Howdyparker
New Member
I'd say call Uncle Greg. I know you're a runner, but it seems like your want a fight more right now. And it might piss your mom off, a bus since you're angry with her.
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Multiple Settings Brave Enough - A Werewolf: the Apocalypse Quest
- Thread starter wonderandawe
- Start date
eura
Unlucky Member
Go for a walk to calm down while your mother calls your Aunt Anne. your angry but not crazed angry.
Run to the gas station. You need to burn off some of your emotions and this is the most natural way for you to do it. You'll almost certainly find someone at the station who will come help two women traveling alone with car troubles. Plus, let's face it, you can defend yourself (should trouble arise you really would not mind taking a swing at someone right about now) AND you understand that, if nothing else, your family has quite the reputation in these parts.
Nutmeggera
New Member
Uncle Greg is to blame and he needs to hear all about it! Now you're not only having to leave nearly everything behind you are dead in the water! Give the guy a call and make his ears bleed!
Jairain
New Member
Run, it helps and we need to get our head straight if we had a thought of hurting mom.
wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
Votes thus far:
Run to Gas Station
Bysmerian
buggybran
Jairain
Call Uncle Greg
Howdyparker
Nutmeggera
Call Aunt Anne
eura
Run to Gas Station
Bysmerian
buggybran
Jairain
Call Uncle Greg
Howdyparker
Nutmeggera
Call Aunt Anne
eura
JayTee
Eight Thousand Club
Go for a walk to calm down while your mom calls your aunt. Maybe we should avoid picking up our dad's bad habits. Well, more than we already have.
Obi-Wan Kenobi
A Bold One
Run. Doesn't particularly matter where to, just run somewhere. And hey, if a gas station or something helpful crosses your path, maybe we can get some help or something. But right now, we just need to run and work off something.
008 - Texas Heat
wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
You rip off your seatbelt. The metal clip clatters against the window. You fumble for the door handle and kick the door open. You stagger out of the van and kneel in the grass on the side of the highway.
“Sigrid!” Your mother calls from inside the van.
The sun beats down on your neck. You dig into the grass and dirt. The roots between your fingers ground you. Air fresher than any you breathed in Austin fill your lungs. You sit, eyes closed, and just breathe.
A car swooshes by. “Sigrid,” Your mother’s voice brings you back to reality. She sits besides you in the grass. How long have you been sitting here? Your mother shines with a thin sheen of sweat, her eyes heavy with worry.
“I’m going to go get help.” You take off at a sprint. You kick off your shoes, leaving them behind for your mother to pick up.
“Sigrid! It’s too hot!” The wind eats your mother’s words. Your toes dig into the grass. It’s good to move under your own power. To escape the metal cage your mom calls a van.
After a few miles, your head clears. Sweat drips down your face and the humid summer wind does little to cool you. The heat drains your rage and you realize your error. You have no clue where the nearest gas station is. Your mother said Kirksville was thirty minutes away, but that was by car. There had to be a gas station closer than that, right?
Cars drive by on the highway and you decide to tough it out. This is not your first time your mother’s van died and you had to run to the nearest gas station. You ran in worse heat before at track meets. You were thirsty but you’ll survive. You settle down into a sustainable ground eating lope.
You pass a sign warning of the 965 Junction. You stop in the scant shade of the sign and wipe sweat off of your brow. You look around and see nothing but boulders, dried grass, and scrub. You thought you’d find a gas station by now. This is stupid. You were in the middle of nowhere Texas. Kirksville could where the nearest gas station is. You pat your pocket and realize you left your shattered phone in your mother’s van. “Shit.” You are commit to your choice now.
Movement in the bushes attracts your attention. A dark furred animal retreats from the highway. A dog? A break in the cover reveals this canine is no dog. A wolf! A black wolf, his ratty summer coat bespeckled with brown. He disappears out of sight. You search the bushes and see no sign of the wolf. You squeeze sweat out of your braid and take off again. You’ll have to find a gas station soon.
The shy wolf shadows you as you run. You stare straight ahead, you see him out of the corner of your eye. You turn to look at him, he flees deeper into the scrub. Finally, you reach a truck stop at the highway turn off. It is a small truck stop. It has only one fuel pump with two handles- one for unleaded, one for diesel. The parking lot is empty, save a single red pickup truck. A large wooden porch wraps around the building. Wooden picnic tables and an ice machine sit out front. A peaked roof reaches for the blazing blue sky. The truck stop reminds you of a converted farm house rather than a commercial building.
The pavement burns your feet as you jog to the water fountain on the side of the building. You plunge your over heated face into the fountain stream. After you cool off, you swish water around your mouth and sip it out on the pavement.
As you drink your fill, you glance up to find the shy wolf watching you. You were surprised he followed you this close to civilization. His golden eyes shine with intelligence rather than animal cunning. When you met the shy wolf’s eyes, he darts off into bushes again.
You rub water over your face and comb wet fingers through your hair. You are barefoot and wearing sweat soaked clothes, but you better be presentable enough for the truck stop.
The door chimes when you enter the store. A blast of cold air welcomes you. The tile floor is cool on your bare feet. Despite its small size, the store is well stocked. Though you don’t see any recognizable brands of brightly colored junk food, you find a fair selection of foods. You pass a basket of fresh made bread. One aisle contains jars of jams and salsa. Another bags of candy and trail mix. Your eyes are drawn to a line of refrigerated coolers with chilled drinks. You didn’t have any money, but maybe the clerk will take pity on the poor girl with car trouble.
The clerk in his early twenties sits behind a counter protected by a barred metal cage. At first glance, you think him fat. Then you see the well defined muscles under his uniform polo shirt. Black ink tattoos peek out from under his collar. With his shaved head, he looks more like a bouncer for a skinhead club rather than truck stop clerk. A handwritten sign above him declares “Still sold out of Ice Cream. Stop asking.”
“Hey!” You walk up to the counter. “My mother and I are having car problems. I think the battery is dead. Do you know someone who can give us a jump? Or a tow?”
The clerk looks you up and down with pale blue eyes. “You Sigrid Kirk?” He asks, ignoring everything you said.
“Yes... How do you know my name? Are you related to me?” The truck stop was close enough for this clerk to live in Kirksville.
“Gaia, I wish.” The clerk replies. “No, your Aunt Anne called. Said for you to wait here for Alex.”
“Who the fuck is Alex?” That wasn’t the name of any cousin you know.
