Pre Philo Moot

3/11/2007

12:00 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (50% full).
It is currently 12:00 Pacific Time on Sun Mar 11 2007.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 57 degrees Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 14 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.05 and steady, and the relative humidity is 94 percent. The dewpoint is 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius.)

Shore Around Half Moon Pool
The shadowy canopy of evergreens recedes here, opening into a small clearing. The grass underfoot is a vibrant young green, luxurient and seemingly soft to the touch; small flowers, some purple and others blue or yellow, add to the spread of color. Immediately to the east, the ground rises into a small, rocky outcropping, at the base of which stands a large pool of crystal clear water; the barest rivulet of a stream wends its way south and west from the pool across the clearing, losing itself in the forest. This whole area has about it a sense of peace and silence; the air is cool and fresh, the scent of the flowers pleasant, the colors of the forest in seemingly perfect balance. Anything not pristine or natural seems almost a world away to you here.
The half-moon shaped pool lies just to the east. A faint trail seems to follow the little stream southwest into the forest.
Contents:
Fred
Leslie
Obvious exits:
Forest  Half Moon Pool  

The stubby remnants of a cigarette in his mouth, Fred crouches down next to the pool and uses a plastic mug to scoop up some of the water for a drink. The Gnawer has been in the area for a few hours now, having misjudged how long it would take to get here from his home.

The weather doesn't seem to be a bar to contemplation here at Half-Moon Pool; indeed, it seems to lend itself to introspection, the soft sound of raindrops pattering on the leaves of the trees that surround the clearing and sending soothing ripples across the water's surface.

It's a bit on the late side when Leslie comes walking out of the woods, a pair of large, neatly folded tarps over her shoulder. She looks up at the sky, then out at the pool meditatively, then steps out to approach the water's edge. "Hello," she greets Fred quietly, her tone reserved and withdrawn.

Far-Cry breaks from the line of the evergreens as he too heads towards the pool, following his nose towards the acrid scent of a cigarette, or the Gnawer chewing on it. When he reaches an ample distance, standing in an area where he can be seen clearly, the Shadow Lord chuffs a rough greeting and sneezes out the scent.

Fred empties out the last of the water in his mug and drops the container into a small leather sac at his side. "Howdy," the Gnawer greets. For the most part he appears unbothered by the rain, wide-brimmed hat keeping the rain off his face and shoulders. "Ain't the most pleasant of weather these days, but it's a might warmer then it has been." As Far-Cry arrives, the Gnawer gives the Shadow Lord a wary look. "Howdy. Don't reckon I've introduced myself ta you folks proper like. I'm Fred, Philodox Cliath of the Bone Gnawers."

"I must admit I would rather it snow than rain," Leslie replies politely, shaking out the two tarps and beginning to lay them, one atop the other, on the sand near the edge of the pool. "It certainly does discourage spectators and eavesdropping, though." Her manner is that of one looking on the bright side. "We've got enough people in this Sept who fancy themselves Philodoxes that I wouldn't be surprised to find an inappropriate arrival or two."

Far-Cry replies to Fred that he is Far-Cry, first ranked Shadow Lord halfmoon. An additional query is given for Fred's 'other' name. The real one. On Leslie's mention of rain and eavesdropping, the Shadow Lord notes there is snow in the high mountains still. He makes no comment about the inappropriateness of arrivals.

Fred shrugs and removes the cigarette stub from his mouth to scratch at his cheek. "Only real issue I've had of late was with one of the injuns. Set that ta rights on ma own, but I'm bettin' they hate me even more fer it." He then turns his head to answer the Shadow Lord. "I ain't got any other names. Ain't used one in a damn long time."

[look Fred (homid)]
A filthy well-beaten wide-brimmed hat is the first thing one is likely to notice about Fred. Followed by the fact that he is wearing a pair of equally filthy jeans, that are being held up by a pair of suspenders. A simple buckskin shirt covers his upper body and is in fairly good shape, compared to the rest of his apparel. Resting around Fred's neck is a necklace made out of turtle shells, feathers, and sinew: There are two small but clearly defined sigils on the largest and central shell of the necklace, while the two smaller shells are undecorated. Fred's feet are adorned by well used leather boots, dark tan in color and lacking any laces.
Fred stands at just under six feet in height and is Caucasian by descent. His features are heavily tanned and roughed exposure to the elements, the skin around his jaw is relatively smooth and pale, indicating a recently removed beard. Judging by the rough well-worn features of his face and hands, one would have to guess that the Gnawer is around forty years old.

