry takes notice, but says nothing. Rather, he looks to Stacey and adds, The Weaver fire-things can be gotten if the Warder wishes. The halfmoon then directs back to the ahroun. If you are still offended, then challenge her when this is over.

Stacey narrows her eyes slightly, then puts up her hands. "Listen, Clemency, I believe that you have both been offended by each other a couple times... But I also believe that neither intended to offend. Misunderstandings," she adds, her tone picking up a persuasive quality, and she offers a small smile. "After this fight is over, I would like a chance to speak with you both, see if things can't be straightened out. But either way, I will tell my pack you wish to fight."

Clemency gives a small grunt to Stacey, though it sounds less irate and menacing than her previous statements. "I think," she says, "I'm going to go for a lupus-run. I've got scary amounts of surplus energy pent up, waiting for this damn fight." She begins to shift as she finishes the sentence.

Far-Cry doesn't get up, but he watches the Fang shift and make her way. The Shadow Lord remains quiet, keeping opinions on the clash between others to himself. A few moments after Clemency's shift, he looks back to Dillen and Stacey. Where will the guards be?

Stacey lets out a slow breath, then nods. "Take care, Clemency. I'll let you know more when I find out." Looking back to Kenneth, she adds, "Some will be at the Caern, a few at the Farmhouse, and perhaps a few others patrolling. But most near the Heart."

Fire-Burns emits a short, sharp bark, runs around Stacey a couple of times in playful mode, then vanishes into the woods like a white blur.

Dillen still listens but he moves over to lean up against a tree.

Where are the cubs to go? Far-Cry tilts an ear at a thought. They should be brought somewhere less vulnerable than the cubden.

Stacey bites her lip, then nods to Far-Cry. "I realize. I admit, I do worry for my cubs. They know so little. Cole has sworn to protect them, and he does have a klaive of silver that his kin made. No spirit, but it is pure silver... But if a better location was known for them to go... Perhaps the Safehouse or something."

Far-Cry's lips lift back, a growl reflexively made with mention of silver, and particularly sharp pointy things made from them. He shifts a bit uncomfortably, before insisting, The cubs are better at the caern.

"I'd rather see them away from farmhouse and caern." Dillen shrugs, "They need protectors."

Stacey blinks at Far-Cry. "No. Not the Caern. That has the possibility of putting them right in the middle of everything. If they leave the Farmhouse, they should be taken to the Safehouse. The Glass Walkers will look after them. Most of them are not involved in this fight. Or the Odeon, if we must."

Far-Cry rises to his feet, ears flattening. If they are warriors, they will defend the caern! They have teeth, they have claws. If they want to survive, they will fight with everything they have. He looks sharply at Dillen. You, the Get of Fenris, should all but understand what I mean.

Dillen looks to Far-Cry. "I see where you are going. They will fight when they know how to use those claws and teeth properly. Now, they are cubs. Children. They would die quickly and make no difference. Who will follow us into battle if not the cubs?"

Stacey bares her teeth at Kenneth, taking a step forward and clenching a fist in the air, as if she would grab his shirt if he were in homid. "Do NOT presume to tell /me/ what to do with my cubs, Kenneth! I may have asked you to teach Ruth the Philodox ways, but they are still /my/ cubs. They would not last two seconds in a fight right now. Not two seconds! All it would do is create more chaos, have them get in the way. Or worse! They get taken and brainwashed. Just what we need. They would not survive. They are not to be put in a position to fight if it can be helped. No. And I will hear no more agruments about this!"

Far-Cry backs up a step, the baring of his teeth in response more from surprise than from aggression or fear. The lupused Shadow Lord regards the ahroun, hackles prickled as the tension ratchets up between them. Then, he looks away and down, giving ground. They are your cubs, he concedes, dropping the subject. The ahroun receives a second look though, this one firmer. But, when this is over, they will be taught to defend themselves, and the caern, well enough to hold their own.

Dillen raises a brow at Far-Cry, unused to this kind of words from the philodox.

Stacey maintains her more aggressive posture, glaring at the Shadow Lord, until he concedes, at which point she lowers her hand. "Of course," she says tersely. "I will teach them to fight myself, as well as a few others I will speak with. Like Jacinta-rhya." The Child's eyes narrow again, then she takes a step back. "I just got the cubs. I'm a little... protective of them."

Far-Cry, if he were acting any more strange, gives a somehow sympathetic sounding chuff of understanding. He looks northwestwards, towards the farmhouse. His eyes then turn back. And the get of the Get? How is the galliard's cub?