The door chimes. “That’s Alex.” A tall, gawky teenage boy, dressed in blue jeans and a striped blue shirt, enters. Alex walks with a slouch, attempting to conceal his height. His dark hair is neatly trimmed and an oversized smart watch sits on his slender wrist. Alex is the sort of cute geeky guy who usually flees in the other direction when you approach them. His dark brown eyes dart around the store. When he spots you, Alex gives you a shy wave and walks over. He removes a small black leather notebook from his pocket. “Hi, I’m Alex. I’m Deaf.” He writes, “What is your name?”
“My name is Sigrid Kirk, but you already knew that.” You write back. “How do you know my Aunt Anne?”
“Miss Anne is my step mother.” With a few extra pounds and a large dose of confidence, Alex could be an younger version of your Uncle Greg.
The clerk waves his arms to attract Alex’s attention. “Alex, look at me.” He points at his mouth. “Tell your father the camera is broken again.” The clerk overenunciates each words.
Alex frowns. He flips a few pages forward in his notebook. “Speak Normally.” It reads in black marker. Apparently, Alex has this problem often.
“I am speaking normally,” the clerk huffs. “Tell. your. dad. the. camera. is. Broken.”
“He means he can read your lips easier if you don’t talk like an idiot.” You explain.
“If you are so fucking smart, why don’t you explain it to him.” The clerk points at the camera above the cage. “That camera is broken. I need his Glasswalker daddy to fix it.”
Alex watches the clerk speak and then stares at the camera with an inquisitive expression.
You smirk. “I think you just told him yourself, since you talked like a normal person that time.”
“Just as long as the camera is fucking fixed.” The asshole clerk sneers. He returns to reading his magazine.
Alex, unaware of your exchange with the clerk, writes, “You don’t need to wait for my dad. I can fix the camera.”
You close Alex’s notebook. “Don’t fix this asshole’s camera.” You order Alex. “Greg Wright is coming back tomorrow.” You tell the clerk. “Your fucking camera can wait until then.”
“Fucking bitch,” the clerk slaps his magazine down. “I don’t care if your daddy is Franklin Kirk. You ain’t Garou yet and you got no right to be giving orders.”
You reach through the bars of the clerk’s cage and slam his face into them. “I don’t care what you think. You treat that deaf boy poorly again, I’ll rip your ears off. Got it?”
The clerk, cheek smushed into the bars, nods. You let him go with a shove. Shit, you curse at yourself. You should have watched your temper. First cute boy you meet in town and you have to go browbeating the clerk in front of him. Now Alex will think you are a psycho. And he will tell all the kids at your new school you are a psycho, too.
Despite observing your display of violence, no expression of fear mars Alex’s face. He gives you a small smile and touches his hand to his chin and drops it forward. “Thank you,” he signs.
You return the smile and suddenly are aware of your sweaty hair, clothes, and barefeet. Of course you meet a fearless boy in this disheveled state. It’s probably for the best. You’d crack this nerdy boy in half without a thought. Anyways, you swore off guys after Scott.
Alex holds up his notebook. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What?” You realize you were staring. “No, you are fine. I don’t remember the sign for ‘You’re welcome.’ I learned some ASL in fifth grade. Well, only finger spelling to be honest, but I came in fifth place in the spelling bee.” You stop. You are rambling. You doubt Alex caught half of what you said.
Alex scratches the back of his head and then writes, “I have a book on ASL you can borrow.”
“I’d like that.” You nod.
Alex relaxes. He turns a new page in his notebook. “Miss Anne told me to come get you. She is helping your mom with the van. They are packing your stuff in Miss Anne’s SUV. The alternator died, so it couldn’t charge the battery. We can tow it back to town tomorrow and I can replace it later.”
“You fix cars?” With his pallid skin, you figured Alex was a computer geek.
“Yes, they are more forgiving than computers.”
You sign thank you. You take the notebook from his hand and write. “Let’s go outside. This clerk is an asshole. Does he treat you like that because you are deaf?”
“Among other reasons. Half the kinfolk are scared of me and the other half think I’m an idiot.”
Scared of a deaf kid? Whoever these kinfolk are, they sound like losers. “You don’t seem scary nor an idiot to me.”
Alex blushes and reaches for the side of his head. A strange and awkward gesture. He pauses, not finding what he is reaching for, and rubs the side of his face instead. Alex stares down at the floor, embarrassed. He hurries to a cooler and takes out an apple juice. He shakes a second one at you. You nod and he hands it to you. Alex drops a five on the counter. The clerk doesn’t even look up when you leave.
Alex sits on one of the wooden benches and pulls out his phone. He types on the screen with his thumb and sips his apple juice. You chug your juice and toss the empty bottle in the recycle bin. You still have Alex’s notebook. You tap the pen against your lips and watch Alex fiddle with his phone. Maybe Alex can tell you what is going on. “What is a Garoo?” You didn’t miss the clerk’s statement and you hope you spelt the strange word right.
Your heart pounds as you pass the notebook over. When he starts writing you look over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I could show you, but it’s not myaus,” Alex scratches out the word half finished. “place to question your father’s decisions.”
Does anyone stand up to your father in this town? You rip the notebook out of Alex’s hand. “If you were in my place, wouldn’t you want someone to tell you what is going on?”
Alex reads the note with a guilty expression. He sighs and writes, “I want to tell you, but I cannot pierce the veil. I’ll get in trouble.”
“Well, thanks for the apple juice.” You write back, disappointed. Belatenly, you think of another question. “What is the veil?” Maybe there was a reason beyond your father’s whims for this run around.
Before you can hand back the notebook, the phone glows in Alex’s hand. You read the texts, hoping to gain more clues to what is going on. Alex is texting his dad:
Alex kicks the ice machine with a growl and he storms back into the store. Does everyone have a temper in this town? You hurry after Alex. The clerk does not look up from his magazine. Alex raps his knuckles on the counter and holds up his notebook. “My dad wants me to fix the camera. I need a ladder.”
The clerk sets down his magazine with a sigh. He retrieves a short steel ladder from the storage closet and sets it up under the camera. Then he returns to his cage.
Alex climbs the ladder. All elbows and knees, he tips it off balance. You right the ladder before it falls. Alex thanks you again and stands on the top step of the ladder. Precariously balanced, he fiddles with the camera cables. You stand there bored, holding the ladder steady. How long will this take? You are in need of a shower and some answers. It’s become a matter of pride to figure out what the fuck is going on before you meet your father tomorrow. Alex already said he wanted to tell you. You plan on hounding him until he spills the beans about what’s going on at the Wilderness Preserve.
