Levels of Rank

1/21/2009

04:20 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent Moon phase (29% full).
It is currently 16:17 Pacific Time on Wed Jan 21 2009.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 35 degrees Fahrenheit (1 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the east at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.09 and steady, and the relative humidity is 92 percent. The dewpoint is 33 degrees Fahrenheit (0 degrees Celsius.)

Tree of Peace(#132RAJ)
With broadly oval shaped leaves and spreading, twisting branches, this grandmother of a tree is an oft seen species of the large deciduous tree, the Black Cottonwood. When looking closely, scuff and claw marks made upon the tree indicate how it has been used a plenty for climbing. The dark-grey colored trunk and branches show the ancient nature of this very old tree, and the girth is quite wide with spreading roots clinging firmly to the ground below having done so for ages. Its balsam odor typical of the species can be made out amidst the scent of pine, spruce and fir dominating the area of the mountain plateau that spreads out westwards.
Though not quite the largest of the trees located within the forest, this particular tree holds a visible difference from its brethren aside from not being a conifer. Visible within its branches are the telltale signs of offerings both small and large made by unknown hands. Human hands from the looks of it, have tied various strings and ribbons to some of the limbs from which hang some fairly dire looking objects. In a higher branch is a dark metallic handgun hung via red dyed twine, while another low branch holds a long animal claw that ought to belong on a bear, but seems larger. Wrapped against one of the branches is a pipe wrench. Other odd entities such as a bent and broken shotgun, folded paper animals, and a slab of bark painted with a white peace sign can be seen hanging from the tree's branches.
Contents:
Rommy'
Obvious exits:
Plateau

Deep in the heart of Masquerade's territory, Far-Cry rests at the sprawling roots of the Tree of Peace, unspoken but semi-official headquarters of the pack. The weather out here is chilly still, more so than anywhere near civilization. As a result, the Philodox is curled up in his furred form, tail covering nose, and dozing.

Carried somewhat by the wind, a howl of request echoes from the west, likely at the edge of the territory. ~The Wind-Brother requests entry into Chimera-children's territory! He wishes to respectfully speak with Far-Cry.~

Far-Cry's ears twitch with the howl, and a flick of his ears later the halfmoon wakes. Groggily. All in all, he takes his time stretching and limbering himself before he tilts his ears back in the general direction from which the howl came from. Then as if he were questioning the howler's actual presence, he responds in giving an 'I am here' answer. Off he goes towards the western border, sure footfalls carrying him along. A little after some more minutes of travel, he lets out another howl again to reconfirm the ahroun's presence and position.

The Wind-Brother seems perfectly content with remaining where he is, and is quick to respond with his location when prompted. For the moment, he remains in his white and black-peppered hispo, comfortable resting against his haunches some paces away from the general border of the pack's territory.

Far-Cry's pace picks up until he's ground away the rest of the distance between them and can be heard coming long before he's seen. The halfmoon when he does appear gives a chuff of greeting to the larger metis. Despite being in lupus, he carries his tail a degree higher to denote claim of the ground and position. A look of silent question goes to the ahroun.

The metis is very aware of his position in reference to the Elder's, and lowers his posture and tail appropriately. ~I wanted to meet you in person, Far-Cry-rhya, and give a proper introduction. I've challenged for Fostern, and it is important to me to hear what the Elders think. To see if I can prove myself if they feel I am not ready.~

Far-Cry doesn't change very much in expression. If anything, the Shadow Lord looks like he's about to turn around and simply be on his way. But, he doesn't move at all. An anticipatory air is adopted, waiting for the other to continue.

