Erik Finds His Backbone

[hazlogs]

It is currently 14:04 Pacific Time on Tue Jun 17 1997.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (81% full).

Strong-Tree enters the compound.
Erik is seated at the edge of the compound, knees drawn up to his chest, 
  staring straight ahead at nothing in particular.
Steven emerges from off the faint animal trail wending eastwards.
Steven limps in from the ash grove to the west and finds a seat near the fire.
Strong-Tree stalks into the area, bristling a bit due to the moon. She eyes 
  Erik thoughtfully for a moment, but no more agressively than she is usually. 
  Then she growfs a greeting at Steven, looking over his condition keenly. Her 
  own recent wounds seem to have healed up nicely.
Erik stiffens slightly as the lupus passes across his field of view. 
  ~Strong-Tree-rhya.~ His voice, though soft, is excessively formal, a 
  poorly-concealing mask over a low-boiling unhappiness, even anger.
Steven offers an extremely curt nod to Strong-Tree, and doesn't even bother to 
  acknowledge the Metis. He wears a faint frown and looks at the fire, 
  straight on.
Strong-Tree gives Steven an approving snort, and turns towards Erik with some 
  surprise on her features. Her nose wrinkles with faint distaste. What do you 
  want?
Derrick wandesr back from the business he was doing elsewhere, and gives an 
  amiable sort of wave to the newcomers.
Steven glances up at Derrick, offers the Fang a thin smile and then steals a 
  sidelong look at his tribesmates, before turning back to the fire.
Erik unfolds himself, standing slowly. Lord, but he's tall. ~I want to 
  compliment you, Strong-Tree-rhya, on your cleverness.~ His tone is hollow, 
  an angel locked in a tomb.
Derrick retrieves his knapsack from near the fire, and offers Steven some 
  chocolate as he moves back toward the trees.
Steven frowns at the Ragabash, and waves his hand at him. ~No thanks,~ he says 
  /quite/ firmly.
Derrick shrugs amiably, having calmed down considerably in the space of 
  several hours, and plunks down to enjoy his lunch.
Strong-Tree flicks an ear non-chalantly, looking up at Erik. I am not 
  particularly clever, it would seem. She grins, hard and dangerous--and 
  perhaps a bit wry?. But such means very little coming from you anyway, she 
  rumbles. Then she abruptly turns back to the others gathered by the fire.
Derrick, sitting somewhat further away by the trees, scowls and bites into an 
  apple vindictively.
Steven's reaction is covered by a mostly neautral looking mask. Just the 
  corners of his mouth are turned downward. Perhaps it's just the moon's phase.
Erik continues to speak despite the fact that he's now addressing the Ahroun's 
  rear. His voice carries well, the clear tones of the opera-trained. ~I spoke 
  with the Righ about my Guardianship. His problem was /not/, it seems, that I 
  was a Guardian, mule or not.~ This little tidbit is still surprising to 
  Erik, odd and new, but there it is. ~He was displeased, however, that I 
  became a Guardian at your behest. So, rhya,~ and here the bitterness is 
  /quite/ clear, ~I should compliment your cleverness. By urging me to be a 
  guardian, you've made sure that I cannot be, unless I can convince the Righ 
  of my sincerity.~ A pause, then he delivers the final insult. ~The Shadow 
  Lords would welcome you.~
Derrick, in the midst of another bite of apple, stops in mid-chomp, apparently 
  rather shocked at this little speech.
Steven turns his head and his eyes open wide with shock before they narrow 
  back dfown to near slits. He stays on his log, tensing, injuries or no.
Strong-Tree stiffens, lip lifting as an unrestrained rumble issues from her. 
  Bristles rising on her shoulders and back add even more to her already 
  impressive size. Slowly, deliberately, she turns towards Erik. She raises 
  her head, tail rising, body and posture taking a presence of many centuries 
  of Fianna blood, and her rank. She faces Erik, brown eyes locking with his 
  in an implacable glare. Down, mule. On your belly. Her words are taut and 
  straining with barely repressed Rage.
Serves-Honor enters the compound.
Erik trembles, hands out of his pockets now, and gloved hands clenchec into 
  fists. Has he gone moon-mad? Harshly, tightly, he says, ~No.~ His scent, to 
  lupine noses, is a mixture of anxiety and rage and indignation.
Derrick finishes his bite and then eyes the apple in disgust. It's obviously a 
  not very satisfying surrogate, as he gives it another vicious chomp soon 
  after.
Steven stands and takes a few hobbling steps towards the Metis. ~Erik,~ he 
  says in a warning tone.
Serves-Honor lumbers into the clearing, following the path.
Derrick gives a little grin to Erik, not that Erik can see him from his 
  current position near the trees.
Strong-Tree continues to stare at Erik, snarling. A trail of saliva dribbles 
  over her lower lip. You would challenge me? She seems almost eager, eyes 
  lighting with the fire of her moon.
~Yes.~ The Metis /has/ gone mad, perhaps, and certainly the moon's obesity 
  does not leave him unaffected, either. ~Yes, beat me. It would be honest.~ 
  Erik continues to tremble, the tall body quivering like a tree under high 
  wind. He even takes a step forward. It's hard to tell if he's actually 
  meeting Strong-Tree's gaze, the shadows under the hat-brim are too thick, 
  and the folds of the mask obscure. ~I heard you say that you only bullied me 
  into offering myself as guardian so that /another/ would beat me. Because 
  you wouldn't do it yourself!~ His voice rises at the last, periously close 
  to cracking.
Steven seems uncharacteristically calm. Well, calmer than usual. ~Erik, I 
  would not provoke her so. You've said your peace, apologize for your 
  rudeness and stand down.~ He eyes the Metis, head half cocked as if he 
  thinks the other Galliard's finally lost all sense of reason.
Christian enters the Compound at this last, surveying the scene with gaze 
  calmed, but a hint at wariness. His entrance seems to have been rushed by 
  his hearing of the rash words.
Derrick stares at his apple warily, as if it's caused all this, and then gets 
  up. He heaves it gently into the woods and leans against a handy tree, 
  watching avidly.
Strong-Tree's gaze on Erik, remains, the continuous snarl rippling from her 
  unabated. As a /guest/ here, I have no rights to discipline you as you 
  obviously need. But I think all here would agree that I can address this 
  challenge to my honor. Prepare to fight, mule, or get down on your belly and 
  hope for mercy. She draws herself up, breeding and rank still evident in her 
  raised tail and proud carriage.
Serves-Honor stops to watch and listen, unemotionally for now, trying to 
  decide what he has walked into.
For a moment, it almost seems as though sanity might reign again, but then 
  Erik unshoulders the violin case and sets it down, his body language slow 
  and tightly-wound. Terror and a lifetime of conditioning wars with rage, and 
  for once, rage wins. Erik steps carefully away from the precious instrument.
Strong-Tree contorts and blurs as she is transformed.
Strong-Tree shifts into Crinos form.
An Caorthann rises to her full height in the warform, and unslings her 
  scabbard from her back. She lays the claymore on the ground next to Steven, 
  strangely enough. Silent now, she turns to face Erik expectantly.