The door chimes and two men dressed in grimy clothes enter the store. Both men have the emaciated wide eye look of drug addicts. They stalk the aisles, whispering and observing the clerk. One nods at the broken camera.
The clerk pretends to read his magazine and watches the two men out of the corner of his eye. Alex sniffs at the shorter of the two men as they pass you. You gag at their unwashed odor. Alex and the clerk meet eyes. The clerk nods and sets his magazine aside. Alex leaves the camera hanging by its cables. Tension fills the air. You take a step closer to Alex, prepared to protect the gawky boy from the idiot crack heads.
“Can I help you boys with something?” The clerk asks, hands out of sight.
“Yeah,” the short man reveals a small chipped chrome pistol from the pocket of his jean jacket. “You can clean out that cash…” To your utter shock, Alex leaps from the top of the ladder and tackles the armed man to the ground. The man’s pistol skids across the floor. The short man punches Alex across the face. Alex throws his arm around the short man’s neck.
The clerk reveals a short black shotgun. Instead of intimidating the robbers and defusing the situation, the clerk pumps his shotgun. Shotgun shells fly as the clerk fires into the taller man’s gut. BAM! The tall man staggers back into a shelf of canned goods. BAM! The shelf knocks over. The cans scatters and roll over the floor.
“Fucking hell!” You cover your ears from the gunshots. “Haven’t you people heard of calling the police when you get robbed?!” You scream. You’ve fought in schoolyard brawls. You’ve lived in rough neighborhoods. Yet you never had a fucking gun fight break out in front of you before.
The tall emaciated man groans. He spits blood on the floor. He stands. His guts pour out in a mess of swinging entrails. If possible he smells worse than before. He takes a staggering step forward, dripping blood and liquid shit in his wake.
“Alex!” The clerk’s voice is shrill with fear. “This guy is still moving!” Entrails man draws his own gun, a greasy black pistol. The clerk ducks behind the counter as a bullet flies above his head.
The clerk out of sight, entrails man turns towards Alex. He points his gun at the boy. “Watch out!” you scream.
Alex, intent on putting the short man into a headlock, doesn’t respond to your warning. Alex is deaf, you remember. He can’t hear you nor the clerk. He doesn’t perceive the danger. Entrails man pulls the trigger.
BAM!
What do you do?
Out of Character Commentary FYI, this is another character creation question. The winning Ability will most likely be Sigrid's main form of combat. There may be an option to gain more combat abilities later depending on future character choices.
Here is a summary of each physical ability:
Athletics: This Talent represents your basic athletic ability, as well as any training you might have had in sports or other rigorous activities. Athletics concerns all forms of running, jumping, throwing, swimming, sports, and the like. However, Athletics doesn’t cover basic motor actions such as lifting weights, nor does it govern athletic feats covered by another Ability (such as Melee). Possessed by: Athletes, Hobbyists, Park Rangers, Jocks, Kids
Brawl: The Brawl Talent represents how well you fight in tooth-and-nail situations. This Talent represents skill in unarmed combat, whether from formal martial arts training or simply from plenty of experience. Effective brawlers are coordinated, resistant to pain, quick, strong, and mean. The willingness to do whatever it takes to hurt your opponent wins plenty of fights. Possessed by: Military, Police, Roughnecks, Thugs
Firearms: This Skill represents familiarity with a range of firearms, from holdout pistols to heavy machine guns. Further, someone skilled in Firearms can clean, repair, recognize, and accurately fire most forms of small arms. This Skill is also used to unjam guns (Wits + Firearms). Possessed by: Policemen, Military Personnel, Survivalists, Hunters
Melee: Melee covers your ability to use hand-to-hand weapons of all forms, from swords and clubs to esoteric martial-arts paraphernalia such as sai or nunchaku. And, of course, there is always the utility of the wooden stake… Possessed by: Assassins, Gang Members, Martial Artists, Police, Duelists.
Out of Character Commentary
“Sigrid!” Your mother calls from inside the van.
The sun beats down on your neck. You dig into the grass and dirt. The roots between your fingers ground you. Air fresher than any you breathed in Austin fill your lungs. You sit, eyes closed, and just breathe.
A car swooshes by. “Sigrid,” Your mother’s voice brings you back to reality. She sits besides you in the grass. How long have you been sitting here? Your mother shines with a thin sheen of sweat, her eyes heavy with worry.
“I’m going to go get help.” You take off at a sprint. You kick off your shoes, leaving them behind for your mother to pick up.
“Sigrid! It’s too hot!” The wind eats your mother’s words. Your toes dig into the grass. It’s good to move under your own power. To escape the metal cage your mom calls a van.
After a few miles, your head clears. Sweat drips down your face and the humid summer wind does little to cool you. The heat drains your rage and you realize your error. You have no clue where the nearest gas station is. Your mother said Kirksville was thirty minutes away, but that was by car. There had to be a gas station closer than that, right?
Cars drive by on the highway and you decide to tough it out. This is not your first time your mother’s van died and you had to run to the nearest gas station. You ran in worse heat before at track meets. You were thirsty but you’ll survive. You settle down into a sustainable ground eating lope.
You pass a sign warning of the 965 Junction. You stop in the scant shade of the sign and wipe sweat off of your brow. You look around and see nothing but boulders, dried grass, and scrub. You thought you’d find a gas station by now. This is stupid. You were in the middle of nowhere Texas. Kirksville could where the nearest gas station is. You pat your pocket and realize you left your shattered phone in your mother’s van. “Shit.” You are commit to your choice now.
Movement in the bushes attracts your attention. A dark furred animal retreats from the highway. A dog? A break in the cover reveals this canine is no dog. A wolf! A black wolf, his ratty summer coat bespeckled with brown. He disappears out of sight. You search the bushes and see no sign of the wolf. You squeeze sweat out of your braid and take off again. You’ll have to find a gas station soon.
The shy wolf shadows you as you run. You stare straight ahead, you see him out of the corner of your eye. You turn to look at him, he flees deeper into the scrub. Finally, you reach a truck stop at the highway turn off. It is a small truck stop. It has only one fuel pump with two handles- one for unleaded, one for diesel. The parking lot is empty, save a single red pickup truck. A large wooden porch wraps around the building. Wooden picnic tables and an ice machine sit out front. A peaked roof reaches for the blazing blue sky. The truck stop reminds you of a converted farm house rather than a commercial building.