And the Wind-Brother does continue, lifting himself up somewhat to show he has some measure of pride, though he still remains low enough to be respectful. ~Brother-of-the-Wind-Storm is not the name I was rited by. It was given to me after I rescued and pledged myself to an aspect of the East Wind. It has been in this manner that I have fought as a full-moon of Unicorn's children, despite my breed: With wisdom and honor I have lead a Wind pack in this Sept for many moon-cycles, and have fought in many battles to destroy the Horned Serpent and protect our Caern. But the death of many packmates spurred me to learn the ways of war. Bear accepted me, and challenged me to strive on and use his strength to continue fighting, even if I should lose honor from him. This is also why I have come to you, Far-Cry-rhya. Honor is very important to me, and I wish to gain it wherever and whenever possible.~

Far-Cry snorts at the last of the ahroun's rumblings, pulling himself up some more. Then he looks the ahroun straight in the eyes much as a lupus could do so to a hispo, growling out in a single phrase that encompasses his greatest issue, You are a metis.

Rommy' glances away, so as not to disrespectfully prolong that gaze. ~I am. But it is not all I am. I work every day to serve our nation the best I can to make up for my breed.~

Far-Cry's hackles stiffen on his nape as his form slips up to match the ahroun's, painted glyphs of his marking mask appearing upon his enlarged wolven features. ~All Garou work to serve Gaia's will. Why should /that/ be of anything special with you?~

The Wind-Brother's features remain calm with some effort. ~I work /harder/ because I must,~ the metis replies with some emphasis. ~But also because I /want/ to. I have offered and given countless lessons in war to both cubs and rited Garou of this sept of my own accord, and freely. I lead my pack to the Traitor's Grove and returned with the man that made our success possible. I protected him for as long as I needed to. I have done the same with kin. I have done the same with cubs. I have fought countless creatures for this Sept and would do it /over/ and /over/ again. I have /not/ been idle. Nor do I intend to be. But if you want more of me, I would happily give it. What would you have me do?"

Far-Cry puts his forepaw down from where it begins to lift. ~Those are all generous, dependable, Glorious things, as expected of an ahroun and from a member of the sept,~ he rumbles out. To his latter question the halfmoon answers in a grunt and a flick of his tail behind him. ~Why would I need you to do anything? You have enough to do.~

The Wind-Brother swishes his tail somewhat, likely as a mental self-berating. ~My desire to prove myself sometimes is spoken before I think. But you are right. There are always more things to do.~

Far-Cry looks off towards the forest that surrounds them, his own thoughts distracted by the errant call of a bird. When he turns back to the hispo, it's to query, ~Who did you challenge?~

~Cries-no-More-rhya of the Wendigo,~ the metis responds easily, and patiently.

The Shadow Lord doesn't change significantly still, rumbling out, ~You feel you are on the same level as he?~

~He has seen more of the Umbra than I,~ the Wind-Brother concedes, ~But we have fought, and our matches are close. I trust his wisdom, and he trusts mine. So, yes.~

Far-Cry straightens up his stance, facing down the ahroun pointedly now. ~And you think you're on the same level as Pathwalker and Strong-Heart? Same level as /me/?~

~The Challenge will prove if I am or not,~ the Wind-Brother returns at first, after a moment of thought. ~But yes. I think I am ready for this rank. But that does not lessen the respect I have for you, Pathwalker-rhya, and Strong-Heart-rhya.~

Far-Cry lashes his tail behind him. ~We will see about that,~ growls the halfmoon as he turns from the metis.

The Wind-Brother's tail flicks once, perhaps irritably, but he deigns to remain silent after that, determined to let his actions speak for themselves.

Far-Cry gets a few paces away before he turns to look back over his shoulder at the ahroun. He gives an impatient flick of his ear. ~Are you coming or not?~ grunts the philodox in a verbalized tug to follow.

The Wind-Brother tilts his head to the side curiously, but the does as he is bid, and follows, jogging a bit to catch up with the Philodox.

Far-Cry leads the ahroun along back the way he'd come, following a thin animal trail, climbing inclines and finally arriving at the widespreading branches of the tree bearing its manner of offerings and broken weaponry. Here, the philodox turns back to the Child and travels the shapes back to his breed. "You know what I see when I look at this tree?" he asks, tone a little flat for what it's asking.

