"So. You think you're good enough to be fostern, mm?"

Fairbanks House: Living Room(#2456RJ)
This is a large, warm and friendly room. The western wall is covered by a large picture-window looking out on the front yard. The carpet is white and thick. The front door is in a small alcove, opening out northwestward. Near the door, wide wooden stairs covered in the center by blue-grey carpet lead upward. The living room itself stretches north from the front door. The kitchen can be seen through an archway, and a door nearby leads to the study. A desk, a table, chairs and a couch decorate the room, elegant and expensive: glass coffee tables with gold corners, plush easy chairs, lamps with soft patterns of rose and gold amidst the white.
The stairs lead up to the second floor, and the door to the northwest goes outside. The study door is to the south, and the kitchen is eastward.

Cedric reclines in the big armchair, an old-fashioned big pair of headphones clamped to his ears. His eyes are closed, and one finger beats time to the music that is, no doubt, flowing into the phones via the coiled wire connected to the expensive music center on the sideboard.

The motorcycle comes down the road and into the drive of the house. He pulls off the bike and stands there for a moment, actually taking his hands and dusting himself off once his helmet has been removed. It's like he's headed for a job interview. He takes a deep breath and then heads to the door to knock on it. Now... He waits.

Luckily the knock is loud enough to percolate through the earphones. Cedric slips them off and hits the pause button on his remote, then slides languidly out of the armchair and peeps through the door's spyhole. Seeing Dillen, he opens the portal. "Yaas?"

"Um... Cedric?" Dillen eyes the keyhole. "Need to talk to you about this challenge thing, if you have some time." His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets and he the leans in close to peer through the hole on the other side. "That you, man?"

"Come in, Dillen, come in," Cedric invites, stepping back from the door and making room for the Get to do so. "Take a pew. Tea? Coffee?"

Dillen comes in and makes his way into the living room. He looks about for a moment and not seeing a pew decides to take a seat in one of the chairs. "Uh... Whatever you are having is fine." He gives a bit of a shrug. "Just water is fine with me, actually." He rubs his hands on his jeans a little, excitement showing through for a new challenge in his life.

Cedric fetches a glass bottle of what looks like expensive spa water from the kitchen and pours Dillen a glass. "Don't be so tense," he counsels. "You look like you expect me to challenge you to a duel to the death this instant. Which I'm not. So. You think you're good enough to be fostern, mm?" Cedric's eyes go up and down over Dillen's body in a searching way.

Dillen looks up to Cedric from where he sits. "Nervous? Heck no. Just excited and want to jump right on into it. It's important for me and my family!" He cracks a smile and reaches out for the water. "Thanks. Just wondering about what it's gonna be. Imaginations and all." He takes a sip of the water. "Haven't slept much... Been thinking about it a lot."

Cedric nods slowly and barely perceptibly. "You'll need sleep," he says. "This isn't a one night job. And, I might add, I spent time sitting thrashin' these terms out with Jacinta while I might very well have been enjoyin' myself on the Revel (1), so you'd best show some damn' gratitude." He eyes Dillen with a sly smile, and sits upright in the armchair, beginning to take on the attitude of one speaking to a listener, like a newscaster or politician. "To be a fostern galliard, Dillen, requires special skills as well as the basic ones which all fostern garou need. Even more than a cliath, you need to be able to spread news and messages between garou of all tribes, births and breeds. A good galliard can fit in with a bunch of Bone Gnawers round a fire as well as with a royal court of my own tribe, just so long as the good word gets along. I trust you appreciate that?" He fixes Dillen with a stern eye again.

Dillen listens intently and when prompted he nods his head. "Yes. I understand that. It's part of spinning the tales and bringing in the audience." He takes another sip of his water, keeping his attention tight.

"Well," goes on Cedric, "you'll appreciate that some tribes get along with one another better than others. To prove your worth as Fostern, your task will involve members of six tribes, or rather, three pairs. Each pair will comprise two tribes who, locally or throughout our great nation, are at loggerheads. The Fianna and the Uktena; the Silver Fangs and the Shadow Lords; and the Glass Walkers and Wendigo." Cedric pauses for breath and for comment.

Dillen raises a brow to Cedric and ponders this for a moment. "Okay. I hope you don't want me to make them get along... For that I will asking for Adren." He cracks a smile to the Fang.

Cedric allows himself a smile. "For that, you could lead the whole damn' nation. No, no. The task is this. You are to approach an adult member of each of those six tribes, and request that that garou tell you a story. The story is to come from that garou's own experience rather than from tribal history or bein' made up from fiction. You are to make it clear that your request is part of your fostern challenge, and that once you have been told the story, your task is then to go and find a member of the antagonistic tribe and relate the story to them in a way that this second garou considers worthy of a fostern. So," he illustrates, "you need to find a Wendigo who'll tell you a tale from their life, say, and then go and re-tell it to a Glass Walker, and vice versa. All clear?"