The pavement burns your feet as you jog to the water fountain on the side of the building. You plunge your over heated face into the fountain stream. After you cool off, you swish water around your mouth and sip it out on the pavement.
As you drink your fill, you glance up to find the shy wolf watching you. You were surprised he followed you this close to civilization. His golden eyes shine with intelligence rather than animal cunning. When you met the shy wolf’s eyes, he darts off into bushes again.
You rub water over your face and comb wet fingers through your hair. You are barefoot and wearing sweat soaked clothes, but you better be presentable enough for the truck stop.
The door chimes when you enter the store. A blast of cold air welcomes you. The tile floor is cool on your bare feet. Despite its small size, the store is well stocked. Though you don’t see any recognizable brands of brightly colored junk food, you find a fair selection of foods. You pass a basket of fresh made bread. One aisle contains jars of jams and salsa. Another bags of candy and trail mix. Your eyes are drawn to a line of refrigerated coolers with chilled drinks. You didn’t have any money, but maybe the clerk will take pity on the poor girl with car trouble.
The clerk in his early twenties sits behind a counter protected by a barred metal cage. At first glance, you think him fat. Then you see the well defined muscles under his uniform polo shirt. Black ink tattoos peek out from under his collar. With his shaved head, he looks more like a bouncer for a skinhead club rather than truck stop clerk. A handwritten sign above him declares “Still sold out of Ice Cream. Stop asking.”
“Hey!” You walk up to the counter. “My mother and I are having car problems. I think the battery is dead. Do you know someone who can give us a jump? Or a tow?”
The clerk looks you up and down with pale blue eyes. “You Sigrid Kirk?” He asks, ignoring everything you said.
“Yes... How do you know my name? Are you related to me?” The truck stop was close enough for this clerk to live in Kirksville.
“Gaia, I wish.” The clerk replies. “No, your Aunt Anne called. Said for you to wait here for Alex.”
“Who the fuck is Alex?” That wasn’t the name of any cousin you know.
The door chimes. “That’s Alex.” A tall, gawky teenage boy, dressed in blue jeans and a striped blue shirt, enters. Alex walks with a slouch, attempting to conceal his height. His dark hair is neatly trimmed and an oversized smart watch sits on his slender wrist. Alex is the sort of cute geeky guy who usually flees in the other direction when you approach them. His dark brown eyes dart around the store. When he spots you, Alex gives you a shy wave and walks over. He removes a small black leather notebook from his pocket. “Hi, I’m Alex. I’m Deaf.” He writes, “What is your name?”
“My name is Sigrid Kirk, but you already knew that.” You write back. “How do you know my Aunt Anne?”
“Miss Anne is my step mother.” With a few extra pounds and a large dose of confidence, Alex could be an younger version of your Uncle Greg.
The clerk waves his arms to attract Alex’s attention. “Alex, look at me.” He points at his mouth. “Tell your father the camera is broken again.” The clerk overenunciates each words.
Alex frowns. He flips a few pages forward in his notebook. “Speak Normally.” It reads in black marker. Apparently, Alex has this problem often.
“I am speaking normally,” the clerk huffs. “Tell. your. dad. the. camera. is. Broken.”
“He means he can read your lips easier if you don’t talk like an idiot.” You explain.
“If you are so fucking smart, why don’t you explain it to him.” The clerk points at the camera above the cage. “That camera is broken. I need his Glasswalker daddy to fix it.”
Alex watches the clerk speak and then stares at the camera with an inquisitive expression.
You smirk. “I think you just told him yourself, since you talked like a normal person that time.”
“Just as long as the camera is fucking fixed.” The asshole clerk sneers. He returns to reading his magazine.
Alex, unaware of your exchange with the clerk, writes, “You don’t need to wait for my dad. I can fix the camera.”
You close Alex’s notebook. “Don’t fix this asshole’s camera.” You order Alex. “Greg Wright is coming back tomorrow.” You tell the clerk. “Your fucking camera can wait until then.”
“Fucking bitch,” the clerk slaps his magazine down. “I don’t care if your daddy is Franklin Kirk. You ain’t Garou yet and you got no right to be giving orders.”
You reach through the bars of the clerk’s cage and slam his face into them. “I don’t care what you think. You treat that deaf boy poorly again, I’ll rip your ears off. Got it?”
The clerk, cheek smushed into the bars, nods. You let him go with a shove. Shit, you curse at yourself. You should have watched your temper. First cute boy you meet in town and you have to go browbeating the clerk in front of him. Now Alex will think you are a psycho. And he will tell all the kids at your new school you are a psycho, too.
Despite observing your display of violence, no expression of fear mars Alex’s face. He gives you a small smile and touches his hand to his chin and drops it forward. “Thank you,” he signs.
You return the smile and suddenly are aware of your sweaty hair, clothes, and barefeet. Of course you meet a fearless boy in this disheveled state. It’s probably for the best. You’d crack this nerdy boy in half without a thought. Anyways, you swore off guys after Scott.
Alex holds up his notebook. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What?” You realize you were staring. “No, you are fine. I don’t remember the sign for ‘You’re welcome.’ I learned some ASL in fifth grade. Well, only finger spelling to be honest, but I came in fifth place in the spelling bee.” You stop. You are rambling. You doubt Alex caught half of what you said.
Alex scratches the back of his head and then writes, “I have a book on ASL you can borrow.”
“I’d like that.” You nod.
Alex relaxes. He turns a new page in his notebook. “Miss Anne told me to come get you. She is helping your mom with the van. They are packing your stuff in Miss Anne’s SUV. The alternator died, so it couldn’t charge the battery. We can tow it back to town tomorrow and I can replace it later.”
“You fix cars?” With his pallid skin, you figured Alex was a computer geek.
“Yes, they are more forgiving than computers.”
You sign thank you. You take the notebook from his hand and write. “Let’s go outside. This clerk is an asshole. Does he treat you like that because you are deaf?”
“Among other reasons. Half the kinfolk are scared of me and the other half think I’m an idiot.”
Scared of a deaf kid? Whoever these kinfolk are, they sound like losers. “You don’t seem scary nor an idiot to me.”
Alex blushes and reaches for the side of his head. A strange and awkward gesture. He pauses, not finding what he is reaching for, and rubs the side of his face instead. Alex stares down at the floor, embarrassed. He hurries to a cooler and takes out an apple juice. He shakes a second one at you. You nod and he hands it to you. Alex drops a five on the counter. The clerk doesn’t even look up when you leave.
