Challenge for Master of the Challenge

3/20/2007

04:12 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing New Moon phase (12% full).
It is currently 16:12 Pacific Time on Tue Mar 20 2007.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is partly sunny. The temperature is 46 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the west at 13 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.07 and steady, and the relative humidity is 55 percent. The dewpoint is 31 degrees Fahrenheit (0 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:
Cedric
Blackriver
Jamethon(#3988PJXYce)
Obvious exits:
Forest  

Jamethon is waiting in the grove beneath the collection of birds that roosts in the tress during the day. He stands in a relative clearing large enough for the challenge to take place in, but have a decent amount of privacy as well. In one hand he holds a klaive with blood on it.

Blackriver comes into the ash grove at a steady walk, tail held out behind her and ears pricked forward in alertness. She pauses at the edge of the clearing, nose quivering as she takes in the smells of Garou and blood. Her bright pink tongue comes out to lick at her chops, and she begins trotting towards Jamethon, pasture dropping to the submissive as she greets him.

Cedric comes into the clearing not long after Blackriver, on two legs rather than four, in his very smartest suit and almost radiant with sartorial elegance. He snaps a lazy salute to Jamethon. "/Good/ afternoon, /nice/ day," he greets the Get.

From the northeast, the Shadow Lord approaches like a black cloud summoned on an otherwise sunny day. Far-Cry greets them all with a universal dip of his muzzle, affecting a tilt back of his ears in respective submission for the Warder, then Cedric, the two fosterns. A wary glance is sent to the silver klaive, a lip curl and heavy sniff given in the direction of the blood.

"This klaive," Jamethon just begins quickly as he holds up the reasonable facsimile, now in some more light clearly just carved from stone with a handle bound in leather. Not quite a real klaive. There are markings on its side, glyphs, but it is not being held in such a way to show them off. "Was found buried in the heart of the Shadow Lord Adren Theurge, Calls-Raven-To-Roost. The adren was of course, dead." Here, he holds up the Klaive so that glyphs of the Silver Fangs can be seen on the side, as well as the glyphs for honor and war. "The klaive obviously was 'Light's-Edge', belonging to the Silver Fang Athro Ahroun, Falcon's-Claws." He pauses a moment, eyeing the three contestants with scrutinizing eyes and says, "...your thoughts gentlemen?"

Blackriver's ears flick down and up in nervousness, and she sniffs wearily in the klaive's direction. I don't know ape-talk well. She admits after a moment of trying to figure out what Jamethon was saying.

Cedric coughs theatrically into one hand. "Doesn't speak English," he stage-whispers to Jamethon. "Would not so important a test as this best be conducted in the warm form, in any event?"

Far-Cry looks towards the klaive still, wary of its nature, appearance and wielder. Seeing Blackriver's dilemma, hearing Cedric's stagewhisper, the Shadow Lord rises up to his warform appropriately. One would note his hackles are loathe to stay down in the midst of the silver weapon. ~Two things. Why do /you/ have the klaive that belongs elsewhere, and who are these Garou of such high rank?~

Cedric shifts upwards and responds. ~Surely the Fang who owned the weapon should be the first questioned. But that does not presume his guilt. Weapons may be misplaced or stolen, either for convenience or as a ruse to throw guilt on the guiltless.~

Blackriver looks as confused as ever, gaze shifting between the weapon and the other two contestants. She shifts up into crinos though, to join the crowd.