The Wind-Brother turns his hispo head towards the tree, thoughtfully evaluating it for a series of long moments before easily flowing through the forms to homid, himself. Still "It looks sheltering. Sort of like it's filled with hopes and promises, too. What do you see?" he asks, glancing to the Lord.

Kenneth points out some various parts. "That pipe wrench, that's Stacey's. She got it a long, long time ago 'cause someone thought she'd do a pretty badass job wielding that sucker around in Glabro, or Crinos. And that shotgun there, that's one we picked up from hunters in the park that Mel took down. Bastards. Cori made this sign," he says with a point to the white peace sign on bark. "I see an end goal. I see balance. I see peace. I see my pack, my sept, my home." His eyes travel up the branches, then slowly turn to look to the ahroun. "All those things you said about working hard and fighting all those monsters, doing all that. It don't mean /shit/ if you ain't got something to come back to, something to look forward to. Something to be /loyal/ to. Something that'll make you want to fight for beyond just yourself. In other words... if you're doing all this just to become stronger, then the spirits are going to see that. And they, like the rest of us, are just going to think you're fulla shit. You get me?"

Rommy' follows the narration without a word. He glances to each object and listens almost reverently, thoughtful. Touched. "It's not that I don't have something to come back to," the metis ventures, looking up again. "It's just that I thought no one cared. That it wasn't something anyone wanted to hear. I don't lead a pack because I want to be stronger. I do it because I want the companionship, the family. Because we get to share our victories, and we're there for each other during the hard times. I can't explain how important is to me to protect that. But there's a lot more than just that. So yeah, I get you."

"Just as long as you're on the same page," Kenneth says simply, not having once smiled in all this. "I was there when your packmate went down, you know. I saw what happened. And I got a glimpse or two into what it felt like myself, to lose everything. I mean /everything/." And he emphasizes, invisibly bolding and underlining and italicizing in his inflection. "And for a time, to not want to build anything back up at all, just ditch the ruins." Straightening again, he regards the ahroun inspectively. "When you joined up here, you came into one of the most dysfunctional, backwards, punk-ass breeding septs that ever decided to be a pimple on the face of Gaia. And if you're going to be amongst those of us who're going to try and lead it, you're going to have remember. Remember somethin' like this," he says with a nod of his head back to the tree. "Whatever Cries-No-More sends you out to do... you better be prepped."

The metis turns to watch the tree for a long time, and then he stops, and closes his eyes, listening. "I like the way tree sound," he begins, inhaling deeply through his nose. "They talk a lot. Noisy, even. You'd think after living so long as many of them have, they'd start saying something new, but it's always 'Grow, grow!' and they never stop. And they're not just talking to themselves. They spread their seeds around and their leaves rustle, bark creaks, 'Grow, grow!' That's why my pack is named what it is," Rommy says, opening his eyes and turning back towards Kenneth, gloved hands slipping into his jeans pockets. "Getting stronger is important, but that's never what it's really been about. It's been about propagating; it's been about teaching. It's been about making sure we're going to last. The seeds I spread /have/ to be different because of what I am, and when my packmates died" he shakes his head and sighs, " that's where it hurts the most, at least for me. It's like a piece of you is cut off: A branch, a root." He gestures to the tree. "I would never wish that on anyone. So I fight to stay alive for those people who care about me. But also to spread seeds. To teach." A pause. "And to lead. So everyone can keep on growing." He then shrugs. "Sorry, didn't mean to go on like that. But I got ya. And I appreciate your words."

Kenneth gives a small nod then. "Just don't keep looking back so much or you'll snap your neck with the whiplash," he remarks in a contemplative volume. "That said... you're one of the few to come all the way out here. Too bad your tribemates aren't here right now. Otherwise I'd ask 'em about you right in front of your face. Now you'll just have to deal with the fact that I'll be asking them behind your back." He reaches over to give the tree a light pat and looking to the ahroun adds, "We call her the Tree of Peace. If you'd like to offer up something before you go, it's much appreciated."