Alex sits on one of the wooden benches and pulls out his phone. He types on the screen with his thumb and sips his apple juice. You chug your juice and toss the empty bottle in the recycle bin. You still have Alex’s notebook. You tap the pen against your lips and watch Alex fiddle with his phone. Maybe Alex can tell you what is going on. “What is a Garoo?” You didn’t miss the clerk’s statement and you hope you spelt the strange word right.
Your heart pounds as you pass the notebook over. When he starts writing you look over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I could show you, but it’s not my
Does anyone stand up to your father in this town? You rip the notebook out of Alex’s hand. “If you were in my place, wouldn’t you want someone to tell you what is going on?”
Alex reads the note with a guilty expression. He sighs and writes, “I want to tell you, but I cannot pierce the veil. I’ll get in trouble.”
“Well, thanks for the apple juice.” You write back, disappointed. Belatenly, you think of another question. “What is the veil?” Maybe there was a reason beyond your father’s whims for this run around.
Before you can hand back the notebook, the phone glows in Alex’s hand. You read the texts, hoping to gain more clues to what is going on. Alex is texting his dad:
Greg Wright
The camera broke at the truck shop again
I won’t be back until tomorrow. Can you fix it?
Sigrid is with me.
How does this stop you from fixing the camera?
The clerk is an asshole. He thinks I’m an idiot. He wants you to fix it.
Go fix the camera.
You’ll feel bad if something happens to the clerk because the camera is broken.
Alex kicks the ice machine with a growl and he storms back into the store. Does everyone have a temper in this town? You hurry after Alex. The clerk does not look up from his magazine. Alex raps his knuckles on the counter and holds up his notebook. “My dad wants me to fix the camera. I need a ladder.”
The clerk sets down his magazine with a sigh. He retrieves a short steel ladder from the storage closet and sets it up under the camera. Then he returns to his cage.
Alex climbs the ladder. All elbows and knees, he tips it off balance. You right the ladder before it falls. Alex thanks you again and stands on the top step of the ladder. Precariously balanced, he fiddles with the camera cables. You stand there bored, holding the ladder steady. How long will this take? You are in need of a shower and some answers. It’s become a matter of pride to figure out what the fuck is going on before you meet your father tomorrow. Alex already said he wanted to tell you. You plan on hounding him until he spills the beans about what’s going on at the Wilderness Preserve.
The door chimes and two men dressed in grimy clothes enter the store. Both men have the emaciated wide eye look of drug addicts. They stalk the aisles, whispering and observing the clerk. One nods at the broken camera.
The clerk pretends to read his magazine and watches the two men out of the corner of his eye. Alex sniffs at the shorter of the two men as they pass you. You gag at their unwashed odor. Alex and the clerk meet eyes. The clerk nods and sets his magazine aside. Alex leaves the camera hanging by its cables. Tension fills the air. You take a step closer to Alex, prepared to protect the gawky boy from the idiot crack heads.
“Can I help you boys with something?” The clerk asks, hands out of sight.
“Yeah,” the short man reveals a small chipped chrome pistol from the pocket of his jean jacket. “You can clean out that cash…” To your utter shock, Alex leaps from the top of the ladder and tackles the armed man to the ground. The man’s pistol skids across the floor. The short man punches Alex across the face. Alex throws his arm around the short man’s neck.
The clerk reveals a short black shotgun. Instead of intimidating the robbers and defusing the situation, the clerk pumps his shotgun. Shotgun shells fly as the clerk fires into the taller man’s gut. BAM! The tall man staggers back into a shelf of canned goods. BAM! The shelf knocks over. The cans scatters and roll over the floor.
“Fucking hell!” You cover your ears from the gunshots. “Haven’t you people heard of calling the police when you get robbed?!” You scream. You’ve fought in schoolyard brawls. You’ve lived in rough neighborhoods. Yet you never had a fucking gun fight break out in front of you before.
The tall emaciated man groans. He spits blood on the floor. He stands. His guts pour out in a mess of swinging entrails. If possible he smells worse than before. He takes a staggering step forward, dripping blood and liquid shit in his wake.
“Alex!” The clerk’s voice is shrill with fear. “This guy is still moving!” Entrails man draws his own gun, a greasy black pistol. The clerk ducks behind the counter as a bullet flies above his head.
The clerk out of sight, entrails man turns towards Alex. He points his gun at the boy. “Watch out!” you scream.
Alex, intent on putting the short man into a headlock, doesn’t respond to your warning. Alex is deaf, you remember. He can’t hear you nor the clerk. He doesn’t perceive the danger. Entrails man pulls the trigger.
BAM!
What do you do?
Call upon your rage and… the time has not come yet. (Nope!)- Pick up the ladder (or other object) and beat entrails man. (Melee)
- Pick up the discarded pistol and shoot entrails man (Firearms)
- Jump entrails man and beat him with your bare hands (Brawl)
- Pitch canned goods at entrails man’s head (Athletics)
- Other (ST’s choice of ability)
Out of Character Commentary FYI, this is another character creation question. The winning Ability will most likely be Sigrid's main form of combat. There may be an option to gain more combat abilities later depending on future character choices.
Here is a summary of each physical ability:
Athletics: This Talent represents your basic athletic ability, as well as any training you might have had in sports or other rigorous activities. Athletics concerns all forms of running, jumping, throwing, swimming, sports, and the like. However, Athletics doesn’t cover basic motor actions such as lifting weights, nor does it govern athletic feats covered by another Ability (such as Melee). Possessed by: Athletes, Hobbyists, Park Rangers, Jocks, Kids
Brawl: The Brawl Talent represents how well you fight in tooth-and-nail situations. This Talent represents skill in unarmed combat, whether from formal martial arts training or simply from plenty of experience. Effective brawlers are coordinated, resistant to pain, quick, strong, and mean. The willingness to do whatever it takes to hurt your opponent wins plenty of fights. Possessed by: Military, Police, Roughnecks, Thugs
Firearms: This Skill represents familiarity with a range of firearms, from holdout pistols to heavy machine guns. Further, someone skilled in Firearms can clean, repair, recognize, and accurately fire most forms of small arms. This Skill is also used to unjam guns (Wits + Firearms). Possessed by: Policemen, Military Personnel, Survivalists, Hunters
Melee: Melee covers your ability to use hand-to-hand weapons of all forms, from swords and clubs to esoteric martial-arts paraphernalia such as sai or nunchaku. And, of course, there is always the utility of the wooden stake… Possessed by: Assassins, Gang Members, Martial Artists, Police, Duelists.
