Author: Dree, Talesinger
E-mail: dree_hernandez@yahoo.com.ar (feel free to overflow my inbox)
Feedback: Yes please, in any way or form, be it good or bad, I want opinions, people!
Distribution: Well, if ya want to, just ask me.
Spoilers: None, this ain’t the Buffyverse
Rating: R to NC-17 for violence and adult themes, not for kiddies.
Pairing: W/T obviously, but there will be other pairings too. B/F most likely and I’m still deciding on the rest.
Setting: This story is set in The World of Darkness, which is a fictional RPG multiverse developed by White Wolf Game Studio. I’ll be mainly focusing on the Werewolf: The Apocalypse game set, though there will be a few references to other sets. WoD is a complex, but very interesting world and though I am no expert, I’ll try to make it easy for everyone to understand what’s going on. Anyone with cases of ‘WTF?!’ is free to ask questions.
Notes: I’m a college student, therefore I can’t write all the time. Though I plan to dedicate as much time as I can to this story, sometimes I won’t be able to write for long periods of time (finals, research papers and all that RL crap). Also, English is not my first language and I’ve never been much of a grammar freak, so feel free to bitch about any typos and grammar faux pass I may commit along the way. Point it out to me and I’ll correct it. And finally, enjoy your reading.
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The world is not what you think. Beneath skyscrapers' leering gargoyles, factories belching smoke and streets packed with the human throng lurk things you are not meant to see. Creatures dwell in the shadows and hidden places. They watch you, stalk you and prey upon your body and soul. The life you lead is a lie. Your darkest fears aren't make-believe.
They're real.
[center]Part One – The Forest[/center]
The bitterly cold winter wind beats on my face as I run through the deepest of Central Russia’s forest. I don’t care as I reveal in the freedom of my most primal form and let out a long howl to greet the Full Moon that reigns in the night sky. My paws beat soundless on the steep grounds and my chest heaves with exertion. I’m far from being tired, though, I can run all night long.
I am Willow Ironclaw of the Silver Fangs and after four years of wandering as a Ronin, I’m finally coming home. It’s been a long time since I thought about it as home. For years I thought I would never come back, not after what happened. But war doesn’t leave anyone a choice, you have to fight or die. I chose to fight.
It’s funny, when I was a young Cub the last thing I wanted was to be a warrior. I wanted the simple life of knowledge and research of a Loremaster. Alas, I was an Ahroun born in times of war. I had no choice but to become a warrior. I was trained, forged and shaped into a role I didn’t want and I excelled at it. I was young in Garou standards, but I became one of our tribe’s greatest warriors. I used my intelligence as a tactician and my Rage to tear my enemies apart. I was respected and feared.
I hated it. Every single day, every kill broke a part of my spirit. Then I found out what my father did and my world fell apart. I ran, abandoned everything I’ve ever known – my family, my friends – and became a Ronin, a wanderer. In some ways that’s what saved my soul. Traveling the world and interacting with different tribes brought a whole new perspective to me. Whereas before I only knew the world as the Silver Fangs saw it, now I see it as all other tribes do, from the idealistic Children of Gaia to the manipulative Shadow Lords.
Now the war against Baba Yaga and her Wyrm-dragons is long over and we have a new Queen on the Crescent Moon throne and a new war to fight. Elizabeth Tvarivich, descendant of the greatest Russian Silver Fang heroes and a master Ahroun who fought on the war's front lines even after her uncle, the house leader, was slain. She was my best friend and now she’s my Queen. I trust her with my life and I know she’ll be one of our Nation’s greatest leaders, so when she called me back, I came willingly. I’ll fight this war by her side and I’d happily die for her.
The war is approaching fast, I feel. Though even the Black Spiral Dancers are silent, I know this is the calm before the storm. Everyday I feel Gaia’s agonized cries as the humans and the Wyrm siege upon her. The Triat has been in conflict for a long time. The Wyld, force of primal creation and chaos; The Weaver, force of stability and stasis; The Wyrm, force of corruption, decay and destruction. The Weaver's ambitions to define reality led to the imprisonment of the Wyrm so that it could not undo the Weaver's work. The Wyrm went mad and rather than simply breaking down reality for the Wyld to re-create, it began to destroy and corrupt outright with the intention of bringing an end to reality.
