WOD - Werewolf - The Apocalypse - Player's Guide (2nd ed).pdf - Werewolf - The Apocalypse - elwaro

Half Htoon's Journey

The Canadian pine forest was clearly marked, if you knew

what to look for. Here and there, just out of casual view, claws had

gouged into bark, wood, even stone, and described ancient symbols

of the wind across the moon. In the afternoon, a young wanderer

had walked along the hidden trails the glyphs overlooked, noting

each mark as he passed. Now he waited under a chill, starry sky, on

a bald rise where no human had stood for two thousand years.

No human.

Nor did one stand there tonight.

Wolves paced the edge of the clearing. They were lean and

gray, and something in their eyes wasn't quite lupine. A naturalist

would have been very confused to watch them circle the young

traveller in their midst in a slow, meticulous, not-quite-wolflike

way.

"Fools!" The old one spat out a strangled snarl. "Fools,

charachs and worse! You let this one into the heart of our lands?

You believed a white man when he told you he was Wendigo ? Look

at him!" The hulking werewolf gestured violently at Evan. "White

as any. Blue eyes. Blue eyes'. " He stamped the ground. "Would even

Older Brother accept this Wyrmcomer? This is just another white

child, moved to tears by television and history books, trying to

come among us and help the Wendigo because he pities us!" His

voice had nearly become a howl. "How could you even consider

letting him walk this land as if he were one of our own?"

Evan swallowed hard and looked the massive elder in the eye.

"I'm right here, Cries-in-the-Wind-rhya," he said, forcing the

Garou words through his human throat. "You don't have to use

third person." His brow tightened, and his lip pulled back just a

hair. "You want to question my tribe, do it to my face. Or call on

Great Wendigo himself."

The elder growled again, low and long. "You are so sure of

yourself, pup? Do you want us to bring the North Wind here, that

he may look on your impure face and slice you with his teeth of ice ?

Do you want to speak your lies before our Half Moons?"

"I'm sure." Evan coolly took one step back. "Call your Cres-

cent Moons, Cries-rhya. Or let your Half Moons watch my tongue

and see if it forks. I was charged with this mission by Great

Wendigo himself four years ago, and I'll never forget his words. I

can repeat them for you, if you like."

The giant Crinos at Cries' side flinched, and his muzzle

wrinkled. Cries' ears twitched back, and his gaze flickered ever-so-

briefly to his younger septmate.

"Cries-rhya," the brute rumbled, "he speaks truth as clear as

the springs. Great Wendigo—" he said, then paused as if reluctant

to speak further. "The young one has spoken with Great Wendigo.

I am sure of it."

A cold wind stirred the clearing and carried the massive

werewolf s words off into an empty silence. The circle of wolves

nervously shifted and paced, watching the four Garou at the

clearing's heart. Cries-in-the-Wind stood sullenly rigid, his knot-

ted chest heaving, his eyes burning. Finally, he spoke.

And any other outsider would have called the boy of eighteen

or so a suicidal fool for standing as still as the earth beneath him,

while the great wolves drew nearer and nearer with every circuit.

True, he had the powerful build of someone who'd spent his

adolescence in heavy exertion. He also was armed, although most

people would consider his antique flint spear a poor substitute for

an automatic rifle.

Evan knew better. Even the slickest salesman couldn't talk

him into swapping the ancient spear for a depot full of guns.

Especially now, among the very people who'd made the spear

centuries ago and bound the spirits of the storm into it. It would

have been easy to lean on the spear, to soothe his anxiety with the

palpable strength of the fetish. Evan did no such thing, although

he was sorely tempted.

Finally, three wolves broke away from the circle and paced

toward Evan. As they drew closer, two of them swelled up onto their

hind legs and bulged into massive, gray monsters. One of them was

a gigantic brute who flexed his great claws again and again as he

glared at Evan. The other was almost as massive, but his matted fur

was crisscrossed with white streaks. While the other two stopped

some distance away, the elder Garou kept walking until he loomed

over Evan and glared down with shining eyes at the young man.

Finally, he growled low and whirled to face the circle of wolves.

Legends of the Garou: Half Moon's Journey

"Why have you come?" Each word was bitten off as it left his

jaws.