Out of Character Commentary
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wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
In other news, we won Role Play of the Month! Congrats everyone! Brave Enough wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you guys. 
Sigrid just found herself a cute new friend (even if she has sworn off of boys...yeah right) and she is a fiercely loyal type, even if it's in defense of someone she just met. She picks up that ladder and takes care of EM. He will be doing no more meth or robbing no more stores when she is done with him.
Nutmeggera
New Member
His guts are hanging out and he's not dead yet? Bullets are flying everywhere? Grab anything within reach to hit the entrails guy with.
wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
I've gotten a lot of questions about what each ability offering means. Here is a summary of each physical ability:
Athletics: This Talent represents your basic athletic ability, as well as any training you might have had in sports or other rigorous activities. Athletics concerns all forms of running, jumping, throwing, swimming, sports, and the like. However, Athletics doesn’t cover basic motor actions such as lifting weights, nor does it govern athletic feats covered by another Ability (such as Melee). Possessed by: Athletes, Hobbyists, Park Rangers, Jocks, Kids
Brawl: The Brawl Talent represents how well you fight in tooth-and-nail situations. This Talent represents skill in unarmed combat, whether from formal martial arts training or simply from plenty of experience. Effective brawlers are coordinated, resistant to pain, quick, strong, and mean. The willingness to do whatever it takes to hurt your opponent wins plenty of fights. Possessed by: Military, Police, Roughnecks, Thugs
Firearms: This Skill represents familiarity with a range of firearms, from holdout pistols to heavy machine guns. Further, someone skilled in Firearms can clean, repair, recognize, and accurately fire most forms of small arms. This Skill is also used to unjam guns (Wits + Firearms). Possessed by: Policemen, Military Personnel, Survivalists, Hunters
Melee: Melee covers your ability to use hand-to-hand weapons of all forms, from swords and clubs to esoteric martial-arts paraphernalia such as sai or nunchaku. And, of course, there is always the utility of the wooden stake… Possessed by: Assassins, Gang Members, Martial Artists, Police, Duelists
Athletics: This Talent represents your basic athletic ability, as well as any training you might have had in sports or other rigorous activities. Athletics concerns all forms of running, jumping, throwing, swimming, sports, and the like. However, Athletics doesn’t cover basic motor actions such as lifting weights, nor does it govern athletic feats covered by another Ability (such as Melee). Possessed by: Athletes, Hobbyists, Park Rangers, Jocks, Kids
Brawl: The Brawl Talent represents how well you fight in tooth-and-nail situations. This Talent represents skill in unarmed combat, whether from formal martial arts training or simply from plenty of experience. Effective brawlers are coordinated, resistant to pain, quick, strong, and mean. The willingness to do whatever it takes to hurt your opponent wins plenty of fights. Possessed by: Military, Police, Roughnecks, Thugs
Firearms: This Skill represents familiarity with a range of firearms, from holdout pistols to heavy machine guns. Further, someone skilled in Firearms can clean, repair, recognize, and accurately fire most forms of small arms. This Skill is also used to unjam guns (Wits + Firearms). Possessed by: Policemen, Military Personnel, Survivalists, Hunters
Melee: Melee covers your ability to use hand-to-hand weapons of all forms, from swords and clubs to esoteric martial-arts paraphernalia such as sai or nunchaku. And, of course, there is always the utility of the wooden stake… Possessed by: Assassins, Gang Members, Martial Artists, Police, Duelists
Jairain
New Member
I say we go all john woo-ey and brawl up his face! Hell with the hole in his gut we can jam our fist up through his chest into his face and work him like a puppet!
Howdyparker
New Member
I'm saying melee. Brawl was my first instinct, because she has attacked twice with bare hands. But she played lacrosse and knows what damage a club can do, even unintentionally. I think she's going to be smart enough to add heft to her hit. But maybe a wine bottle. They don't break like they do in movies
JayTee
Eight Thousand Club
Punch him until his face falls off.
Obi-Wan Kenobi
A Bold One
Beat him senseless. Bare hands.
wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
We are tied between Melee and Brawl! Three to three.
Melee
buggybran
Nutmeggera
Howdyparker
Brawl
Jairain
JayTee
Fezzes
Melee
buggybran
Nutmeggera
Howdyparker
Brawl
Jairain
JayTee
Fezzes
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wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
JayTee
Eight Thousand Club
FACE PUNCH FACE PUNCH FACE PUNCH!
Bysmerian
New Member
*Punch.*
Fuck it, this is the latest in a string of things that probably everyone else knows more about than us. And we don't have time to grab a calendar or a gun, so let's just have a redux of what got us into this mess and let fist fly, grab some hair and slam it into the bars, and hell, let's just punch-punch YANK at Entrails Man's namesake feature.
Fuck it, this is the latest in a string of things that probably everyone else knows more about than us. And we don't have time to grab a calendar or a gun, so let's just have a redux of what got us into this mess and let fist fly, grab some hair and slam it into the bars, and hell, let's just punch-punch YANK at Entrails Man's namesake feature.
009 - Welcome Home
wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
The bullet hits Alex in the stomach. He yelps. You smell copper, the burning stench of blood. You take a single step towards Entrails man. Your bare feet pad on the cold tile floor. You take another step, but you are slow, so slow.
BAM! Entrails man shoots again. Hit a second time, Alex snarls. He spins, the shorter robber still in hand.
You take the final step towards Entrails Man. You scream and tackle him. BAM! Entrails Man’s third shot aims high, slams into Alex’s shoulder. He looses his grip on the short robber. The robber drops to the floor and scurries away.
You grab Entrails man by the hair. SLAM! His face crashes into the metal bars of the clerk’s cage. SLAM! He grabs your arm to wrench himself free. SLAM! Blood drips onto the counter. Entrails Man’s grip slackens. SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! His cheek shatters. SLAM! SLAM! Teeth fly.
“Fuck!” The clerk peers over the counter. You drop Entrails man, assuming the clerk is cursing your violent action. Instead he says, “He’s getting away!” The door chimes as the short robber flees.
“Alex!” You remember the reason for your rage. Alex struggles to rise and give chase to the robber. He slips in a puddle of his own blood. You hold Alex back. “Stop moving! You’ve been shot!” Alex struggles against you, but you are stronger than the gawky boy. “You are making the bleeding worse!”