According to Garou oral history, it was always our duty to keep the balance in nature on behalf of Gaia. We did so by culling overgrown populaces, hunting too powerful predators that otherwise would rampage unchecked and fending off otherworldly spirits that overstepped their stance. Though not always honorable or morally correct, our methods always served to protect Gaia.
Humans, in some cases even more so than the Wyrm, are responsible for great part of Gaia’s pain. Their need to expand and conquer is destroying Gaia bit by bit. Their technocracy strengthens the Gauntlet and the Umbra is being constantly pushed away from terrestrial reality. It’s because of that, that some of our tribes despise the humans so.
This is a two-front war that is coming. On the one hand the spiritual desolation of urban civilization and on the other the supernatural forces of corruption that seek to bring about the Apocalypse. To fight this war we need to let go of useless traditions and misleading concepts of right and wrong.
The Silver Fangs have always been the traditional rulers of the Garou Nation, with literally millennia of selective breeding and heroic tradition behind us. Most major royal families or noble houses have ancestral connections to the Silver Fangs, particularly the now-defunct Russian royal family. While many of the Garou Nation's finest leaders and warriors have come from our ranks, in recent centuries the tribe's stock has fallen dramatically among its ostensible citizenry. Centuries and centuries of inbreeding have caught up with the tribe, with madness and stubborn clinging to tradition becoming more and more common among the senior members. Also, the rise of democratic thought across the world has weakened the tribe's ability to use its royal heritage as an asset, and prompted disaffected tribes to be vocal about their disagreements and disapprovals.
What we need is a young and dynamic leader to give the tribe a much needed infusion of strength and purpose. I feel that our Queen, along with King Alexander from the American House of Wyrmfoe, is just that. They have a more hands-on approach than their predecessors. That much has been proved since between them they managed to convince most of the tribes to congregate at the Crescent Moon caern for a war council of sorts. With so many conflicting tribes put together, I just hope it doesn’t blow in our faces.
A new scent reaches my nose and my thoughts come to a screeching halt. Differently from normal forest scents, this one is completely out of place. I smell fear, pain, and rage. Two beings. Humans. A growl escapes my throat at the thoughts of humans defiling this forest’s grounds. I quicken my pace and follow the scent like a bloodhound. Soon I can see them: a man chasing a young woman with a knife. I can smell his rage mixed with her blood and fear and pain.
In my time with the Black Furies, a Garou tribe solely composed by women, I was instilled with a deep sense of protectiveness of my fellow females and the sight of this woman’s obvious horror my blood boils. With the speed born of years of training, I leap over the woman onto the man. I pay no heed to her scream as my jaws close around the man’s neck and the coppery taste of blood fills my mouth. He gurgles and struggles for a second, I bit harder, the taste of alcohol in his blood feeding to my anger. His movements finally cease and I know he is dead now. I look up at the moon and let out a victorious howl.
When I look back at the woman, she’s huddled against a tree, terrified eyes locked on me. I smell fear along with some relief, tinged with a bit of sadness. The first two are expected. Her pursuer is dead and I can imagine what I must look like to her with his blood dripping from my jaws. It’s obvious she’s terrified that she’ll be the next with my teeth on her throat. The sadness, however, is not expected. This puzzles me, why is she sad? I tilt my head to the side like a curious dog. Is she sad because she thinks she’ll die? Hmm…
“Y-You’re n-n-not a normal w-wolf.” She stutters and I’m even more curious. Why isn’t she running? Or at least struck with Delirium? Most humans go into a state of panic and denial when they see one of us; it’s what allows us to maintain our existence a secret. However, this human girl doesn’t seem to be affected by it. Strange.
“G-Garou.” I freeze at that. How…? My nostrils flare as I take her scent in. Ah. There’s that a subtle difference in her scent. She’s Kinfolk. A Garou’s non-shapeshifting relative. I feel gladder for saving her now. Kinfolk were to be protected and honored.
I approach her and grab a hold of her torn skirt, pulling her towards where I know there’s a stream. She follows me, apparently secure in the knowledge that I won’t hurt her. We reach the stream and I burry my muzzle into the freezing water to wash the blood out of my ivory fur. I wheeze and sneeze at the cold, shaking my head rapidly to dispel the water as fast as I can. I hear a giggle and turn my head towards the woman. I tilt my head as I study her. Flaxen hair and blue eyes as in common is this region. And she’s young, maybe 20 years or so. Just a girl. Why was she being chased? I’ll have to wait until the morning to ask her.