An Caorthann's Desc:
The huge hairy beast is quite frightening in its sheer size. It towers at over 
  nine feet in height, and almost as wide across the shoulders. Multi-colored 
  wiry hair covers its frame, and brown eyes glowering with Rage peer from 
  beneath a shaggy brow. Its head is more wolfhound-like than lupine, but the 
  jaws are just as deadly and just as filled with sharp fangs and 
  bone-crushing teeth. The creature barely restrains its restlessness and vast 
  energy. It is a beast from legend, perhaps, a killer haunting the dreams and 
  memories of the highlands from which it came, that spawned the refrain, 
  "Stay off th'moors a' nicht, lads. They're be beast beyond yer ken, 
  thereaboot." It appears to be carrying on its back a claymore, which is 
  dwarfed by the creature's sheer size.
OOC: PB 2 and Char 3. Her Rage makes people decidedly uncomfortable when she's 
  around.

Steven shakes his head a few times and then his face stretches taut, as he 
  watches, with arms crossed.
Derrick crosses his arms, and then shakes his head and trots over to the 
  violin, grabs it, and trots back to where he was.
Elan wanders into the Compound, tossing a small bit of meat high into the air 
  for the large Raven that cirles about. He comes over to sit on a stone, and 
  see what is going on.
Erik tilts his head upwards as the other Fianna shifts, and he takes in a 
  breath and then lunges. The shift to Crinos is instantaneous, and the attack 
  from the ten foot tall monstrosity is pure speed, fuelled by rage, but too 
  direct, too predictable and unpracticed as he lunges, claws bared, for Rowan.
Erik contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
You shift into Crinos form.

