Substitute Judge
4/11/2007
03:16 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (39% full).
It is currently 15:15 Pacific Time on Wed Apr 11 2007.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is partly sunny. The temperature is 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the east at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.76 and falling, and the relative humidity is 47 percent. The dewpoint is 35 degrees Fahrenheit (1 degrees Celsius.)
Farmhouse: Fields
What once was worked cropland has been, over the last several years, allowed to go to seed, and the result is the natural prarie which has developed, enclosed on three sides by the forest. It covers several acres of land with grasses as high as a person's waist, large enough to be out of earshot of the barnyard but uniform enough that anyone in bipedal form could be seen approaching through it.
The looming buildings of the farm can be seen to the south.
Contents:
Cedric
Obvious exits:
BarnYard
Through the overgrown fields that separate the farmhouse from the woods, clad in his long herring-bone patterned overcoat, Cedric goes a-walking. The spring grass is very high in the untended meadow, and has plenty of dew on it, which makes his progress through the field a slow one. He doesn't seem to be in a great hurry, though he appears to be looking about as though searching for something or someone.
And though the fields look largely undisturbed, the quiet breeze is interrupted with the rustling of movement through the field. Every so often, the sound stops, but it continues on, getting closer to the farmhouse by the moment in a wide circle. It's with a limping gait that the Shadow Lord named Far-Cry unwittingly approaches, though he pauses and lifts his head to sniff and listen to the Silver Fang's approach. A chuff of volume and greeting goes out, indicating the halfmoon's position to the other party.
Cedric pauses and gives a low whistle in return to the chuff of greeting. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," he invites the moving patch of grass. "Or do I need to come down to ground level with you?"
Far-Cry's reply is to come closer until in the parting grass, his black furred form can be seen like a sick shark swimming through the bladed waters. He holds his left foreleg up, with the large hole of a wound evident. It's not a paw to be walking on. Ears up and forward, tail slightly curled in to show his submission to the fostern's rank, the halfmoon slows to a stop and peers at him through the grass in silence.
"Damnation," Cedric comments on seeing that wound. "Et tu, Brute? Here, hang on." He wriggles out of his topcoat, leaving it in a heap on the grass, and then squats down, to be out of sight as he changes quickly through the forms to lupus himself, whereat he digs his nose into Kenneth's flank and then gives his wound a quick appraising lick. My tribemate also came home hurt. Were you fighting at her side against the bad spirits?
Far-Cry most notably smells of sharp chemical disinfectant along with lingering scents of his stay at the farmhouse. Exchanging moments to sniff out the fostern as well, the halfmoon holds himself still under the inspection save for a further tuck of his tail at the pure bred appearance of the other wolf. The bad spirits are dead, and we are alive, yes, he answers. Your tribemate fought well, with that strong spirit. The memory of your fallen tribemate is fulfilled.
Lightning cocks his head. Fallen tribemate? he enquires. Fire-Burns-Forever?
Far-Cry rumbles negatively, looking off towards the farmhouse for a moment before gazing back at the fostern. Endures-Pain. She was killed by the bad spirits, long, long time ago. Howls-For-Glory has been wanting to kill the bad spirits back for a long, long time since.
Lightning bows his head. I do not know of Endures-Pain. You must tell me of her one day so that I may sing her song with the other heroes of the First Tribe. But for now, I need to ask something of you, Thunder's pup. You are a half-moon.
Howls-For-Glory knew her better. He was her packmate. The Shadow Lord states no more on that end, as Lightning brings up further askances. A slight tilt of the halfmoon's head and an expectant silence is what he gets.
My tribemate, the one who sits in the caern healing her wounds, is to challenge me for fostern rank, explains Lightning. But she is Master of the Challenge for this sept, and so, she cannot be judge in her own challenge. In these circumstances, Far-Cry, would you be willing to serve as judge in her place, should one be needed?
Far-Cry's ears twist. Surprise colors him undeniably at the request, and he takes a long moment to consider. The outlook is good though. He agrees with a dip of his muzzle. I am willing, if the Warder or Alpha allow it.
There are not many philodox of honor in this sept, explains Lightning, and one of those who is, is in her pack and so probably not one to ask. Why should the elders not allow it?
Far-Cry gives a lupine shrug, flipping his tail this way and that, though he looks vaguely amused at the comment about honor. Pleased, even. They are higher rank, and the leaders. Is it not wise to check if they allow the change?
Lightning grudgingly agrees that he supposes so, scratching at the ground irritably. I shall consult them, then, and return to you once done.
Far-Cry snorts in amusement at the fostern, a little emboldened. You do not have to. I will do it. The Shadow Lord shifts his weight with a slight hop on his good leg, again heading for the farmhouse at a pace. He pauses before he makes a second stride, turning to look at the fostern Fang. You did not hear much about my past deeds either, have you?
Lightning fixes Far-Cry with his deep golden eyes. I have not heard that you are a charach. I have not heard that you have renounced your tribe and taken on a new one. I have not heard that you have fought with another over the ownership of a fetish.
It would be hard for this one to mate with anything, Far-Cry rumbles with his ears sweeping back. The mention of a fetish intrigues him, however. I have not done those things, no. But there have been other things. Either way, that is past. If you wish me judge your challenge, I agree to do so. We will meet again, when you have your terms.
Lightning makes a little noise of contented assent. At next moot, the challenge will be announced. I shall confirm it accepted, and then, I shall also name you as the judge, assuming the elders do not overrule you.
Far-Cry dips his muzzle in agreement. A brief pause follows before the Shadow Lord turns back to the ahroun. Do you know many rites, Lightning-rhya?
I do not, Lightning confirms. I know many stories, but not so many rites. I can bind things to your spirit, and I know the rite which lists your ancestors and the rite which binds you to your words.
Far-Cry looks confused at the last. There is such a rite for that? Interesting. The stories part, though the halfmoon seems less interested, doesn't dismiss entirely. Perhaps you could share some of that wisdom to us all, soon.
Lightning seems amused. To one at a time, only! Teaching is not my forte. But as you are assisting me and my tribemate, I shall gladly teach you something, be it story, rite, or gift. I know various gifts.
Far-Cry notes, You are a fostern. I do not discount the wisdom you must have to hold the second rank. Whatever knowledge you may be able to pass on, I wish to know too. Story, rite or gift. The Shadow Lord dips his head low again, and starts to move off once more. Good hunting, Lightning-rhya. Gaia watch your path.
We must meet again soon, Lightning agrees, and with a sideways-on bump of head to head, the Silver Fang moves aside from Far-Cry in order to regain homid form, slip his coat back on, and depart.
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