Informing Moon Otter

[hazlogs]

It is currently 11:47 Pacific Time on Tue Nov 3 1998.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Full Moon phase (94% full).
Currently on this gusty and cold fall late afternoon in the general St. Claire 
  area, it is 43 degrees Fahrenheit (6.1 degrees Celsius). The wind is coming 
  from the southeast at 19 mph. The ground is wet. Skies are overcast with a 
  small chance of precipitation.

Salem(#2653Pce)
        Tall and dark, he stands a few inches over six feet, a striking and 
  rather dangerous-looking man in his mid-twenties. Black hair frames hawkish 
  features and a high forehead, the dark eyes deep-set. It's a face 
  tailor-made for brooding and cynicism, and he excels at both moods. He's 
  handsome, albeit in a devilish, saturnine kind of way, but rarely does he 
  seem truly relaxed, and often a sharp and tense hatred seems to rage just 
  beneath the surface of his flesh, a murderous anger held in check by a tight 
  and uncertain control. A black goatee lines his lips and jaw, and a thick 
  scar runs down the left side of his face, just missing the eye. In short, he 
  has the look of the very devil about him, a Lucifer fallen from grace, 
  bitter about his fate and prone to dark moods and unprovoked violence.
        He's wearing loose black flannel shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, 
  with high-topped sneakers on his feet (also black).   <<+details>>

Bawn: Western Forest(#3018RAh)
Tall Sitka spruce and sequoia crowd around and above you. Many of the trees 
  are old, their branches twisted into impossible shapes, trunks broad and 
  draped with lichen, mosses and creepers. Tendrils of moss hand down from 
  them like green spiderwebs, snaring the unwary with cold, ghostly fingers. 
  The patches of younger growth are dense and pale, needles tinged with 
  silver. Matted undergrowth huddles sullenly in the occasional small 
  clearings, clutching with thorns and burrs at the legs of those who would 
  pass. Deer seldom venture here, but the forest is full of rustlings, and 
  tiny glints from wary, watchful eyes.
The forest spreads out to the east, bounded on the west by Sunrise Road. From 
  farther to the west, one can occasionally hear the distant sounds of the 
  town of Kent's Crossing.
Obvious exits:
Deer Path  Sunrise Road  Farmhouse  Caern of the Hidden Walk  Creek  East  
  South  North  

Salem leans against a spruce tree within the edge of the bawn, an unlit 
  cigarette being passed from finger to finger, restlessly, in one hand. His 
  manner is close-mouthed and grim; he doesn't look as though he's cracked a 
  smile for years.
Moon Otter appears from out of the trees, seemingly seperating himself from 
  the very shadows. He whufs a single word in the Walker's direction, one that 
  a human would mistake for just a wolf noise. ~Salem?~
Salem's head jerks up, dark eyes narrowing slightly as he scans the area. The 
  cigarette vanishes into an inner pocket of his coat as he straightens up. He 
  clears his throat slightly. ~Moon Otter, I presume?~
Moon Otter moves closer, huffing an affirmative in response, then following it 
  up with a formal introduction. This one is 
  Moon-Calf-who-has-no-more-sense-than-an-Otter. Moon Otter to avoid panting. 
  Fostern no moon and elder of the Lords of Shadow at the Sept of the Hidden 
  Walk. Alpha of Forest Howl's Echo and a pack of true wolves.
Salem takes a step forward and drops to all fours, shifting to lupus with a 
  graceful, practiced blurring of forms. Black-furred and noble, his breeding 
  obvious and only a bit lesser than Otter's, the Glass Walker lifts his head. 
  His posture expresses a subtle mixture of arrogant self-pride, and all the 
  proper respect due to the elder. He introduces himself only as Dark One, 
  full moon of the Glass Walkers, Cliath rank.