Once she's got the pair of tarps arranged to her satisfaction, Leslie pulls up the corner of the top tarp and crawls between the two, settling herself in the plastic "cave" so created. Hey, it's dry at least. "What was the name of the one you had a problem with?" she inquires, tone carefully neutral as she holds up the top tarp in a gesture that is clearly invitational.

Far-Cry cants an ear in Fred's direction, though he withholds the immediate question of 'why not?' from any direct askance. Upon the invitation to join the dryness, he does come forward a bit more, closing that distance. Seeing Leslie handle questions for now, he holds his in silence.

Fred wrinkles up his nose and sits down on the outer edge of the tarp. "Can't remember, ta be honest with ya. It's the one that's got darkie blood in her. Fer the most part, she showed up on ma land an' wouldn't leave when I told her ta. Asked her if she was Challengin' me an' she said she was. Set terms as a fight an' damn near killed her. Ain't heard a peep outta her since."

"Female?" Leslie frowns in concentration. "There's only two females in the native tribes here that I know of, Ayita and Jacinta." Her tone is curiously flat as she speaks the last name, though she's obviously trying to hide her opinion of the latter. "And the latter has decided to leave." Now there's a definite 'good riddance' in her tone. "I'm glad you got it settled." She looks out at Far-Cry, and nods politely enough, holding the tarp for the wolf still.

Far-Cry is sure that Pierces-the-Ice has pure blood. Or she acts like she does. Surprisingly perhaps, there is not as much ire held in that statement as one may expect. The Wendigo alpha's leaving, though, draws him in. She left the Master of the Challenge. I will step forward to challenge for it.

Fred tilts his head to one side. "She leavin' all together? Thought she as jus' leavin' the Sept post an' callin' folks names while doin' it." The Gnawer scratches at the back of his neck. "Now Challengin' fer that post ain't somethin' I'm likely ta do. 'Sides, folk don't like listening ta Bone Gnawers any an' I'm outta touch with the way things are now. Nothin' is the way it used ta be." Fred scowls. "Well, that ain't completely true. Old Laws are still'er, which is comfortin'."

Leslie considers that in silence, crawling to the edge of the tarp cave and sitting at it, still covered but where she can see both of you. "I see. I had the impression she was leaving altogether." She shrugs in reserved acceptance and looks over at Far-Cry. "I suspect that Swims-the-Black-River will try as well. I wish you both luck. I do not intend to challenge for it; with Child-Holder so near to her time, I need to take over tribal matters."

She looks levelly at the Bone Gnawer at his comment, aand nods agreement after a moment. "It falls to all of us in this Sept who are born under the half moon to enforce those laws. There are those who will not listen to any but you; that much was made clear."

Far-Cry snorts his agreement in thinking Blackriver will challenge for it too, as she stepped forward at moot. The Shadow Lord looks a little eager, even for the prospect of challenge. His head dips slightly in thanks for the luck wishing, before looking back to Fred. Halfmoon is halfmoon. They will listen when halfmoons speak on the Ways, because we are the Keepers of them. That statement made, he rises up to his paws, stepping away to give himself a hard shake and dislodge the water on his pelt.

Fred shrugs, fingering the necklace that hangs around his neck. "Guessin' I'll find out iffin' I'm called in ta help with anythin'."

"I am left more and more with the impression that there are too many in this Sept who care nothing for the Ways." Leslie's tone is flat. "Did Vera Culls-the-Herd come to any of you regarding that punishment Rite before enacting it?" She folds her legs up crossed in front of her, resting her hands in her lap, a pose that belies the tension in her frame. "Fred, you missed the Moot. Apparently the Gnawers have a halfmoon cub that they do not intend to allow non-Gnawers to teach, even for auspice matters. I suppose that means that if anyone is going to teach him the Ways, it is going to be you. Until he is taught the Ways, I for one will consider him unwelcome at our Moots and will teach and share nothing to him or with him."

