Night Of Truth
2/12/2008
06:31 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (42% full).
It is currently 18:30 Pacific Time on Tue Feb 12 2008.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 45 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.12 and rising, and the relative humidity is 76 percent. The dewpoint is 37 degrees Fahrenheit (2 degrees Celsius.)
Bawn: Foothills of the Mountains(#2986RA)
The hills that rise here are roughened by the frequent rains, and rocky places show through the grasses and shrubs that grown in the clearings. Trees grow as often from shallow soil on rocky hillocks as from real loam. Occassional boulders show through like the bones of ancient creatures, covered with spreading patches of moss and lichen. The land is rough, and the weight of the ancient hills gives the place a chilling quality. The stones seem to resent intrusion.
No visible delimiter marks the eastern edge of the Bawn, only scent-marks and occasional scratches on trees. To the west, the hills become softer and the covering forest thicker, while to the east, the rocky slopes of the foothills become mountainous in truth, and the tree cover thins. I-90 to the north and the railroad to the south provide the remaining edges to this region.
Contents:
Viktor
Obvious exits:
Two Eagles Bluff Silent Valley South North East Thunder Cave West
While the moon remains hidden from view behind the clouds, out in the chillier regions of the bawn by the foothills stands a lone black wolf. Far-Cry poses statuesquely propped upon an overlarge boulder, unmoving save for the ruffle of his fur in the northeasternly breeze. His goldeneyed stare peers in the direction of the caern, but it is his nose and his ears he relies on to tell him of anything worth noticing.
A familiar smell begins to arise in the west as a young, pale teen trudges towrds the foothills. The smell of rabbit blood, dirt, and sweat surrounds the young man. He shakes his wet hair, casting droplets of sweat to the ground, and then he wipes his forehead with his sleeve. His eyes are on the ground in front of him so he doesn't exactly pick out anything to the distance.
Far-Cry lifts his muzzle to sniff as his sharper lupine senses pick up the familiar scent mixed with prey blood. Being even harder to pick out in the dimly lit night due to the dark coat, he waits until the other halfmoon has approached closely enough to hail with a short, low woof. And to accompany the sound, Far-Cry moves closer, exposing himself to view.
Viktor snaps his head up and catches sight of the wolf, blinking without recognition. Quietly, with a sort of surprise on his face, he raises his hand slowly, open palm, at the black wolf, otherwise standing fairly still. A hand is in one of his pockets, and in it he pops a knucklebone.
Far-Cry cups his ears forward, head raising with the raising of the other's hand. Still, the black wolf maintains a distance between him and the cub. After a moment of silent staring, he tilts his head in question. What are you waiting for?
"For an introduction, because I don't think we've met. It appears I was wrong to wait for one, however. Viktor Braginsky, Shadow Lord, philodox, and cub." The pale teen inclines his head politely, standing up straighter.
It's difficult to say whether Far-Cry's reaction consists of annoyance or amusement with the flick of his ears. We have met, he eventually responds. I am the one you know as Far-Cry, halfmoon of Thunder's tribe.
"Far-Cr...ah, Kenneth-rhya. Yes, I remember now." Viktor places a hand on the back of his neck, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "I didn't recognize you. You've my apologies. Good to see you today."
Far-Cry looks off past the cub in the direction Viktor had come from briefly, and then focuses back on the other halfmoon. You smell better today, comments the wolf with a short sniff and folding of his haunches behind him, Like you have been eating well.
Viktor looks a little bit more comfortable at the mention of that. "Truth be told I was able to nab an animal for lunch today, on my own. What are you doing out here, Kenneth-rhya?" He smiles, a small, reserved thing.
Far-Cry flips his tail agreeingly, noting that the animal happens to smell like rabbit. And as for his activities, the cliath philodox looks around again before resettling his attention on the cub. Catching up with the news, is the halfmoon's somewhat enigmatic answer.
Viktor lets it lie at that. "I hope I'm not bothering you, then. I just came out here to do my runs up and down the hills, inclined planes get my blood pumping." He looks curiously to the wolf, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning forward thoughtfully.
It is cold out for those furless, notes Far-Cry. After a moment though, he thumps his tail against the ground behind him and gets to a point. Do not expect me to serve you, Cub, he growls out thinly.