Evan tightened his grip on the spear. "Because, like him—" he

said, with a gesture toward the giant Crinos at Cries' side, "I am

Half Moon. I have a duty to Luna and to Gaia to bring peace to their

warring children." His voice grew louder, clearer, almost too much

for the young Philodox's chest. "I am Evan Heals-the-Past, and I

earn my sacred name by working my Mother's will. That is why I

came to you, and that is why your sentries felt my purpose and let

me pass."

His expression grew stern, and he turned slowly to face the

circle of wolves, his gaze passing over each one in turn. "I come to

this sept, where Great Wendigo's children gather in numbers, with

tidings of war. The war."

Evan stopped turning as he faced Cries-in-the-Wind once

more and looked again into the elder's eyes. "At Father Wendigo

and Mother Gaia's bidding, I have come to speak to you. To my

tribe. Will you listen?"

Cries' lip twitched upward at one corner. The rest of him

remained stock-still. Drawing in a breath, Evan bowed his head

respectfully to the elder, then began in the strong, measured voice

of a practiced speaker:

"I was a Lost Cub of Wendigo, born to a white father who

knew nothing of his great-great-grandfather's blood, to a white

mother who was not even Kin. They sensed the predator in me, and

they feared it." He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.

"They died ignorant, and I might have, too."

His voice took on a more commanding tone. "But I was

spared. Great Wendigo sent Lord Albrecht — a Silver Fang — to

find me. Wendigo asked Falcon for help, and Falcon gladly offered

it. What's more, the totems chose another to guide me — Mari

Cabrah, warrior and Theurge of the Black Furies." He shook his

head. "Mari and Albrecht — they hated each other. I thought

they'd kill each other over the slightest things. But they didn't."

Evan struck his chest with one fist. "I helped to make peace

between them. 1 was young and foolish, but even then I saw the

idiocy of fighting othet Garou. They listened, even though they

didn't realize they were doing so. And as we ran from one sept to

the next, a Stargazer — the child of another tribe — came to help

us. He showed me the way within...." He paused and then spoke

again, reverently. "And I met Great Wendigo, who showed me

how to remember."

The wind ruffled the tops of the pines. Evan looked up into

the sky, then back to the circle of wolves.

"I was young. I was a child. I found it difficult to accept my

duty, and at first I wondered why Great Wendigo would choose me

— me, a cub who had never met his own tribe?"

He shook his head. "But even a child can split a mountain, if

he is Garou. And so I did as I was asked." A tiny, fiercely proud smile

lit the corners of his mouth. "And I am a child no longer.

"I have walked in the Umbra, from the tunnels of Abyss to the

jungles of Pangaea. I have seen with my own eyes a new king arise,

a king who endured all in the name of Gaia and unity. I have

survived as a prisoner in a Black Spiral Dancer Hive and endured

their tortures. I have slain mockeries, Black Spirals, Banes — even

a Thunderwyrm. I have done all this not from pride — but from

faith." He almost smiled, but caught himself. "Faith in my packmates,

and hope for what we may yet accomplish."

Evan gestured with the spear toward the cold, starry sky.

"How can I describe the strength my packmates and I share? Even

when Albrecht is duty bound to the Oak Throne and when Mari

is stalking her personal prey in the blighted streets of New York, we

are one. And when we gather together to hunt...."

The tip of the spear began to shine with a cold, blue light, and

a faint rumble of thunder rolled down from the empty sky. Evan

heard the wolves around him shift and growl, but he didn't take his

eyes from the three Garou before him.

"The last time we hunted together, we slew four times our

number of Black Spiral Dancers. We caught them in the sewers of

New York, where they..." He shook his head, as if to clear it.

"We came at them as a pack should, and two of them were

dead before they knew we were killing them. If we had been all

Black Furies or all Silver Fangs or all three Wendigo...." Evan

paused for just a moment, anticipating an interruption. Cries' lip

curled, but he made no sound.

"If we had possessed a common strength or weakness among

us, the Dancers could have beaten us. But how could they have

known what to expect? How could they fight the strength of

Wendigo, Falcon and Pegasus all at once?

"Albrecht never even paused. He drew back with his ances-

tors' klaive and leapt forward, howling a Silver Fang song of battle.

Wherever he struck, their diseased flesh burned. Even when they

dragged him down and nearly clawed his eye from his head — he

still loses the sight in that eye from time to time — he was howling

from anger, not fear or pain.

"And Mari—" Evan shook his head and smiled. "For all that

she's wanted to eat Albrecht's liver in the past, Mari tore his

attackers to pieces as if they were flightless pigeons. Her claws cut

through Dancer flesh like a knife cuts through snow. One of them

hit the ground in three pieces, and then Albrecht was up again.