(OOC: Don't have Erik's Crinos desc in here, but basically he looked 
 like a starved corpse. Gaunt, lotsa ribs, skullish head, a few thin 
 patches of fur, etc.)

Christian grimaces as he watches things unfold, wariness still prevailing in 
  his stance.
An Caorthann steps to one side, in hopes of letting the metis barrel on by. 
  Her flattened ears are pretty much the only sign now of her tension, and her 
  lips drawn back in a half-snarl-half-grin. Her shaggy eyebrows raise at the 
  sight of the mule's warform. She steps back a pace, and waits for him to try 
  again.
Derrick gives an unconscious gasp at the sight of Erik in Crinos, but 
  otherwise just watches, carefully guarding the violin.
Steven's face contorts into a grimace as he views the Metis' deformity, but he 
  watches the two stand off, prepared for the inevitable outcome, as the full 
  moon Fianna toys with the raw, untrained Metis.
Sings-in-Shadow isn't a complete clutz, despite his lack of combative 
  training, and he knows this wasted skin of his all too well. Turning, he 
  moves in to attack again, long claws slashing at the Ahroun's face.
~Finish it, already,~ Steven says under his breath. ~There is no honor to be 
  gained from taunting a lesser fighter.~ He continues to watch, another 
  hinted frown on his face.
Elan draws next to Derrick, keeping silent as he sits down beside the young 
  Fang. He gives him a dubious look, and then cocks his head curiously at the 
  sight of Erik in Crinos - not, apparently, that bothered by the sight. He 
  cubs his chin in hand, considering.
An Caorthann's dodge is amazingly fast, but not so much that she is untouched 
  by Sings-in-Shadow's claws. A light furrowing of slashes paints the full 
  moon's shoulder with stripes of crimson. A grunt issues from her, to 
  acknowledge the hit. Seeing that first blood taken by the mule is proof of 
  his determination, she launches herself into the attack, with a powerful 
  leap. Jaws half-open, she attempts to bear down on the mule with her own 
  vicious claws.
Derrick just shrugs at Elan, explaining quietly, ~Erik decided to take a 
  stand, evidently.~
Elan nods, "Good." He studies the combatants, comparing their moves to his own.
Christian goes over, calmly, to stand besides Derrick, as well. He watches him 
  for a long moment, and nods once, low.
Serves-Honor, with no knowledge of what caused the Metis to challenge the 
  Fostern, withholds his judgement of the correctness or wisdom of the action, 
  concentrating for now on the fight itself.
Derrick gives Christian an absent minded acknowledgement, and concentrates 
  mostly on fretting.
It soon becomes clear what the eventual outcome of the fight will be. 
  Sings-in-Shadow has a certain amount of raw potential, and he moves with the 
  speed of rage that's the birthright of all Garou, but the Ahroun is far more 
  skilled than the Galliard, and though the Metis manages to get in a few more 
  claw-strikes, Rowan's attacks are more directed, more effective, more 
  harmful. In almost no time at all, Erik is bleeding badly.
The warrior Fianna's method of attack is indeed quite simple. Using her 
  strength and incredible grace, she slips under or diverts most of the mule's 
  weakening attacks, and uses her fists liberally on him in turn. Her initial 
  pleasure in the battle seems to drop away, and by the end of it, she just 
  literally beats Sings-in-Shadows to his knees, grimly. Leaning over the 
  badly injured metis, she mutters thickly. ~D'ye submit now, damn ye?~
Elan tightens his mouth, and sits quietly. He gives an appraising nod to 
  Erik's performance.
Bloody and battered, Sings-in-Shadow wavers on his knees, inches away from 
  simply keeling over like the dead thing he resembles, and the blood is allt 
  he more read against his pallid hide. Blood drooling from his muzzle, he 
  coughs, and then nods weakly, tipping his head to one side and baring his 
  throat.
Derrick mutters, "Feh."
Anna steps into the clearing, eyes going wide as she sees the bloody scene 
  laid before her.
An Caorthann takes a moment to look abot at all the people gathered, giving a 
  grim sweep of faces. Then, slowly, she takes the metis' throat in one large, 
  clawed, forepaw, and squeezes lightly. Her voice is thick and low, heavily 
  accented. ~I release ye, then, mule. 'Tis an ease t' me heart that ye do, 
  indeed, have a wee backbone to ye. Perhaps ye need t' be tested more 
  often...~ She releases Sings-in-Shadows and steps back. ~Now get yerself 
  away from my sight.~
Anna looks less than thrilled about what she has come in upon. "Fight your 
  battles on the earth mound like you're supposed to," she snaps at the 
  combatants.
Sings-in-Shadow nods once more. Wordlessly, unsteadily, the wounded 
  monstrosity hauls himself to his feet and limps out of the compound, heading 
  slowly toward the grove nearby.