Jamethon takes on the warform now, holding the 'klaive' in his hands looks all the warrior ready for blood. ~Is this what you prefer? The forms that the blade would harm the most be that which gather around it? Very well.~ James now repeats the story he told just a moment ago for Blackriver's sake. He looks to Far-Cry and nods, ~Actual questions. Good. I am the Glass Walker Fostern Ragabash, Shadows-And-Shallows. I have the klaive because the dead man was found in my home in the city. Laying across my bed, pinned to it with this klaive. The gifts of Gaia's truth have not claimed me a liar when I say that I am innocent of any wrong doing.~ He then moves on, ~Calls-Raven is a recent arrival to the Sept, only here a few months. He brought stories of unity of the tribes and partly due to his affinity for spirits well outside those that normally had any associate with Shadow Lords, he had many friends for a Shadow Lord. The Silver Fang Ahroun, Falcon's-Claws, has been the Warder here for two years. He has served with distinction and honor. No attack on the Caern, and there has been four, has succeeded in his time in the position. The klaive was handed down to him by his mother, a now deceased Athro.~

Blackriver continues to look confused a moment, until something seems to click. ~Have a Philodox investigate.~ She says, simply enough. Then, realizing that something further may be required, she goes on. ~Falcon's-Claws can be questioned by the Philodox with the truth telling gift. And the spirit in the Klaive, a kinfe-moon can ask it too.~ She turns to look up at Jamethon. ~Does Shadows-And-Shallows know why the knife-moon was in his house? Or anything besides that he is innocent?~

Far-Cry snorts, ears flicking back and tail lashing. ~I had meant to ask why you, Reflection-rhya, had possession of such a weapon.~ He does, though, humor the anecdote at least in expression. For now, though, Far-Cry studies the Get and listens.

~Many friends for a Shadow Lord?~ repeats Lightning. ~I trust we are not to judge simply by racial bias, here. Surely the history of the klaive, though fascinating on another occasion, is of little relevance to the crux? The garou has been slain. Either he was slain unjustly or he was slain justly; either he was slain by the klaive's owner, or by another.~

Reflection quirks an ear at Far-Cry and looks confused a moment, ~Reflection-who?~ He shrugs it off and looks to Blackriver, ~All that you ask will have been done when we revisit this case after your questions. However, I do not know why the Theurge was in my house. But the place was ransacked, and blood was splattered everywhere. Drawers were opened, furniture overturned. He was looking for something I am sure, but I do not know what.~ Then he looks to Lightning, ~You are right to ask your question of bias... however we are not here to judge. I am not a philodox. The position that is sought is the Master of the Challenge. And so... I am here to challenge the Silver Fang's honor. I believe he framed me. I wish for him, through the rite of ritual challenge, to own up to the framing and to hencemore, leave my name out of it.~

Blackriver settles down on her haunches, looking a bit awkward as she takes a lupus pose. Perhaps she realizes this too, for after a moment she's shifted down to hispo. She looks at Far-Cry, then Reflection, then Far-Cry again, ears sliding back in confusion. ~Shadows-and-Shades thinks Falcon's Claws killed the Shadow Lord? Is he waiting for the Philodox to find out if Falcon's Claws killed him?~

Lightning places his huge hand on his huge chin thoughtfully, and speaks in a rumble. ~This is not the place for a Challenge. A garou lies dead. The philodoxes of the Sept should find who killed him and ascertain whether there was good reason for the slaying. If not, then the murderer should be dealt with accordingly. If you believe the Fang killed him, then it is for you to take your suspicions to a philodox or an elder -- but not to the Master of the Challenge. At least not now.~

Far-Cry simply shakes his head at the echo of his question, focusing instead on the presented situation. ~The gift of Gaia's Truth is sometimes wrong,~ he rumbles. ~What is a ragabash doing challenging an ahroun two ranks above him on the concept of honor?~

Reflection growls now and shakes his head, ~Fine! But the Philodoxes found me innocent! Yet the Fang /babbles/ on about my thievery of his property. It is a mark against my name and people are listening to him. I can't speak to a Philodox who doesn't dismiss me and tell me to stop .../interfering/ in matters beyond me. So I can't learn details... but every moment he is allowed to spew more filth from the mountain top to make him look better and me look the thief and even to some, murderer! I wish for him to recall his claims that I am a thief! Even my own packmates start to think on me with strange looks in their eyes! I will not sit here and be ridiculed! The only way for me to now get satisfaction, in tradition, is the Challenge. So I /must/ challenge his right to speak on my name, and further demand that he recant what he has already said!~