As an Ahroun, I was born during a Full Moon, thus I revert to my lupus form. Unlike the Werewolf legends that are told among humans, it’s not a painful transformation, nor do I become a mindless beast. It’s not a compulsory transformation either, but more like a sacred rite to celebrate the Moon we are born under. The Moon causes us to change and I can change back if I really want to.
Apparently my plans to run the whole night have been thwarted by this human girl since I can’t very well leave her to her own devices in a wild Russian forest in the middle of the winter. I walk over to where she’s seated against a fallen log and sit down next to her. She looks into my eyes and I see not the eyes of a young girl, but rather a soul that has seen much more than she should have.
“A-Are you g-going to s-stay with m-me?” she stutters in a small voice.
As a way of answer I lie down with my head on her lap. She looks down at me with a half-smile and runs a trembling hand through my furry head. It’s then that I notice how cold she is. Damn, she’s going to freeze. I get up and once again grab a hold of her skirt, trying to get her to lie down.
“W-What?” She doesn’t understand. I growl in frustration and she jumps, flinching away from me. Damn, what has been done to you, girl? I nuzzle her neck, trying to calm her down. Apparently it works because her arms soon circle my thick neck in a loose embrace. She’s shaking. I have to warm her up fast.
I shake free of her arms and lie on the ground, looking back and forth between her and ground, hoping to make her understand.
“You want me t-to lie d-down?” she asks and I huff a sigh of relief, nodding my head up and down. She giggles and I realize how stupid that must have looked. I try to glare at her the best way I can, but it only makes her giggle harder. If I could roll my eyes, this would be the perfect cue. I pull on her skirt again and she complies with my wishes, lying on her back before me.
I then settle my own body on top of hers to share body heat. I’m big enough to cover her almost completely and she seems to understand what I am doing.
“T-Thanks. I’m warmer n-now.” She sighs in contentment and buries her face on the thick fur of my neck. This will probably be very awkward in the morning, but it’s not like I have a choice. It isn’t long before she falls asleep and soon I too am sleeping, lulled by her rhythmic breathing and soft smell.
[hr]
The early morning sun hits my face and I blink my eyes open. I look down at the woman beneath me and sigh, she’s going to freak when she wakes up. But I’m too comfortable to move, so I close my eyes again and take a deep breath, enjoying the mix of her scent and the early morning dew.
I feel my human pillow stirring and brace myself for the scream that is surely coming. I’m proven right when as soon as she notices my naked body upon hers she lets out a surprised yelp and quickly pushes me off her. My head hits the ground and I grunt at the slight pain. I sit up rubbing my head and give her a disgruntled look.
“I save you from Mr. Crazy-With-a-Knife and this is the thanks I get?”
She looks at me wide eyed and starts stuttering even worse than last night. “Y-y-you… t-the G-G-Ga…”
“Garou, yes. That’s me.” I give her what I hope is a reassuring look. “Listen, I’m not going to hurt you, ok?”
She stares at me uncomprehendingly. “I d-didn’t k-know y-you were a w-woman.”
“Would you rather I was a man?” I quirk an eyebrow at her and she blushes a pretty shade of pink.
“N-No.” she ducks her head.
I stand and offer her a hand up. She looks up at me and blushes even harder. “Y-You’re n-n-naked.”
I shrug. “So?”
“I… I…”
She looks mortified and I chuckle softly at her embarrassment. “You humans are too bothered by these things. It’s not like I have anything you don’t. Well, except for the red hair and the green eyes and the freckles, but it’s not like it’s a big difference, right?”
“You b-babble.” She gives me a crooked smile.
I smile ruefully. “It’s an annoying habit, I know.”
She shakes her head. “I think it’s c-cute.”
Somehow that makes me immensely happy. “Anyway, I’m naked because I took off my clothes before Changing last night. My things are not too far from here, come on.”
We walk in companionable silence for a moment. I can feel her staring at my back and I know she wants to ask. “You can ask, you know.”
She looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “W-What?”
“You were wondering about the marks on my back.”
“I-I…”
“It’s ok.” I give her a small smile. “They’re not battle scars, so I’m sorry, but you won’t get an epic out of them. These scars were given to me when I went through my Rite of Passage. As we Garou heal incredibly fast and with minimal scarring, they pour some tattoo ink in the wolf claws so they scar.”