You head westwards through the woods, and after a brief time, reach an area of 
  the woods populated primarily by ash trees in a small grove.
Ash Grove(#4024RJ)
Obvious exits:
Sept Compound  

Derrick comes into the clearing.
Sings-in-Shadow is sprawled out, still in his native form, the huge coat 
  draped over him like a dark shroud. The green eyes are closed, and he 
  breathes slowly. At the sound of footsteps, his ears twitch forward; he is 
  awake.
Derrick hoves into view, carrying the violin carefully. "Hey," he says, 
  softly. "Just wanted t'bring this over."
Sings-in-Shadow opens his eyes, startlingly green, oddly beautiful. ~I'm not 
  dead,~ he murmurs, in a low rumble.
Derrick places the violin relatively close to the metis, and says, trying not 
  to avoid looking at him, "Yeah, I'd noticed. Ain't life grand?"
Sings-in-Shadow closes his eyes again, wincing slightly, and not entirely at 
  the pain. ~Sorry. Give me a moment... and I'll shift back...~
"Huh?" Derrick says, not particularly convincingly, "No, it's ok. I don't 
  mind. An' I mean, you just... don't worry too much on my account, you're the 
  one who just stood up t'her."
Sings-in-Shadow actually laughs, the sound vaguely hysterical, the kind of 
  laugh one might emit after narrowing avoiding falling off a cliff. ~I did. 
  Gaia's heart... I did.~
Derrick shifts slightly uncomfortably, reacting to the laugh. He realizes he's 
  doing it and makes a conscious effort to stop fiddling, and says quite 
  firmly, "You won, too. I mean, you lost, but you won all the same. May I 
  congratulate you, my good sir?"
Sings-in-Shadow pushes up into a sitting position and gingerly fingers a tear 
  in the hem of his coat, handling the thick cloth with sharply delicate 
  claws. Then he pulls it close about him, heedless of the blood. ~Thank... 
  thank you.~ He seems to be slowly reverting to normal, mentally. ~Hopefully 
  I can convince the Righ...~
Derrick, for the first time in the conversation, manages to concentrate on 
  Erik and not his appearance, and chuckles briefly, and somewhat sourly. 
  "That oughta be such fun. Really. Me, I wouldn't start obsessing on it just 
  yet, though... At least give yourself th' time t'enjoy what you just did, 
  y'know?" He chews on his lip, and admits, "But I'm not you, so maybe I 
  should just shush."
Sings-in-Shadow runs a tongue absent-mindedly over wasted chops; even with his 
  muzzle closed, his teeth still show a bit. He lifts his head to look at the 
  young Fang, his emerald eyes vaguely puzzled, but relieved, too. ~It will... 
  probably be a while before I see him again anyway,~ the Metis rumbles, and 
  then shivers. ~I still don't believe I did that.~
Derrick shivers slightly himself. "You've got guts. I mean, I would way not 
  have been able t'do that... Any of it."
Sings-in-Shadow rumbles, ~I... had to.~ Then he shudders a bit and shifts back 
  down to Homid, cloth mercifully forming around the corpselike-thin body, 
  hiding it once more from view.
Sings-in-Shadow contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
You shift into Homid form.
A tension he didn't realize he had in him relaxes slightly as the Galliard 
  shifts back to homid. "Yeah," Derrick says softly. "Lissen, I gotta go. 
  But... Good job."
Erik nods, leaning wearily back against a tree, wincing a bit. "I... thank 
  you."
Derrick deposits an apple near the violin. "Who, me? No. Thank /you/. Later..."
Derrick heads for the faint trail leading out, disappearing into the brush.