Fred sighs, a hand rubbing over his face. "Iffin' they want be ta have anythin' ta do with the cub, they're gonna have ta bring him here. I ain't goin' near St. Claire."

Far-Cry answers Leslie with a flat negative. Culls-the-Herd did not talk to him about it. As he looks to both philodox, he doesn't look so keen on getting into that mess. The Shadow Lord makes it known, though, punishment rites should not have been used in this case. They should have culled the unworthy one and been done with it. And maybe sent word to the culled one's former sept, as courtesy. He makes no comment about the Gnawer's claimed cub.

At the flat negative, Leslie lets out a gusty sigh. "So, we have an Alpha who passes judgement without seeking the halfmoons, a Master of the Challenge who reportedly breaks her own word, and a Warder who insists on his right to mediate a challenge. None of whom are halfmoons." She stares out into the rain , across the water, her gaze a long, contemplative one. "Has this Sept done without halfmoons for so long that those in power feel themselves above Gaia's laws?" She nods briefly to Far-Cry. "I want to talk to Vera and find out why she did that."

Fred grunts softly. "Did that Reggie fella an' the lupus have their Challenge? They're both still breathin', so I was wonderin'."

Far-Cry did not hear of Pierces-the-Ice breaking any word. What word? The Shadow Lord comes back to stand half beneath the tarp. And does it not fall to the Warder to take of the things that go on in his caern? If he feels best to mediate the challenge for the Master of the Challenge, then is that not his honor? Canting his ears, Far-Cry eyes the two philodoxen for their thoughts. He didn't hear about any challenges with Rags Torn to Rags either, except that there was another Uktena who was banned from his lands. Here, the Shadow Lord's ears splay. Though, I have not heard of Rags holding any lands. He is not Uktena elder, nor is he pack leader.

"Does that then make it good for him to claim the traditional role of the Philodox?" Leslie responds to Far-Cry, her tone for the first time direct and fully committed. "I do not deny his right to do so. I question whether such a move is appropriate to Gaia's law. The Warder's responsibility is for the caern's safety, not its politics. I do not think it was necessary for the safety of the Caern that he claim the right to mediate a challenge for a Sept position." She continues, a little more calmly. "Rags-Torn-To-Rags claims an unpaid debt and a broken word from Pierces-the-Ice. She did not answer any challenge at Moot, nor did any challenge at all occur. Not until after insult and Litany violations occurred did he seek any halfmoons out at all."

Fred sneezes. "Pardon. From what I'm rememberin', Reggie Challenged the old Groundskeeper fer her job an' Jactina was sayin' that terms would be set by Moot. Reggie did somethin' they didn't like, so they didn't set terms at Moot. Reggie got all upset an' insulted Jacinta's Honor over the issue, so tha white lupus that follows her around Challenge Reggie over tha insult."

Far-Cry looks disagreeing. The safety of the caern relies on the ones who guard it. If the ones who guard it cannot work their challenges out safely so they do not hurt each other, then they are not safe. The Warder did so to keep the moot from being unsafe, as Pierces-the-Ice left things that way. But yes, halfmoons mediate, be it challenge or judgement. He falls quiet on Fred's explanation, looking towards him. Which white lupus? Circle Keeper? He is Uktena elder, and her packmate. The Shadow Lord skips a beat before amending, Former packmate.

Fred shrugs. "Aye. Circle Keeper."

"No Guardians were involved in the challenge for the post," Leslie points out levelly. "Though it may be that Wyvern may ask us to help the Warder, that has not yet been decided. Do you then suggest that the Warder stepped in to correct the damnfool stunt --" She stops and takes a deep breath, and changes tack. "To correct the problem that Jacinta's departure created?" She pauses a moment, reflecting. "I can see that, although I saw no evidence that the challenge was going to get out of hand. I still feel his involving himself was both heavy-handed and premature."

She leaves it at that, then, turning instead to the problem of Jacinta and Reggie. "The thing Reggie did involved a territory violation, but I would think that it is incumbent on the Master of the Challenge to set terms anyway, as promised. Here she looks to the other two half-moons for opinions.

