"'Interesting' is a pretty meaningless word."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 19:50 Pacific Time on Thu Aug 3 2017.

Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 94 degrees Fahrenheit (34 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the east at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.87 and falling, and the relative humidity is 25 percent. The dewpoint is 53 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501

Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (75% full).

Bawn: The Sept Compound(#2075RAM)

Sweeping branches of evergreen pines form a sort of natural roof overshadowing most of this clearing. In the center is a fire pit with several old logs polished from use for seats. A separate stack of firewood is discreetly piled up at the base of an old spruce, protected from the damp by a tarp. At the edge of the clearing and extending back a bit into the woods resides a rough wooden structure with a slate tile roof. A stone slab rests off to one side of the clearing in a place of some prominence. Nestled in among the pines are a few hardy perennials--red alder, quaking aspen, and a big leaf maple or two--that, come spring, will create a profusion of color in the clearing.

A faint trail leads off to the east, and a bit north.

It's nearing on oppressively hot out. The sun is on its way to setting, at least, offering more than a steady breeze and spots of shade as respite from the climbing temperatures. True, won't be long before that temperature plummets back to the usual fifty degrees, but, in the meantime...
Standing amidst the sept compound, having given up on the more business-casual attire she seems to wander around in regularly - in favor of a sleeveless shirt and a pair of jeans cut off at the knees - is Sandra, her attention turned primarily to the cabin, in the general direction of the tribal statues.

This is an open-air structure of pine logs and slate shingles. Only the back (northwest) wall is fully constructed; the other sides are half walls, with the top half open to the elements and with sturdy posts supporting the southern edge of the roof. A set of makeshift panels that can be set to fill in the top half of the walls during storms and the winter sit off to one side. The floor of the cabin is hard packed earth with some dried grasses laid down as flooring. Bedding is in the crude structure, enough for several people in a pinch. A concave stone has been set into the flooring to allow a small fire to be tended in the center of the cabin. Along the back wall are a couple pictures of the Warder's wife. 'Standing guard' around the cabin, are small finely detailed woodcarved figurines of each of the thirteen tribe's totems. Though each are representing in glorious fashion, front and center are both the great wolf Fenris with chains hanging about him, and the Raven of Grandfather Thunder, standing atop a stormcloud.

Salem literally drops out of the trees, black hair sticking sweatily to his face. He offers up a curt, somewhat breathless 'good evening', then unslings the light backpack off his shoulders. "Jamethon put that up, I think. But I could be mistaken."

There's a subtle tightening of the Shadow Lord's shoulders upon hearing the impact of feat on soil, a glance cast over one of them in Salem's direction. She inclines her head in a return on that greeting, observing him for a moment or two before the comment turns her attention back to the statues. The tightening dissipates.
"It's an interesting choice," she says, "putting Fenris and Grandfather Thunder front and center."

The adolescent Philodox cocks his head slightly, eyeballing her critically. "'Interesting' is a pretty meaningless word," he says after a moment. "It doesn't really give away much of an actual opinion, does it?"

Sandra gives a one-sided shrug. "Would you prefer curious?" she says mildly. "I don't know the reasoning behind the decision, so I can only speculate. Past that, I can offer an aesthetic critique, if you'd prefer." A pause. "Was there a Shadow Lord Alpha, at the time that he was Warder?"

Salem has to think about this; he frowns, looking up and away and making a little 'hm' noise. One hand comes up and rakes his hair back away from his face, which doesn't make it any neater but at least gets it out of his eyes. "...It would have had to have been Vera. I /think/ she was around that time." He shrugs. "Apart from Thane, she's been the only Shadow Lord to lead the Sept."

While Sandra and Salem continue to talk, Jamethon arrives at the edge of the clearing from the direction of the Caern. As is common recently, the Chimeric Spear he's been sporting for years now is at his side and he uses the butt of it as a walking stick. This gives a distinctive third 'footstep' to the sound of his arrival. He seems either tired or like something is weighing heavily on his mind, but it might be difficult to determine which just by looking at him.

Sandra nods. "In that case," she says, "I'd say it's time the statues were re-arranged. If they're to reflect positions of prominence within the sept, they're pretty outdated." A pause. "That said," she notes, "if you're looking for some tacit messaging, reminders of mistakes one oughtn't repeat, perhaps Fenris," this noted as she glances in Jamethon's direction, though her attention does return to Salem, "should be swapped out for Unicorn."