"She's kin and doing well." Dillen says, puffing up some with pride. Growing like a weed." A slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Suppose you have heard everything... About the pack and Kevin?"

Far-Cry has heard, he indicates. The philodox looks upon his former pack alpha, consideringly. How is the new pack?

"Looks to be a good one. Strong. Blackriver is the alpha." Dillen shakes his head, "I just couldn't keep it going. Too much shit."

Stacey relaxes at the sympathetic chuff, and even offers a small smile to Dillen. "I bet she's adorable. You should bring her by some small moon!" Then her smile lessens. "I... filled him in on most stuff."

Though his response isn't sympathetic this time, Far-Cry bobs his head with acceptance. I felt it, when you released Fenris. He merely stands there with no excuses or ire.

Dillen nods his head. "Yeah. Well. I need to get to some patrols. Take care of Ian, Stacey." He lifts a hand to wave, "Was good to see you Kenneth... Alive." He pauses for a moment. "Hey... Don't know if you want them or not... But I have them. The rings." He looks to Kenneth, a questioning gaze. "Didn't want some raccoon picking them up just because they were shiny."

Stacey narrows her eyes, giving a sharp look to Dillen. "I thought..." She shakes her head sharply. "Whatever. Dillen, think you could see about taking my cubs to the Safehouse or Odeon? Whichever seems safer."

Far-Cry narrows his eyes as if it takes him a moment to remember what rings are being talked about. When he does remember, the philodox is slow to decide. Put them on Thunder's Forge's mark at the Burial Mounds, he tells the galliard. The 'how' is left up to the Get to decide.

Dillen looks to Stacey. "He has a right to know I have them and whatever he wishes for them I will do." Then a nod. "I shall. To both of you." And with that, he's headed off towards the farmhouse.

Dillen pages to the room: And with that, I'm off to go try and get a little rest.

Far-Cry watches his former packmate go, exhaling a little heavier when the galliard is out of range. As Stacey leaves with, the halfmoon gives himself a quick shake and settles back down where he stands to rest.

A few minutes pass before Fire-Burns returns from her run, cantering into the clearing at an easy lope. Hello, hello, I am back, I ran, she tells Far-Cry as she trots over to him. I ran far, I ran fast.

Far-Cry, head down on his paws, lifts it when he hears the other wolf's approach. The philodox's question next is accompanied with a lick of his muzzle. See anything good to eat?

I was not looking for prey, Fire-Burns tells Far-Cry. I was looking for Dancers. And they are not good to eat, no, no. Taste of the Wyrm, make you sick, make you warped.

Far-Cry splays an ear with an obvious 'well duh' kind of look, making much assumption to the taste of BSD flesh. His head lowers another notch, looking almost like it's going to flop back onto his forepaws, but doesn't quite make it there. I have never seen one. Never fought one. Never bit one.

Fire-Burns walks round Far-Cry thoughtfully, then lies down near him, her head towards his. I have, she informs him. They are fearsome. They are like us. So like us that it can be confusing if many fight on each side. But we will kill them, yes, kill them all, and you will go on to kill many more.

It /would/ take a Garou to kill a Garou properly, the Shadow Lord observes distantly. He looks over to the ahroun. When did you fight them?

Before I came here, Fire-Burns recalls. My pack and another pack fought them on a beach. It was a good fight, we won. Two of the other pack died but none of mine, no, not that time... though many are dead now, she adds with a sad whine.

Far-Cry looks down at his paws, tongue reaching out for swipe over one and clean off a speck of dirt. What do you see here that is different from there? he asks, gazing back over.

Spikes-The-Drinks is not here, Fire-Burns responds with another dejected whine. Her ears lie down flat and she licks at her front paw.

I meant, Far-Cry expands, what can be done to win the fight with these intruders? What says two packs win on a beach, and a whole sept does not lose?

Fire-Burns lies her head on her paws and considers. The beach was open, yes, we could all see each other. Here is the woods, we cannot see well. Perhaps hear, perhaps smell. Also on beach no humans near, no thing-to-throw-heads.

Far-Cry notes he is surprised they haven't thrown big rocks yet. The philodox growls low, himself eager to get up and move, he rises to his paws and paces again. Then after a few caged lion-like turns, he refocuses on the ahroun. Your pack, is it well?

My pack? Fire-Burns enquires, seeming a little lost in thought or memory. My pack now?