Dillen wraps his head around the Fostern's words for a bit before he says, "So two stories for each pair. One from each node to the other node. The Glass Walkers to the Wendigo and back again, the Fianna to the Uktena and back again, and the Fangs to the Shadow Lords and back again. Six stories total..." Dillen falls into thought for a bit. "How long do I have?" As he looks back to Cedric.

"You have until next moot," Cedric confirms. "Each garou, once he or she has both told a story and received one back in return, is to give you some token as proof of the completion of their section of your task. What they choose is up to them; doesn't have to be of any value or significance other than symbolic. Should any garou you approach be uncertain what's expected of them, you should invite them to get in touch with the Master of the Challenge, or with myself. Either of us will be glad to give them pointers. The tokens are to be delivered back to me or to Jacinta at the next moot. All clear?"

Dillen looks as if he could be counting cards in Vegas with the way he's taking all this in. "Yes. Yes. I believe so. It's a good challenge." His lips split into a smile. "A good challenge."

"One more point," Cedric interrupts Dillen. "Your tribe is known as a warlike one which loves to fight. Which is all well and good. But knowin' when not to fight is just as important as knowin' when it's right to. And a galliard with important news must not allow himself to be distracted. So, unless specifically invited to," he says sternly, "as part of your task... such as if one of your target garou challenges you to combat before he'll tell you his tale... you are not to engage in fightin' while carryin' out this task. That's not to say," he adds, "that you cannot fight the Wyrm or other foes while the challenge is active; just that you cannot force a story out of someone with violence unless that person firstly invites you to. All clear?""

Dillen lets out a low breath. "No fighting? Unless I'm asked to help... Or if someone wants a fight so I can get their story." He tries to put it in the simplest terms he can. "Like if there is a bane and they need help, I can go after that if they ask me... Or if I see a bane... Just can't kick someone in the head for being a dork? Right?"

Cedric shakes his head. "No, no, nono," he corrects. "Banes are fair game. The fightin' ban only applies to interactions specifically coverin' this challenge. If you see a bane and think you can kick its ass," he smiles darkly, "then get in there, and kick, Dillen."

"Okay. I gotcha. I just can't beat a story outta someone." Dillen nods his head. "Good. Cause if you wanted me to stop working on the banes... I'd have to worry."

"If you do see a bane," Cedric comments, still with that dour look, "give me a howl. As I said, I missed the revel, and my claws are too clean for comfort." He pauses. "Yes, yes, Osric, and your talons."

Dillen erupts in a deep and throaty laugh. "Oh yeah... All good on that. Yeah. I got it. No fightin. Wait... What if someone gets up in my face?"

Cedric smiles very sweetly. "You have your terms, Dillen. If you cannot adhere to them, you simply show that you presently lack the self-control that one would expect from a fostern."

Dillen grits his teeth a little with a grin. "No. No... I can do this. I can do this..." He shakes his head a little, as if shaking off water from his head. "Just... Just keep Mathias in the house." He winks, clearly kidding some.

"You are, of course," Cedric says, yet again in that dry voice, "at liberty to choose Mathias to get a story out of." In a more jocular tone, he adds, "I half wish you would, just to find out what'd happen..."

Dillen scritches at the side of his head for a moment. "He and I have spoken. I'm not ready to kill him and all now. He apologized and all. That was all I wanted all along. Not some runaround but an apology. He finally did." Dillen nods his head as he thinks. "But I may ask him anyway... test me a little more of my temper." Dillen chuckles.

"Don't feel obliged to handicap yourself by makin' the task harder," Cedric says, concerned. "It's no cakewalk. Oh! Speakin' of Mathias," he interjects, "perhaps you can help me here. Do you happen to know any sept members here who know the Satire Rite?"

Dillen breathes in deep as he thinks. "Satire? No. I know that Leslie knows Stone of Scorn and Rite of Contrition. I can ask about while I find people for the stories?"

"Again," Cedric says, "don't distract yourself from the job in hand. You might, though, if you see your tribemate, Gunnar the Ritemaster... point him in my direction. He should know. It's his duty after all."

Dillen shakes his head, "I don't believe that he knows it. But he should know who does. See what I can do." He nods to himself.

"Quite," Cedric agrees. "Well, unless you have more questions, that's your lot. Clock starts tickin' here. Good luck, Dillen," he says, and he extends one hand to the Get. "Remember... if I didn't think you had it in you, I wouldn't have accepted your challenge in the first place."

Dillen cracks a grin and reaches a hand out to take Cedric's. "If I didn't respect you, I wouldn't have asked." His handshake is firm as he gives two tugs with his hand. "Thanks for givin me the chance to prove myself."

(1) In a scene handwaved with Jacinta's permission, since her online times and mine really do not mesh at all (grr).