Fred grunts softly. "What I'm talkin' 'bout happened long before Reggie decided ta take up carvin' in Jacinta's house. Was hearin' it rumored that Jamethon banned Reggie from the Sept Compound fer what he did ta Jacinta's place. Bannin' the Groundskeper from parta the Bawn. Mighty strange iffin' ya ask me."

Far-Cry asks but one question. Who of the halfmoons has spoken to them about it with the gift of Gaia's Truth?

"Not I. This is the first I'd heard of that portion of the story." Leslie scowls openly now, her reserve gone. "Seems like there's a lot of that happening. It's almost as if we do not exist." The scowl fades, leaving introspection in its wake. "None have contacted me through the Galliards or otherwise for any reason on any matter."

Fred rolls the nub of the cigarette in his mouth, then shoves the remnants into a pocket. "Well, it's a right mess with the injuns an' their infightin'."

Far-Cry snorts at the Fury's observation. If that is how they view the philodox, then we should correct that. And quickly, as the singermoons too seem to not be doing what they ought.

"That correction needs to start at the top, I think." Leslie's tone is still introspective. "Perhaps it would help if we all showed ourselves at the farmhouse and around the bawn from time to time, as a reminder of our presence. I also intend to ask the Alpha not to perform any more punishment Rites without seeking the input of a half-moon first, and to announce at next Moot that that goes for everyone else as well." She stops and looks at the two of you. "What say you?"

Fred scratches at his throat. "Doesn't seem ta be unreasonable ta me. I mean, it ain't unheard of her other Moons ta perform punishment rites, but that doesn't mean they should be doin' them without talkin' ta the half-moons first."

Far-Cry licks the side of his muzzle. The Master of the Rite is teaching me. I will send him this message about punishment rites being performed on the caern grounds. Though, I have my own territories to care for, I will travel here more often, if that is what is necessary for halfmoons to be further present.

Leslie nods to Far-Cry. "As do I. That doesn't mean I can't make myself more visible." When the Master of the Rite is mentioned, she lights up, nodding in agreement. "I sent him a message about that, and he said he knew nothing of it. Could you ask him if he could help us in this? The less I deal with the Get, the happier I'll be." She shakes her head ruefully. "I've been spending most of my time either with the Furies or on Wildfire's territory. I think this Sept needs a few babysitters."

Fred wrinkles up his nose. "I ain't heard or seen nothin' of a Master of the Rite since comin' here."

Far-Cry dips his muzzle, seemingly neutral on the subject of dealing with Get. After all, popular rumor holds that he was in a Fenris pack. Rune-Scar is a theurge, and claimed Master of the Rite when Rifthealer left the position and sept, the Shadow Lord explains for Fred's benefit. He has been teaching me the Rite of Wounding. It is... a difficult rite. Perhaps made more so because of who is teaching it. The black wolf shifts a bit uncomfortably. Turning back to Leslie, he makes sure to reiterate he will find the Get Ritemaster to tell him about this from the halfmoons. But, who will tell Blackriver and Stalks-the-Truth?

"I'll worry about Blackriver." There's a faint smile on Leslie's face at the rejoinder. "And I imagine that Blackriver probably knows where to find her tribemate. I tthink she's asleep right now, though, so I will find her when I return to our territory." She nods at Fred. "He doesn't show himself much."

Fred gives his head a shake. "Master of the Rite should be more visible, iffin' yer askin' me."

Far-Cry flattens his ears back. Find one who knows of many rites then, to challenge Rune-Scar and lure him out, he growls matter-of-factly at Fred. In the meantime, I will not speak ill of my teacher. He appeared when I searched for him. So, it is not that he has abandoned the position. The Shadow Lord makes no further comment of the ritemaster and turns back to Leslie. This sept has seen many troubles since the start. It is surprising all the fighting we do amongst ourselves has not torn it apart. The tilt of his ears expresses a gesture best described as wry.

Leslie is silent a long moment, looking out over the water and the rain rolling off the edge of her little tarp tent. "So it is. Perhaps if we had more enemies without, we'd find less time for the ones within." Again, that introspective tone. "Wildfire is likely to undertake a Wyrm hunt in the near future, now that Dillen's child is born." Her lips twist in annoyance.

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