The pale teen's eyes darken somewhat. "I don't have any expectations, Kenneth-rhya. Everything I've gotten, I've received because I've asked for the privelege and have been granted it. I'm ensconced in about 4 training regimens. Right now I'm trying to feel out if you have the time and the energy to make it 5."
What? snaps the lupus'd halfmoon, coming up to his feet, teeth tips blinking briefly into view. Now his focus narrows upon the cub.
"You are a Shadow Lord and a philodox, the only one I've met. I would be indebted to you if you'd instruct me in the things my auspice demands I do." Viktor's brows descend on his forehead. "If you'd teach me how to do things like...mediate, the laws of the land, what I need to know and what I need to do for the tribe, I promise I won't let you down."
Far-Cry stares at the other halfmoon for a time, and then snorts and turns his gaze away to contemplate. Seconds ticking by turn almost towards minutes of silence, until he finally looks back to Viktor. Who else teaches you?
"The Silver Fang Fostern Blackriver. I consider her my...second opinion when it comes to learning what it means to be philodox. For many reasons. I feel like I'm starting the last leg of my journey first, if you know what I mean." Viktor sucks on his teeth, wiggling his toes in his sandals.
Far-Cry checks himself from barking out a lupine laugh, but is unable to hide his immediate reaction of amusement tainted with that everpresent undercurrent of prickling Rage. Swims-the-Black-River, he repeats of the name the fostern, is wolfborn. That comment almost seems to settle him down, and another few moments of grappling inwardly leads to the black wolf pausing in midpace. Who told you your teacher was the Silver Fang?
"Saul-rhya didn't immediately steer me towards her. We were waiting on one of the Shadow Lord Philodoxes to show up, and so none were available...Saul-rhya arranged for me to be taught by her. Now that I've found you, I figure two teachers are better than one. And a Shadow Lord teacher is better than a Silver Fang. I hope you'll consider it." Viktor inclines his head again, his mouth small and thin, eyes trained on the wolf in front of him.
You don't need to hope, cub. If you want something, then find a way to get it. Wasting your time only leads to hunger in one's mind and one's belly, rumbles the black wolf. I will not - cannot - teach you any more than what you can learn. And that is determined by you. Again, those yellow eyes turn back to the other halfmoon. Do you understand?
Viktor doesn't answer immediately. Quiet reflection washes over his face. "I may understand. I can, and will, learn anything you will teach. I want to learn from you. You are absolutely right...I must find a way to get what I want. Now - what do you want from me, Kenneth-rhya?"
Far-Cry flicks an ear again as he considers the question posed. Tell me what the other philodox has taught you, he rumbles out and sits down again.
"Next to nothing. I've had one meeting in which the lupus born instructed me to use my other forms more, so I could think in new ways." Viktor turns to stare into the night to his right, the stars glimmering between trees. "In terms of teaching me directly, very little. I've learned personal lessons spending time in my other forms, but nothing I'll waste your time with unless you ask."
Far-Cry, so remaining in his other form, flips his tail the other way in thought behind him. His eyes remain on the other halfmoon. You say that as if it was a waste of your time to speak to Blackriver. Was it?
Viktor turns back to the wolf again, his lips pursed. "No. Brutal honesty with myself has helped me realize that I'm simply too impatient to learn everything I can, as quickly as possible. The fact of the matter is my meeting with Blackriver-rhya has ended up helping me put my own world in a clearer frame. However, about being a philodox, I'm at a loss to explain to anyone, especially myself, how that helps me perform those duties."
Balance. Far-Cry growls out this one word, half in reverence, the other half chafed annoyance. You are a halfmoon born. And Cub? You need not explain anything.
Viktor repeats the word under his breath to himself. "Then let me ask this question, Kenneth-rhya. Is balance the key to being a philodox?"
Is breathing the key to living? queries the wolf back after a moment taking to consider the question, head tilting askew. However, the question appears to be rhetorical as he gets up to pace in a loose circle. Then as abruptly as he began, he pauses again. You must learn one thing first, he realizes aloud, gaze turning back at the homid. Learn that you are ~Garou~.
Viktor opens his mouth, whether to speak or protest is unknown because he closes it instead of speaking. After a second, he takes a seat cross legged on the ground, placing his hands on his knees and hunching over nearer. "Please, tell me what you mean by that."