"I probably don't need to go on. Together, we were thunder

and lightning and silver and thorn and winter wind. Nothing could

stop us."

His eyes shone with pride. "Incredible, huh? I can't tell you

the stories about Mari and do them any justice. She's a hero to her

tribe and many others, and her loyalty to the Furies is unshakable.

And she didn't want to take orders from any Silver Fang, much less

one who'd nearly disemboweled her in a New York alleyway when

they first met.

"But she respects Albrecht. She doesn't like him — but she

stands by him. She offers him her respect, even her loyalty. Not just

for who he is — and yes, he's made his fair share of mistakes — but

for what he stands for. He's hope. He's a cry for unity."

Evan slammed the butt of the spear against the ground.

"These are the last days! Yes, we will never bow our heads to

another tribe in obedience — but why can we not set aside our

tribal pride and offer our Garou brothers and sisters our loyalty?

Our time is winter, and the Great Winter is now — and this is why

we were born!

"Great Wendigo chose me to learn the ways of the other

tribes, but to keep and remember the ways of the Wendigo. If we

fight, we may preserve our tribe's honor and wisdom until the sun

blackens and falls from the sky. But our only hope of winning is if

we fight alongside our brothers and sisters!

"I can't offer you a place in legend." He levelly met Cries'

stare. "Legends are only that if there's someone left to tell them.

Come to the court. Listen to what the other tribes have to say. And

if we, the children of Great Wendigo, decide to stand with our

cousins, then just maybe there'll be a time when our great-

grandchildren can speak proudly of our deeds. Their time."

There was silence again, soft and still save for the wind in the

treetops. Cries' muscles twisted under his skin. The massive Philodox

beside him looked full into Evan's face — but with lupine eyes that

were full of something other than anger. The third wolf, the one

who had said nothing since arriving with Cries-in-the-Wind,

sniffed quietly at the wind and looked back and forth between Evan

and the scarred elder.

Cries half-snarled, then let it die away. "What you say—" and

then he stopped, and straightened just a bit. His posture eased,

shortened in the darkness; his head drew up, eyes closed, ears

twitching slowly.

It was a long moment before he spoke again, and his guttural

voice was somehow lower, softer.

"I...am old, and my brains must be growing feeble. I do not

know why I do not kill you where you stand." His eyes opened, and

again they blazed. "I do not know how it is that you can speak silver

words like all white men, yet speak with the voice of the winds in

the same breath."

He snorted, a sound like a choking cough. "Half Moon. I hate

your silver words. I hate your accusing white face, which looks at

me and defies me to take action. But...."

His fur melted, dissolved away. His body poured itself into the

form of an old man in deerskin, a man with a stern face and furious

eyes.

"But," Cries-in-the-Wind said finally, "I cannot hate Great

Wendigo, no matter how much I want to hate his words." He

sighed, a long, growling sigh more resigned than sad. "Even the

trees feel the seasons when they change. So I will honor my totem

by returning to the heart of my caern, and there I will think on your

silver words." Cries' smoldering gaze flickered briefly from Evan's

face to the Garou at each of the elder's flanks, then returned.

"We will talk on your words, and we will consult our spirits.

We promise you nothing more."

Evan bowed quietly.

Then the old Garou turned and walked, still in human form,

back into the circle of wolves. The massive Philodox gave Evan

one last appraising, wondering stare, then fell to all fours and paced

after the elder. The third didn't even look at Evan as she left.

As Cries-in-the-Wind was lost amid the darkness between

the trees, the circle of Wendigo began to break apart. All passed

before the young Philodox as they left, and each looked full into his

eyes before vanishing into the woods. Some of their gazes held

anger and hate only barely in check. Others were cooler, more

peaceful, but no less intense. The gray eyes of the last wolf to leave

were appraising, curious — and warm, at the end. Evan smiled

then, just a little, and held his smile until she was gone. Then there

was nothing but silence.

Evan sighed and slowly started down the slope. The tension

he'd previously felt had drained away, taking most of his energy

with it. Now there was just a dull twinge of fatigue, coupled with

a touch of worry. He leaned on the spear, just a little.

They'd think on it. It was all he could ask for.

For now.

Legends of the Garou: Half Moon's Journey

WOD - Werewolf - The Apocalypse - Player's Guide (2nd ed).pdf

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