Dark One(#2653Pce)
        Black fur covers this adult male wolf from muzzle to tail, the dark 
  pelt unbroken but for a vague, irregularly-shaped medium gray patch on his 
  chest. Like all his species, he is long-limbed and athletically built, 
  powerful and relentless in his motions, a true predator. Rarely is the 
  animal truly relaxed, and often a murderous hatred seems to rage just under 
  the surface of his ebony pelt, the promise of violence glaring out of the 
  feral golden eyes. To Garou eyes, he has the look of nobility, and it's 
  clear that Shadow Lord blood runs strongly through his veins.
        A thick scar runs down the left side of the wolf's face, a battlescar 
  that only just misses the eye. Another scar is visible on his back, right 
  shoulderblade - a massive criss-cross of scarring, without meaning.  
  <<+details>>

[Moon Otter]
'Regal' is the best way to describe this young wolf. His coat is a glossy 
  midnight-black. Whiskers droop in a royal fashion from his muzzle and a 
  whispy tuft of fur, interlaced through with crimson hairs, flows from under 
  his chin. His unearthly green eyes take in whatever draws his attention with 
  a fierce intensity. His high breeding is almost painfully obvious as he 
  seems to almost radiate a tangible aura of confidence coupled with a 
  nobility from ages past.
There are three parallel claw marks scarred into his left shoulder and chest, 
  forming the tribal glyph of the Red Talons. A third set of scars made by a 
  cougar's claws are raked over his right haunch. His scent is nigh 
  undetectable until your muzzle is up against his coat and the smell is 
  strongly masked by the odor of rich earth and the deepest forests.

Moon Otter pads closer to inspect the other wolf in a wolfish sort of way, 
  then asks: You wished to speak with this one?
Dark One remains still, his own inspection prefuctory and curt. I do, he tells 
  Otter. I am the one who culled the Shadow Lord called Black.
Moon Otter allows a pregnant pause to pass. The one who was causing problems 
  within the scab and with the other Garou of the sept?
Dark One dips his muzzle slightly and replies in the affirmative. The Walker 
  stands firm and tall within the confines of lupine respect; he is not 
  nervous in any way.
Moon Otter doesn't look perturbed at this news. Not in the least, even. And he 
  had caused further trouble after this one had given permission to cull him 
  should he bother members of the sept?
Dark One lifts a forepaw and then sets it down, deliberately. He was killing 
  human females in a manner that tore the Veil, and there was evidence that he 
  was involved in Wyrm-tainted acts with the killing. He resisted questioning 
  and reneged on the honorable surrender I granted him.
Moon Otter hrrfs as you finish. Unfortunate that a garou needed to be culled 
  and unusual that he did not test for Wyrm. Obviously, the gift must have 
  failed in this instance. Do you still have the body or any objects which 
  might belong to the Shadow Lords?
Dark One's tail flicks slightly. The remains were taken for disposal by one of 
  your tribe, called Hard Grinder.
Moon Otter flicks his tail in a faintly cat-like manner. This one will speak 
  with him of it. A Gathering for one fallen from the grace of Gaia seems 
  almost inappropriate. A crescent will have to be consulted on the matter. 
  Regardless, it is good to know he has been killed and will no longer cause 
  problems. This one did not like his attitude. Thank you, and your tribe, for 
  saving this one the bother of coming to the scab to cull him personally.
Dark One replies, with mild irony, that he was glad to be of service. He adds, 
  I have one request to make.
Moon Otter cocks his head quizzically to one side. Yes?
Dark One lifts his head. I have been charged by my elder to find someone who 
  will agree to teach me the Rite of Contrition.
Moon Otter hrrs. This one does not know that particular rite. If you wish, 
  this one will check to see if one of the Shadow Lords know of it?
Derrick enters the area from the forest to the south.
Derrick has arrived.
Dark One dips his muzzle. Thank you.
Moon Otter inclines his own muzzle slightly. May you cull fast and quiet in 
  the scabs.
Falcon's Wing's not scentless, for once, but he is rather quiet, as he lopes 
  along on patrol.
Dark One 's muzzle drops open for a moment, showing a hint of lolling tongue 
  and gleaming fang in a sharp wolf-grin. And may you do likewise in the 
  woods. He turns to go.
Moon Otter watches as the Walker departs, and then he turns towards the deeper 
  woods. Progressing along, he catches the Fang's scent and whuffs loud enough 
  to catch his attention.