The clerk, shotgun in hand, rushes out the door. He takes a pot shot at the fleeing van. “Shit.” he curse as he returns. Rubbing the back of his shaved head, he surveys the wreckage of his store. Corpse with smashed in head. Canned goods scattered all over. Alex fucking bleeding out on the floor.
“Call the fucking Ambulance!” You order. You strip a “Don’t Mess with Texas” shirt from a rack. You ball it up and press it against Alex’s stomach. Alex shoves your hand away. “Alex, look at me. I’m trying to stop the bleeding.” With a pained grimace, he shakes his head no.
Instead of calling 911, the clerk switches the open sign to closed. He draws the blinds down on the windows. “Shit fuck. I’m not even suppose to be here today!”
“I don’t care if you are suppose to be in butt fucking Egypt. Call 911.” Did this fucker not take CPR training? Someone orders you to call 911, you call 911.
“Stop freaking out,” The clerk sets his shotgun down on the counter. “The robbers weren’t shooting silver. Alex can stop the bleeding on his own. I need to call Nathan.” The clerk leaves for the back office.
“Nathan better be a fucking doctor!” You scream after the clerk. You turn back to Alex. “Where’s your phone? I’ll call the ambulance myself!” You reach for his pocket. Alex stops you with a bloody hand. His grip is strong for someone bleeding out onto the floor. Alex lifts his shirt. You retch at the sight of his wounds. Red holes gape in his flesh and gush blood. Alex raises two bloody fingers and points them away from his eyes towards the wounds.
Watch. Alex wants you to watch. Watch him die? You stare at the wounds until a shiny object emerges from one of them. The wound expels the bullet. The bloody bullet falls to the ground with a tink. To your astonishment, it happens again with the second wound. The gaping holes seal and blood flow slows to a trickle.
Alex slackens with relief after the wound heals. He rotates his shoulder and the third bullet falls to the floor.
Unable to believe what you witnessed, your fingers probe Alex’s stomach. Besides the wash of blood on his skin, Alex is healed. “It’s like you’ve never been shot!” you observe in amazement. Alex reddens as you examine his stomach. You blush and pull your hand away. “Sorry.”
Alex replaces his shirt. He pokes his finger though a bullet hole and sighs.
“Nathan is on his way.” The clerk returns. “He’s the sheriff in case you were wondering. He’s calling the sept and bringing the kin militia.” The clerk holds up a piece of lined paper to Alex. “Was the crackhead a Fomori?”
Alex shakes his head no.
Mention of the sheriff sends your heart racing. “I killed this man.” You admit. “Uncle Greg won’t be able to bribe my way out of this mess. I just got out of jail and now I have to go back.”
“You won’t be going to jail for this, Sigrid.” The clerk says from the supply closet. He tosses a bottle of clear liquid soap to Alex. “Don’t feel bad about this waste of flesh. He was a drug addict, lost to the Wyrm. It was only a matter of time before he became a Fomori.”
Wyrm. Fomori. The clerk’s jumble of strange terms means nothing to you. “Killing is against the law.” Fear trembles in your voice. “Between this and Scott, they are going to lock me up and throw away the key.”
Alex searches for his notebook and finds it in a puddle of blood. He shakes it dry. “Sigrid. You did a good thing here.” He writes.
“You aren’t freaking out I killed someone?”
“If you didn’t kill him, I would have.” Alex writes.
“Non-kin feed themselves a bunch of bullshit so they can sit on their asses and not do anything to fix this fucked up world. Shit they let pass, pisses us off.” The clerk nods at Alex. “Some more than others.”
A tightness in your chest releases. “I thought I was a psychopath….” You admit. “All those fights and school suspensions… You are saying I’m the sane one and everyone else is crazy?”
“You are among your kin now, Sigrid.” The clerk says. “We of all people understand how you feel.”
You tear up. “I thought I was a freak.” All those years. Your mother didn’t say anything. Your father didn’t say anything. Why didn’t they tell you? You sit on the floor sobbing in relief. You weren’t crazy. You were normal. For the first time since your incident with Scott, you understand why your mother brought you here. She was bringing you home.
You feel warm fingers on your hand. Alex gives you a reassuring smile and squeezes your hand. You regain control of yourself and squeeze Alex’s hand back.
“You good?” The clerk asks. You nod and wipe away your tears. Alex lets go of your hand. “Great.” The clerk thrusts a roll of trash bags under your nose. “You can help me toss this tainted food away.”
As you help Joe the clerk, you realize he is eager to share what he knows about Crying Rock. It is not a subject he is able to talk about often. There is a veil of strict secrecy surrounding the wilderness refugee. With Alex’s reluctant help, Joe enlightens you to the mysteries of Crying Rock.
“Alex is what you call a Garou, a sacred warrior of Gaia. You know who Gaia is right?”
“Gaia is the Earth Mother. The mother of all things. She made the earth and everything on it. The Oceans are her blood. The Forest her heart. The Soil her body.” You quote your mother’s stories. You may have thought Gaia was myth until last night, but you didn’t want to seem completely clueless.
“Crying Rock is a holy site of Gaia. The Garou protect Crying Rock and we kinfolk support the Garou.”
“You aren’t Garou?” You ask Joe.
“No, there hasn’t been a Garou in my family for four generations.” Joe mops blood off the floor, leaving a scarlet smear in his wake. “Lots of Garou in your bloodline. There’s a good chance you’ll go through your first change. Probably why your momma brought you back here. Most Kinfolk who leave return when their teenage kids start raging out.”
“First change?”
Joe’s face cracks into a grin. “Oh, you don’t even know the best part.” He attracts Alex’s attention away from the now fixed camera. “Alex, show her what you can do.” Alex, embarrassed, shakes his head no. “Don’t be shy. The blinds are down and no one is going to come by.”
Alex crouches on the floor. In a blink of an eye a wolf stands before you. The wolf with black fur bespeckled with brown. You stare at Alex, mouth agape. Familiar golden eyes stare back.
“Shit! That was you!” Alex nods, a strangely human gesture on a wolf. He changes back into a human and stands up. “Miss Anne told me to keep an eye on you while you were running. It was too hot to run, but she figured it would burn off some rage.” He writes.
“You can turn into a wolf…. That is so cool!” You are impressed. Why would your parents keep this from you? Your mother made it sound like something awful happens at Crying Rock. “You like a werewolf or something.”
“We prefer the term Garou.” Alex writes.
“You think that’s cool,” Joe leans against his mop, enjoying your reaction to Alex’s shapeshifting. “you should see the War form. Wolfman, like the movies. Alex, grow big!” Joe raises his thick arms and makes claw motions with his fingers.