Lightning shakes his ponderous head again. ~Those of higher rank have earned the right to make their voices heard,~ he says. ~If you are truly aggrieved then you should seek out your own elder, or another of higher rank, and ask him to demand that the Fang should stop. As the Shadow Lord here rightly says, it does not fall to you to challenge one of two steps greater rank in our nation directly. No matter how irksome you find him.~

Blackriver's lips curl back from her teeth. ~It is /not/ within traditions to challenge one of more than one rank above you. If he continues to call you a thief, after the half-moons have found you innocent, then his dishonor speaks for itself. If the half-moons are ignoring you, it is them you should challenge.~ She lets out a breath. ~You /can/ challenge him still, but it is dishonorable, and he can refuse your challenge.~

~What then, ragabash, was your theory for how a Warder manages to abandon his caern, bawn and honor for the sake of framing a fostern?~ Far-Cry growls out in impatience.

Reflection looks to the three in turn as they speak and shows his throat. He backs away and then clears his throat. ~You have all given your thoughts to the Fostern. Well done. He took your advice and convinced his Elder to challenge in his stead. The challenge terms were Klaive Dueling. The Glass Walker Elder balked at the idea, but would not back down once he had made the challenge formal. The Glass Walker elder, though earning scars that lamed him forever more, causing him to have to have the Winter Wolf performed... won the battle and the Warder lay dead. Soon however, the truth came out a year later.~ James posture once more returns subtly to that of 'Shadows-And-Shallows', ~I am now Adren. Elder of the Glass Walkers. But... I was eventually found guilty of lies. It was discovered that possessed a Fetish hidden away in my apartment, tainted with the Wyrm that covered my lies against all powers. I killed the Shadow Lord for he tried to blackmail me. I used the Silver Fang's Klaive whom you would have known if you asked more specific questions, was at odds with this particular Shadow Lord. The challenge between Walker Elder and Silver Fang stood on it's own merit. The Fang's words still remain struck from the record. No one speaks of them. The former Walker elder is remembered with honor. My name is spoken with hate. The Phildoxes had the Rite of the Stolen Wolf cast upon me and the container was somehow... accidently... destroyed.~ Once more James stands straight. ~The questions that I felt most would fit a Master of the Challenge and, if were asked alone with no others, would have found a better resolution... were asked by Blackriver. Congratulations Master of the Challenge. Should any other want the position, they must now challenge you.~

For the briefest of seconds an incandescent look comes into Lightning's eyes, but just as quickly as it comes, it's gone again, and the white-furred crinos bows low to Blackriver. ~A worthy filler of the post you shall be,~ he murmurs. Then he turns to Far-Cry and adds ~And a worthy challenger were you~. Finally he addresses Reflection again, and states, ~Thank you for using your skill and judgment in determining this position, Reflection. May time prove your decision a wise one.~

Blackriver's ears swerve in thought as the rest of the story is told. When she's announced as the challenge winner, she straightens somewhat in pride, and dips her head in acknowledgment and respect to Reflection, Lightning, and Far-Cry, in that order.

Far-Cry takes a moment to let this all sink in. The story, the appointment. For a fleeting moment, a displeased look crosses the Shadow Lord's face. However, he bites down on his reaction, willing a neutrality to it. ~Congratulations,~ he rumbles to the other philodox, before nodding to both Cedric and Jamethon. ~I trust the judgement of the Warder. This challenge proves more than who is worthy of the position... the story proves not all is as it seems on the surface.~ He dips his muzzle. ~I return to my stead over the wolves in the park. Gaia grant you all good hunting.~

Reflection nods to the three offering, ~Wise words,~ and falls down the lupus himself posture still dominant as he waits for their departure.

Lightning, instead of reverting to homid, takes lupus, and lollops off at an easy pace into the thicker woods away from civilisation.

Blackriver drops back down into lupus as well, giving herself a light shake and reorienting herself before heading deeper into the bawn, towards the caern.

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