“That must h-have hurt.” She gives me a sympathetic look.
“Like hell.” I nod; it did hurt a damn lot. “But it’s tradition. A slightly barbaric tradition, but it’s not up to me.” I shrug.
“Aren’t you c-cold?” she asks, rubbing her arms.
“Nah, hot blood, thick skin. It’s not that cold here in the mornings, nights are much worse if you don’t have winter gear.”
We finally reach the three where I hid my pack and I fish it out from the nook under the roots. Good, I think, nothing was stolen. I put on my faded jeans and boots, then my snug red t-shirt and leather belt. I look at my leather duster for a moment, before handing it to her.
“You need it more than I do.” I explain at her questioning look.
“Thanks.” She says gratefully before putting it on. It looks strange with her long skirt and peasant blouse, but at least it will keep her warm.
I take my gun out of the pack and put it in the small of my back concealed by the t-shirt. If there’s one thing I learned in these years is to never bring a sword to a gunfight. Humans were pretty handy with them and even some shapeshifters are using them. I still prefer my sword as a weapon, but to this day my trusty Sig Sauer hasn’t failed me. I strap my katana sword to my back but forego the daggers since I don’t believe we’ll be attacked so close to the caern.
I turn back to the girl and find her looking at me with a slightly scared look on her face. Great, I think, she’s scared of weapons.
“They’re necessary.” I explain. “We’re half a day’s trip from the caern, but there’s still a possibility we could be attacked.”
She nods and I let out an inward sight of relief, I hate these idiotic super-pacifists. We’re in a gods-be-damned war and people still believe that doing nothing will help. I stop my mental rant when I realize she’s looking at me askance. Damn, did she ask a question?
“What’s a c-carn?” she asks, probably for the second or third time and I smile at her mispronunciation.
“Caerns,” I started, using the correct pronounce. “Are situated on special Places where the Umbra, the Spirit World, touches the material world. Caerns are home to Garou and spirits alike. A caern is almost always guarded by a powerful spirit and a Sept up to 60 Garou. The caern where I was born is guarded by the Sept of The Crescent Moon, which belongs to the tribe Silver Fangs.”
She seems impressed. “I didn’t know you were so o-organized.”
“Our society is pretty complex.” I give her a sideways glance. “Your Garou relative didn’t explain much to you, eh?”
Her eyes widen comically. “How did y-you…”
I laugh. “Oh, that’s easy. You called me Garou, only another Garou or Kinfolk, which is someone of Garou lineage that can’t shapeshift, use that term. Plus, Kinfolk smell slightly different from other humans. It’s all in the nose.” I tap the side of my nose.
She smiles and I can’t help but grin back.
“So, um…” I trail off, finally realizing we hadn’t introduced ourselves. How rude, I mentally slap myself.
“I’m Tara.” Apparently she's noticed it too.
“Willow.” I introduce myself, foregoing the long protocol introduction, that would just confuse her more. “So, Tara, who is Garou in your family?”
“My m-mother w-was.” She looks so sad.
I sigh. “I’m sorry. Was she killed in battle?”
She shakes her head, looking pale. “She was v-very s-sick.”
I frown. It’s not common for a Garou to die of sickness, we are immune to most illness. “That’s uncommon, what kind of…” I shake my head. Stupid! Her mother died and you’re asking stupid questions! I touch her shoulder with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“I think s-s-she was p-poisoned.” Tara whispers fearfully.
“Poi-” My eyes widen as I realize it. “That man, the one that was chasing you…”
She nods, tears running down her face. “I think h-he k-killed her. T-Then he c-came after m-me. He k-kept saying t-that I was a d-demon a-and…”
She looks down brokenly and I react instinctively. My arms circle her shoulders and back as I embrace her gently. She sags against me, her head resting on my shoulder. I stroke her long hair as she sobs soundlessly.
“Hey, shh, don’t cry…” I whisper next to her ear, hugging her closer.
“He was m-my f-f-father. W-Why did h-he do it?” I can feel her tears running down my neck and soaking my t-shirt.