Far-Cry remains in place, eyeing the other halfmoon. Then he moves to face forward, sitting as well and staring at the cub. It is a long, long time in coming that there is anything more said or indicated from the wolf. What comes out, though, is not a verbal answer persay but a howl. The wolfsong lifts from the philodox, seemingly originating not from the throat but from deeper within. It colors with sadness pours into the sound, grieving for the Mother's dying breaths. Then rage touches into the meaty part of the howl, expressing his anger over the state of the world and the stupidity of those in it to realize. It shifts further still to a sense of life and passion for it. His is a deeper, baying tone that fits him and him only, a signature sound of the halfmoon. And it doesn't stop with one breath either, continuing until the black wolf has had his fill. His howl ends and its echoes fade back into the silence of the night. Once more, Far-Cry stares at the cub, daring him to speak.
Viktor has been completely in rapture at hearing the wolfsong. He places his chin in his hands and closes his eyes, letting the haunting sound wash over his countenance and chill him and inspire him and everything in between. Finally, when it is over, his eyes slowly creak open to stare back at the wolf. Silence fills the night, leaves rustling and branches waving. Finally, half-whispered, with awe and with reverence, the words "I understand," are uttered from deep in Viktor's throat.
Far-Cry rises to his paws once more, giving his fur a hefty shake that loosens him up. An ear turns towards the cub. Canting his head, the philodox silently wonders, wolven expression seeming to ask, 'Do you?' The philosophical tangent is broken up as he takes a long sniff with his nose to the wind.
Viktor doesn't let it go. "I do, I understand. You have...it was like music, and it was as if I could understand what you were, what you really were. I've read autobiographies from politicians, nine hundred pages long, that don't say half as much as what you did just now. You told me what it was like for you to be Garou. I understand." He still seems affected by it, his voice is subdued and quiet.
Far-Cry tilts his ears back in wryness, recovering rather quickly from his digressive howling. In moments he seems back to that distant seriousness, that closed, opaque mask. He rumbles with a turn away, Find out what it means for you. Until then, learning what philodox do will do nothing for you.
Viktor nods slowly as he stands up and brushes himself off with a soft sigh. He shakes out his hands and shoulders and stretches his neck. "I will learn that. I'll look for the meaning for me and I'll sing my song to you then."
Far-Cry curls his tail in a sense of satisfaction, watching as Viktor stands. I asked you before, what your deedname was, and you told me you had none. As is appropriate, remarks the philodox. And what do the others call you now?
Viktor looks to the ground. His lips become a thin line, his shoulders slump. "I am called by a few "clumsy one," but by and large I am called "Crazy-Legs," because my legs were unruly and twitched when I was learning to shift, and took especially long for me to master their use."
An inquisitive sniff towards Viktor's legs accompanies the splay of Far-Cry's ears at the cub. Does that still hold true now? he asks.
"No." The response is terse and quick. "I fight better with my legs in Crinos than I do with my arms now, when I have occasion. They are the strongest part of me. I made sure of that." Viktors brows are beetled and cast shadows over his eyes.
Far-Cry lifts his head at the quick response, and then considers, ears flicking. We will see about that, Cub, when you run with me. In the meantime, I refuse to call you a name you claim is no longer deserved. Give me a new one.
Viktor looks thrown by this imperative, and he places his hand on the back of his neck. "I...I need to think about that one..." His toes wiggle nervously in his sandals.
Far-Cry scrapes a paw in the dirt as he waits. He doesn't wait incredibly long, however. The time given for an answer is short. Fine. Until you give me something better, I will call you ~Night-Of-Truth~, as this has been one. The cliath turns further away, not paying much mind to what Viktor's reaction may be. He only glances back when he's more than a few paces away, pausing to wait for the cub. Are you coming?
"N..Night...yes, excuse me, I'll be right with you." Viktor stands up a little straighter and begins to blur through his forms, sprouting muscles and hair, a muzzle, a tail, bones crunching and contorting until he is the wolf now called ~Night-Of-Truth~. He pads towards Far-Cry and inclines his head.
Far-Cry watches closely as Viktor shifts, the process details observed with a discerning eye. Once the cub has taken on the lupus form and everything seems set, he sweeps his tail up behind him, flag-like, and turns to head off into the dark. No more words are used.
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