Salem looks over at the arriving Get, and his expression remains closed. Turning back to Sandra, he says, "Frankly, I don't think any should be placed more prominently than the others. Even when a member of a particular tribe has been Alpha or Warder, that hasn't guarenteed that tribe's been... more influential. At least not in my experience, not here, in any case."

Brings-the-Pack arrives, through the woods, from the western woods. He looks around, as if expecting to find someone, and the cougar's eyes alight on the resident Get. Perhaps a meeting had been arranged?

Jamethon stops as he listens to the others speak and then looks over to the cabin and nods towards it, "The Alpha and Warder's tribes, being myself at the time, was put up front. The carvings were just something to pass the time and practice. They could be removed, or moved, or used as chess pieces for all I care." When Brings arrives he looks over to the cougar and raises his left hand out in greeting, "Brings-the-Pack, perfect timing."

Sandra offers a loose nod, her attention turning back to the figurines. "I'd agree, actually," she replies. "Beyond the possibility of adding in some farcical symbolism, anyway," this noted in a dry enough tone to suggest that she's not taking that particular idea all that seriously, her attention shifting to Brings-the-Pack as the cougar strides into the clearing. She tips her hand to Jamethon as he comments on the meaning, and says, "I was going to say that I was more speaking in terms of the artist's intentions," to both him and Salem, "and staying true to those, but seeing as that's now a moot point..." though her attention shifts from the figurines to the two newcomers curiously.

Salem raises an eyebrow, looking from Get to mage and back again. "Do you two need some privacy?"

Brings-the-Pack returns the Get's raised hand greeting with a nod. "The moon is fuller than my liking for interactions, but there were signs and portents that I should come here tonight." The cougar-mage looks from Salem, at his question, and then back to Jamethon. "That, I do not know." And then his glance shifts towards Sandra, as if taking in all possibilities.

Jamethon listens to Sandra's words but doesn't seem to be too focused on them. He does offer a quick, "They were carved with respect to the spirit's purpose. That is all." Then to Salem and Brings, James waves off the question, "Privacy? No. The dream I had has given me much difficulty. As always, there is much to interpret. The feathers though, were startling in the way I experienced them. They were in the place between the dream and here. An echo, like that which the woman in my dream had asked me. I wonder," here he focuses fully on the Warper, "You have great power. I know that some of your people have control over time itself. Is that true of you?"

"Woman?" Sandra repeats, though she doesnt interject further than that. Still, the recognition is fairly stark on her features.

Salem frowns as if reminded of something unpleasant or unsettling. "What kind of feathers?"

Brings-the-Pack slowly cocks his head at the theurge, perhaps trying to follow along, up until the comment about 'great power' and 'control over time' is directed at him. There's hesitation. Maybe even a hint of reluctance. The potential weighing of various unnamed factors. Both Sandra and Salem's interjections serve to buy him more time to think, and the question about the cougar-mage's capabilities is then answered--yet not really answered. "What is it you think you need done?"

Jamethon looks first to Sandra's question, then to Salem to whom he nods, then finally he settles on Brings, "I believe the feathers belonged to Magpie, reaching out from... somewhere. It made me think that the loss of Magpie is a great boon to The Nothing. This needs to be reversed. I understand your reluctance and do not ask these questions lightly, nor would I think to make demands." Here he moves his left hand to grip at the same spear he holds in his right and uses the weapon as something to lean on. Jamethon continues, "I was considering how to recover Magpie from being an echo to the thing that cast the sound. The sound of feather then made me think more on them as a literal thing. Do you believe," He focuses a little more intently, "That with Magpie feathers in hand, you could go back to what the feathers were once a part of and recover the very concept of the thing? Materialize it? Or perhaps in the Umbra, with enough power behind the working, conceptualize Magpie enough to rekindle the spirit of her?"

Sandra glances at Salem, as well, when he asks about the feathers. Seems there's an additional note of recognition there, too, but she maintains her silence for now, her attention shifting back to Jamethon and Brings-the-Pack.

Salem cocks his head as if listening to something none of the rest of them can hear. With a muttered 'excuse me' he re-shoulders his backpack and heads out of the compound.