Yes, Havoc. The philodox's gold gaze is on the Fang again. Far-Cry's full attention seems to be searching the ahroun, but not in a directly invasive manner.

They are well, yes, yes, Fire-Burns confirms, still seeming distracted. Stone-Spirit is sad because her father died and Escapes-From-Money does not leave her den because of her voice but they are all healthy.

Far-Cry starts his pacing anew, himself quickly distracted with his own thoughts as well. The Shadow Lord completes far too many laps before he then asks, Will they be out here? Defending the caern when the others go to war with the Black Spiral Dancers?

I do not know, is Fire-Burns' answer. I hope they will either fight or guard the caern and cubs but I do not know because I have seen none of them for days, no, not since I broke the way into the farm and shouted at Pierces-Ice-rhya.

Far-Cry looks up at the mention of cubs. Walks-Middle wishes the Glass Walkers to keep her cubs at their safeden. The others, I do not know either. His attention keeps there, upon mention of the broken farm door and shouting at the Wendigo. The halfmoon's ears tilt, asking for him a silent question after it.

She said I did nothing, Fire-Burns answers the unspoken question. And she called me a bad name, I do not know what it meant because it was in her strange tongue, yes, but it was bad, and I could tell because of the way she looked when she said it about me, yes, very bad, because she hates me because of what she says my ancestors did to hers. Fire-Burns delivers that statement in a torrent of angry lupine growls and gestures, then her head flops back down on her paws.

Far-Cry turns a tight circle, but it gives him an opportunity to move a few paces from the ahroun as well. What did you do, then? If not nothing. The Shadow Lord declines making any statement on the subjects of ancestors, sitting his rear end down and eyeing the fullmoon.

Recalls-the-Scars and I found out from the Corax that the Fallen Ones had a thing-that-throws-small-things and that is how the heads got onto the bawn, Fire-Burns responds proudly. And before that I have fought many things, yes, many bad things since I joined this sept. You know that.

Then there must be some other reason that she says you do nothing. Far-Cry quirks his head at an angle, inviting the ahroun to pierce the haze of indignance. It is as Walks-the-Middle-Road has said. Misunderstandings, maybe.

I shall not think of the matter further, Fire-Burns avows resolutely, until she and I have spoken with Walks-the-Middle-Road in attendance to keep us from throating each other. I will not think of her and her foolishness, no, no, I will not.

Far-Cry turns, gazing north with a snort. The Wyrm eats at the border and litters the bawn with its trash while you two fight over the differences of ancestors and deeds done.

Fire-Burns chuffs in a peeved way. I have made it clear that I am ready to fight, that we should fight as soon as we can, she points out. The leader of higher station chooses when the fight starts. Do you too say I do nothing, Shadow Lord?

Far-Cry looks back over his shoulder. Must you find a thorn pricking your pride in everything that is said? No, you have done much already. Leave the war planning to the Wendigo, and you prepare for when things go wrong.

If others would respect me as they should, there would be no thorns, Fire-Burns points out in the lupine equivalent of an angry mutter before rolling over onto one side, all four legs pointing in the same direction, and stretching.

A wry growl passes through the Shadow Lord. As they should, Far-Cry repeats, chewing over a thought. So the Wendigo does, for one who is beneath her in station. The halfmoon's observance is followed with his turn towards the north, looking to head towards the main forest of the bawn again.

I do not think of the Wendigo-rhya, Fire-Burns insists with more than a hint of stress. I do not speak of her. She too turns north once she's finished rolling around, and lifts her head, nose to the wind in the hope that it may bring her some clue to what's going on over there. Alas, the breeze is in the wrong quarter, and her nose learns nothing new.

Far-Cry glances back at the Fang. But you worry over her speaking of you, and so think of her. It's a little hard for the lupus mind to wrap around that one, which eventually gets overridden with the instinctual urges. The philodox notes that he's hungry, and hence, going to go hunt. There is a short pause afterwards, which lingers in a sort of silent invitation as well.

If I hunt too we can find larger prey, Fire-Burns points out. And it will stop me thinking of things I do not want me to think of. And we can pretend that it is the Fallen Ones we hunt. Yes. Yes. Shall we?

Far-Cry licks the side of his muzzle, agreeable to the thought of larger prey and more meat. The Shadow Lord, though, makes a passing comment about how he would rather not think of good deer flesh as that of the Wyrm since the Wyrm tastes bad. Then he turns to trot off, leading the way. I know a good animal path off the bawn. We can start there.