I take a deep breath. Gods, this is not going to be easy. “Your f-” I start, but cut myself off, that monster shouldn’t be called anyone's father. “That man was a Hunter, Tara. Hunters are normal humans who have a so-called sacred mission to hid Gaia of anything supernatural. They think we, the shapeshifters, taint this planet, that we are a force of evil. Demons. They are touched by beings called Heralds or Messengers, and receive some powers, along with a message to destroy us. Most are completely psychotic, religious zealots. They use very... creative methods to fight us. Since they wouldn't last a second in hand-to-hand combat they use guns, magic and sometimes lethal poisoning.” I sigh; it's a damn painful way to go too. “Your mother mustn’t have known and the Hunter must have found out recently.”
She stays silent for a moment and I let her absorb what I just told her. She steps away from my suddenly empty arms and takes an amulet from under her blouse.
“N-Near the e-e-end, she w-was scared. S-She s-started telling m-me things about Garou. S-She told m-me she r-ran away and d-didn’t want her p-people to f-find her. And s-she gave me t-this.”
She hands me the necklace and I study it closely. The amulet had the form of a magnificent Griffon, a hybrid of eagle and lion. Carved in its chest was the familiar pictograph for Theurge:
[center]
[/center]
That explained a lot.
“I think I understand.” I hand the amulet back. “The Griffon is the Totem of the Red Talons. They are a very… radical tribe. They hate humanity in all forms. It’s their wish to slaughter all the ‘Wyrm-spawned weak mortals’. See this pictograph?” I pointed to the Griffon’s chest. “It means your mother was born under the Auspice of the New Moon, a Theurge. Theurges are shamans, prophets and healers. While most tribes respect their skills and wisdom, the Red Talons shun them at best. They are a warrior tribe and very elitist. I can see why your mother didn’t want to be found.”
“I d-don’t understand…” Tara shook her head. “T-They d-didn’t like her because she was b-born at the New Moon?”
I frown. How to explain? “Well, you see, each Garou is born under an Auspice of the Moon. The five phases each have their own peculiarities, granting the Garou a unique perspective on their world. There are the Theurge, which I already explained. Ragabash, the tricksters, are born under a Dark Moon. Under the Half-Moon are born the Philodox, the arbitrators. The Galliard bards are born under the Gibbous Moon. Ahroun, the warriors, are born during the Full Moon.”
“So the tribes a-are divided by A-Auspices?” Tara frowned.
“Um, no. Garou are divided by three aspects: breed, auspice and tribe. There are three types of breed: Homid, born in human form to a human and a Garou; Lupus, born in wolf form to a wolf and a Garou; and Metis, sterile and usually deformed offspring of two Garou.”
I glanced at her, seeing the look of rapt attention and smiled.
“According to the Silver Record, the Garou Nation's historic writings, there were fifteen tribes in the beginning. These tribes separated from one pack over differences in opinion and changes in pack structures. Only thirteen tribes remain today, the legacies of the lost Bunyip and White Howlers tribes can be heard at moots across Gaia. So you see, we are pretty distinct among ourselves. A Homid Galliard Glass Walker is a far different creature than a Homid Galliard Bonegnawer even though they share two traits in common.”
“What about you?” she asks with a smile.
“I’m a Lupus Ahroun Silver Fang.”
I can see the proverbial wheels turning in her head. “You were born as a wolf?”
I nod with an amused smile. “And my mom is a wolf too. A real wolf, not a Garou.”
She blinks and I can guess what she’s imagining. I smirk, wondering if she’s going to ask how I was conceived. Nah, she’s too shy. Tara gives me a long look and I raise a coy eyebrow. Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink and she turns away. Gotcha! I laugh out loud.
“I know what you’re thinking.” I sing-song.
“Shut up.” She mumbles embarrassedly.
“You’re too easy, Tare!”
We banter and chat for a long time, walking side-by-side through the deep forest. I genuinely like this human girl, she’s just so nice. And she’s curious; I can see she’s going to spend a lot of time in the Lore Room. I chuckle, the old Loremaster Gennadi will like her.
Before I know it, we can see the Ural Mountains ahead. We’re so close I can already feel the power of the caern. It's is located within a nearly inaccessible valley surrounded by the rocky crags of the Mountains, forcing access to be restricted to footpaths and Moon bridges. We’ll be there before sundown.
I’m coming come.
To Be Continued…
So... Any cases of 'WTF?!' yet? I swear it's going to get clearer as the story progresses or I hope it will. Sometimes even I don't understand WoD very well.
Feedback... please?
Dree Hernandez,
Talesinger
In Garou History, though, Baba Yaga is a legendary vampire of imense power. 
