Judging a Coward

[hazlogs]

It is currently 13:14 Pacific Time on Wed Jul 24 2002.

Moon Phase: Full

Location: Farmhouse


Tempered-Blade comes racing up the lane, although her tail is up and her
eyes are bright. She seems to be running mostly for the sake of the speed
and not for any urgent purpose. The wolf pulls up short just in front of
the porch and whuufss loudly when she sees Salem.

Salem stands with his hands braced against the wooden railing, leaning
forward. His expression shifts from pensive contemplation to curiosity as
the Fianna races up, and his brow furrows. "Good afternoon."

Tempered-Blade sits back. Bitter Cup would speak to a half moon.

Salem's expression clears. "Ah. And so I am one." The Glass Walker
straightens up, then starts down the porch steps.

Tempered-Blade begins to trot ahead of the Walker. She is at the caern.


[Location shift: The Caern]


At the center, Andrea just sighs and shakes her head. "Go help Kaz clean
the rocks, Unnur. I've..." Andrea pauses in mid-sentence and gets a
sudden, quizzical look.

Salem enters the caern in wolf form, having taken it for the trip from the
farmhouse and through the woods. Once at the bottom of the path, though,
the Walker reverts to human form.

At the center, Unnur, starting to move off towards Kaz, halts as Andrea
stops mid-sentence and looks up at her. Her stance is one of humility, and
her expression is as blank as it possibly can.

Salem follows the Fianna into the center of the caern, brushing a bit of
woods debris from his clothes as he does so. His gaze goes immediately to
Andrea.

By the waterfall, Kaz eyes Salem, eyes the center, and then shrugs and
keeps scrubbing.

Andrea turns toward the approaching pair with no further trace of
surprise, saying simply, "Susan found Salem quickly. Good."

Unnur echoes the movement, halfway turning towards Salem and Susan, while
taking care not to turn her back to her Elder - that would be
disrespectful. She says nothing, but watches their approach passively.
Still her face is carefully blank, devoid of expression.

Salem says simply, "She did." As he comes to a halt, the Walker clasps his
hands behind his back, his body language formal, strictly controlled. He
gives Unnur a glance, clearly not recognizing her, and then turns his eye
respectfully back to Andrea. "How may I be of assistance?"


[Unnur]

        Large eyes the colour of an overcast, rain-heavy sky dominate a
pale, delicate-boned oval face, all high cheekbones, gently rounded cheeks
and pointy chin.  A broad, thin-lipped mouth much given to sardonically
crooked smiles, along with a straight, European nose, lend character to
this young woman's features.  Her hair is easily long enough to reach the
tops of her thighs, and most often left loose;  it is inky black with a
patch of pure white at the hairline over one brow, and falls in generous
waves.  Though very small by most standards - sub-five foot - and so
slight of build as to practically cast no shadow, she carries herself with
an easy grace and noticeable force of presence.

        A short-sleeved black T-shirt with the words 'Scan my network and
die.' emblazoned in eye-wateringly bright yellow across it, snug enough to
conform with fashion yet loose enough not to completely cut off
circulation, is tucked into a loose, comfortable-looking pair of faded
olive green army fatigues with Entirely Too Many pockets, the legs of
which fall to the tops of a pair of sturdy, aquamarine suede boots with
yellow stitching around the sole.  Around her neck hangs a leather thong
from which is suspended a small, intricately decorated stylised hammer
made of copper.



Andrea's lips thin again, but she nods her head. "This is Unnur, a
galliard of my tribe. I had not know what had happened to her, after the
caern fell. She came to me today to confess that she saw the initial
assault, but rather than fight to defend the caern, she fled. Her fear has
kept her away until now, but her conscience has brought her back to face
the consequences of her actions." Andrea's voice goes back to being
detached, as if she reads from an old story that touches her not at all.
"I bring her before you, to be judge for taking action that allows a caern
to be violated."

Unnur lowers her head, shame once more causing her cheeks to burn hotly,
though her stance remains rigidly upright. She holds her gaze firmly fixed
on the ground before her, and says nothing to defend herself - nothing to
make the charges against her seem milder.

By the waterfall, The fleeing part brings Kaz's head up, and she watches
the center, eyes narrowed.

Eamon comes into the caern as Andrea presents Unnur for judgment. He
raises his eyebrows, then looks over at Salem to see what he'll say.

Salem's expression tightens, and again the Walker's eye falls upon the
petite figure, his gaze now harder; he studies her critically. "Can she
speak?"

By the waterfall, Kaz continues glaring occasionally.

Andrea gestures for Unnur to do so.

Nightfire steps out of the Umbra in the center of the caern.

"I can, rhya. The charges are true - I ran, out of fear, when the caern
was attacked, and I stayed away until now. I come to face the consequences
of my actions." Unnur speaks softly, with a lilting, breathy accent that
is, to those familiar with it, recognisable as Icelandic. She meets the
Philodox' eyes once, then looks down again.

"Many fled when the Dancers attacked," Salem says, his gaze still fixed on
Unnur. Apart from a certain tightness, his expression is bland, and his
voice is carefully deliberate. "But then returned in time to drive the
invaders out. Why did you wait to come back until after the Dancers and
their allies were defeated?"

Unnur pauses for a moment before replying, starting to show the strain of
holding herself upright and not breaking down and shaming herself
completely; emotions show in her expression - deep shame, guilt. "My fear
kept me away. I did not know what would meet me. I did not know what had
happened. But I had to return eventually - I could not live with myself,
being more of a blot on the honour of my people than I already am. I had
to return, to try and redeem myself by accepting my punishment." She's
obviously very fluent in English, despite her heavy accent.

From the new growth surrounding the Caern-center, a stormcloud gray wolf
trots silently into view, pausing at the treeline to sniff the air before
slowly making his way into the clearing. Those who know him would
recognize Rain-Cougar's sleek wolf form.