"I know they'd be just as honest in front of me as behind," Rommy remarks with a brief grin, digging in his pocket for something. At length, he procures a small strap of leather. It doesn't appear to be much other than a worn, brown strip, but upon closer inspection, there's a needle or pin stuck inside. "This is important to me," he says, holding it up. "But I think grandmother would prefer it in a special place like this."

Kenneth casts his gaze over the leather strap, peering at its make. Then he moves over to dig through some of the blankets and comes up with a ball of reddish twine, from which he gnaws off a section and holds it out to Rommy. "Let the warrior's offering show he understands what it is he fights for," he intones in a way that sounds almost prayer-like in ceremony. "Go ahead and pick a place to tie it on."

Rommy' glances down at the thing, then begins to search the branches. "It's what used to tie shut the hood over grandmother's spear... That one," he says, pointing to a banch fairly close to the top, somewhat buffeted by the wind, and in clear view of the sky. "She was a Stargazer," the metis says with clear affection, turning back towards Kenneth.

Kenneth nods on the subject. He doesn't make any move to take the object though, instead gesturing with a tilt of his head. "You picked it. You tie it," replies the Shadow Lord. Then, "She raised you?"

Rommy' shakes his head, accepting the twine from Kenneth and approaching the tree. "Actually never knew her. Father raised me. It was part of his punishment." A few of the branches are tested to see if they'll support the big metis' weight before he continues. "She came from China, and traveled all around the world before she settled in Hawai'i. Father had lots and lots of stories about her. The spear I've got was hers before it was his, forged in China by her family a long time ago. But one day after Father rited, she just left. No one's seen her since. Still, I've always looked up to her." That said, the metis begins a careful climb, quite cautious of the other relics on the trees, but his athleticism is as such that it's no problem for him to reach the selected high point, and tie the strip thereon. Coming down is easier.

Kenneth steps back to watch the other's ascent and listens on. Waiting until the ahroun's come back down before speaking, the philodox asks not very delicately, "What about your mother?"

Rommy' hops about the final third of the way down, landing with a grunt. "She's dead," the metis says with an equal bluntness. "Birth."

Kenneth nods again, looking up through the branches. Sucking lightly on a tooth, he turns back to the ahroun. "Alright. Hope you tied it nice and tight. Never know what squirrel or bird's going to try and pick off what's up there. But, the offering's appreciated." He turns again with a motion for them to go again.

"Sure did," Rommy returns with a nod, hands once again finding his pockets. He again follows the elder when bid. "I'm glad I could do it."

Leading the way back to the edge of the territory, Kenneth isn't one for idle chatter as they go. Showing his knowledge of the area to be well in hand, he leads right back to where they'd started from and turns to the ahroun. "This place has a lot of your moon and a lot of them have earned their spots doing great things. It's not easy to compete with that," says the philodox. "But if you, a metis, think you got what it takes... you're more than welcome to try." With this, he flashes a bit of a feral competitive half-smile at the Child of Gaia. "Sure you know which way you came from?"

Rommy' sniffs the air as they arrive, thumbing to the west after Kenneth's done speaking. "Yeah, direction-knowledge and tracking's kind of a speciality." He begins to walk away before turning a bit and grinning at the Elder over his shoulder. "It being way challenging is kinda what really makes it worth it. When I manage it, it'll mean all that much more, yeah? At least that's how I think about it. You know, along with all the other stuff we talked about. Thanks for showing me around."

Kenneth nods with the note to which way they'd come. With all that said, the Shadow Lord runs a hand through his short hair and lets out a breath. No goodbyes are said on his part, but he does watch the ahroun's departure for a time before turning around and making another shift back to a warmer, furred form.

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