Jonas, somewhat rumpled-looking, approaches from the edge of the caern.
Apparently he's been out and about much of the night.

Salem is silent for a few moments, deliberating. Then he says, "'I shall
be valorous. I shall be dependable. I shall be generous. I shall protect
the weak. I shall slay the Wyrm.' This is the creed of glory, the words
that a Galliard should live by. A Galliard inspires, not just by tale and
song, but by deeds as well. A Galliard is second only to an Ahroun in her
connection to Gaia's anger at the Wyrm's depredations. But you were not
valorous, having fled in cowardice. You were not dependable, since no one
could count on you in this hour of need. You were not generous, having
hoarded your time, your energy, and your claws for yourself, rather than
for caern and Sept. You did not protect the weak, the trees and wildlife
that, defenseless, died by Dancer hands. And you did not slay the Wyrm."
He pauses to let this sink in.

Rain-Cougar stops at the gathering, and sits back on his haunches,
watching with partial curiousity.

Likely it's Salem's denunciation of... someone, that catches Jonas'
mid-yawn interest, and then he, too, is drifting closer to the gathering.

And sink in it does. With every point made by the Philodox, Unnur flinches
just a little, and she lets her head sink lower, the depths of her shame
apparently deepening further. She says nothing to defend herself - she
knows every bit of it is correct.

Nightfire moves toward the gathered, though he stays out of the immediate
way.

Andrea just watches, though a detatched pity softens the lines of her face
as she listens.

Tempered-Blade regards Unnur coldly, hands lightly tracing the silvered
tattos on her arms as she listens.

Eamon folds his arms over his chest, waiting for the verdict. He seems to
be considering what the punishment might be.

"Seven Garou died by the Wyrm's hands," says the Walker half-moon,
ignoring all but the shamed Gaian. "One of them a cub, the other too young
to even have had his first change. A world-warper died as well, in battle,
facing our enemies without fear. Not to mention countless spirits. So." He
shifts his weight, expanding upwards into the near-man and switching to
the Mother Tongue. ~I set before you the opportunity of proving that you
can be something other than a coward, the chance to live up to the
standards of your auspice and your heritage. To that end, you will seek
and slay no less than eight of the Wyrm's minions, and I will leave it to
the tribe that you've shamed to insure that you are given targets that are
appropriately challenging.~

That familiar incredulity creases Jonas' brow for a moment, but as he's
become so accustomed to doing, here, he rapidly schools his expression
back toward its more normal dispassion.

Raising her head, Unnur meets Salem's gaze as he pronounces his verdict.
Storm-grey eyes hold steady as her sentence is read out, and her posture
shifts even further upright. She says nothing for several seconds after
the Philodox finishes, then lowers her head in a deep, respectful bow. "I
shall accomplish this, Rhya, or die in the attempt." Her voice, soft and
breathy, is firm and earnest; yet she can't help a small waver.
Straightening up again, she holds Salem's gaze steadily. "I -shall- clear
the stain from my tribe and my people."

Eamon nods in approval of the punishment.

Salem's stone-face cracks as his upper lip twitches upward from overlong
Glabro fangs, and he holds Unnur's gaze, waiting for her to drop hers
first. ~Your _deeds_ will speak your worth, Galliard.~

Andrea waits until the cliath has accepted judgement before she speaks.
"Should the eight kills be solo, or may she work with packs?" Her dark
gaze returns to Unnur absently. "In my pack's possession is a skull that
contains a smaller spirit like the one that was the death of Kyle
Thunder-Eater. It would be certain death for a single Garou alone to
attempt to fight this spirit once it is forced from the fetish. Even a
single pack would likely be insufficient, so we have asked Reforged to
fight with us. As long as she bears the same dangers and turns her claws
to the foe, does it satisfy her punishment, or should I find her other
tasks?"

It doesn't take long for Unnur to break the gaze - but then it wasn't
meant to be a challenge, either. "Yes, Rhya," she says softly, looking
down at the ground in front of her again.

By the waterfall, Wildfire comes down the trail from the rim above.

Nightfire looks over at Andrea as his pack is mentioned. He seems
surprised, but only momentarily.

Salem turns to Andrea then. ~If a pack will fight with her, then yes, it
suffices. But only if she takes the same risks as the rest of the pack, if
not more. But I expect her to gain no glory from these battles. It will
erase the stain of her cowardice, nothing more.~

Andrea dips her head in assent. "Eight battles she will be set," the Gaian
elder agrees. "A fair judgement, philodox. My thanks."

By the waterfall, Wildfire makes his way cautiously down by the side of
the waterfall, looking the place over.

At Andrea's assessment, Jonas lets his gaze wander: to the treeline, the
other side of the caern, a bird flying overhead.

Salem bows his head toward Andrea, his body reverting to breed. "I'm glad
that I was available to assist."

Unnur says nothing. She has accepted the judgement, and steels herself
mentally for the tasks ahead. She remains where she is, staring fixedly at
the ground ahead of her, expression carefully neutral again - though her
cheeks still glow with the shame of her deeds.

Andrea gives Jonas a bland, sideways look, then turns back to Salem to nod
again. The theurge next addresses Nightfire, saying, "If your pack will
fight beside her." Her lips quirk, as she adds with a chilly wryness,
"Mine will not be pleased, but they also understand the need for
redemption."

By the waterfall, Wildfire blinks for a second at what he is hearing. He
presses forward to go stand beside Nightfire, ears held attentively.

Nightfire glances at Unnur, but doesn't hesitate before responding. We
will allow her to fight beside us.

His judgement given, the Glass Walker excuses himself and exits the caern,
sparing a final departing glance at Unnur. His expression is dour.