Uncomfortable of being Joe’s show dog, Alex shakes his head no. “He can show me later.” you say.
“Come on. The place is closed up. No one is going to come by…” As Joe says this, the door chimes. The sound of police radio precedes a man dressed in black sheriff’s uniform. The sheriff stops short when he sees the ruin of the store. When his eyes land on Alex, he unconsciously rests his hand near his gun. The Sheriff must fall under ‘Kinfolk scared of Alex.’ Alex tenses, eyes never leaving the sheriff’s.
Realizing what he did, the Sheriff backs down and forces himself to relax. Alex turns away and folds up the ladder. The Sheriff folds his arms across his chest and turns his attention to the clerk. “Joe, what the fuck are you doing? Why are you standing here gabbing when you should be cleaning this place up?”
“Yes, sir.” Joe mops with renewed industry.
You return to throwing bloody food into trash bags. “Not you girl.” Your heart pounds when the cop addresses you. The others could be wrong. The Sheriff could be here to arrest you. To your relief, the Sheriff says. “It’s Joe’s job to clean up this mess.”
You stand and wipe your hands on your shorts. The Sheriff notices your disheveled state and lack of shoes. “Alex, you do a Rite of Cleansing on her yet?”
Alex, ladder in hand, freezes at the Sheriff’s renewed attention. Shit, Alex is more scared of the Sheriff than the Sheriff is of Alex. Alex shakes his head no to the Sheriff's question.
“Five Claws is coming by. You think you better get her cleaned up before he arrives?” The Sheriff suggests. He does not out right give Alex an order.
Alex picks up the liquid soap Joe gave him earlier. He plucks a camp cup off of a distant shelf and squeezes soap into it. The roots of your hair tingle as you watch Alex’s fingers dance over the cup. As Alex performs the ceremony, your inability to understand his signs frustrates you. You’ll have to learn sign language as soon as you can. Alex dips a finger into the cup. He draws glyphs with the soap on your forehead, hands, and over your heart. After each mark, he makes more signs.
“You need running water to complete the rite.” Alex writes in his notebook. “Go take a shower and I’ll find you clean clothes.”
“Wait,” You reach for his arm, but stop short of grabbing his wrist. You don’t want to smear the soap markings. “Are you a shaman or something?” You point at the glyph on your palm.
“I am a Theurge, one born under the Crescent Moon.” Alex writes. “It is my Auspice, my place in Garou Society. “
What Moon were you born under?
Out of Character Commentary
I'll admit to cheating by making Alex a Theurge. My last quest character was a sorcerer who acted as an intermediary with spirits and gods, so I don't want to retread the same ground with Sigrid.
Out of Character Commentary
BAM! Entrails man shoots again. Hit a second time, Alex snarls. He spins, the shorter robber still in hand.
You take the final step towards Entrails Man. You scream and tackle him. BAM! Entrails Man’s third shot aims high, slams into Alex’s shoulder. He looses his grip on the short robber. The robber drops to the floor and scurries away.
You grab Entrails man by the hair. SLAM! His face crashes into the metal bars of the clerk’s cage. SLAM! He grabs your arm to wrench himself free. SLAM! Blood drips onto the counter. Entrails Man’s grip slackens. SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! His cheek shatters. SLAM! SLAM! Teeth fly.
“Fuck!” The clerk peers over the counter. You drop Entrails man, assuming the clerk is cursing your violent action. Instead he says, “He’s getting away!” The door chimes as the short robber flees.
“Alex!” You remember the reason for your rage. Alex struggles to rise and give chase to the robber. He slips in a puddle of his own blood. You hold Alex back. “Stop moving! You’ve been shot!” Alex struggles against you, but you are stronger than the gawky boy. “You are making the bleeding worse!”
The clerk, shotgun in hand, rushes out the door. He takes a pot shot at the fleeing van. “Shit.” he curse as he returns. Rubbing the back of his shaved head, he surveys the wreckage of his store. Corpse with smashed in head. Canned goods scattered all over. Alex fucking bleeding out on the floor.
“Call the fucking Ambulance!” You order. You strip a “Don’t Mess with Texas” shirt from a rack. You ball it up and press it against Alex’s stomach. Alex shoves your hand away. “Alex, look at me. I’m trying to stop the bleeding.” With a pained grimace, he shakes his head no.
Instead of calling 911, the clerk switches the open sign to closed. He draws the blinds down on the windows. “Shit fuck. I’m not even suppose to be here today!”
“I don’t care if you are suppose to be in butt fucking Egypt. Call 911.” Did this fucker not take CPR training? Someone orders you to call 911, you call 911.
“Stop freaking out,” The clerk sets his shotgun down on the counter. “The robbers weren’t shooting silver. Alex can stop the bleeding on his own. I need to call Nathan.” The clerk leaves for the back office.
“Nathan better be a fucking doctor!” You scream after the clerk. You turn back to Alex. “Where’s your phone? I’ll call the ambulance myself!” You reach for his pocket. Alex stops you with a bloody hand. His grip is strong for someone bleeding out onto the floor. Alex lifts his shirt. You retch at the sight of his wounds. Red holes gape in his flesh and gush blood. Alex raises two bloody fingers and points them away from his eyes towards the wounds.
Watch. Alex wants you to watch. Watch him die? You stare at the wounds until a shiny object emerges from one of them. The wound expels the bullet. The bloody bullet falls to the ground with a tink. To your astonishment, it happens again with the second wound. The gaping holes seal and blood flow slows to a trickle.
Alex slackens with relief after the wound heals. He rotates his shoulder and the third bullet falls to the floor.
Unable to believe what you witnessed, your fingers probe Alex’s stomach. Besides the wash of blood on his skin, Alex is healed. “It’s like you’ve never been shot!” you observe in amazement. Alex reddens as you examine his stomach. You blush and pull your hand away. “Sorry.”
Alex replaces his shirt. He pokes his finger though a bullet hole and sighs.
“Nathan is on his way.” The clerk returns. “He’s the sheriff in case you were wondering. He’s calling the sept and bringing the kin militia.” The clerk holds up a piece of lined paper to Alex. “Was the crackhead a Fomori?”
Alex shakes his head no.
Mention of the sheriff sends your heart racing. “I killed this man.” You admit. “Uncle Greg won’t be able to bribe my way out of this mess. I just got out of jail and now I have to go back.”
“You won’t be going to jail for this, Sigrid.” The clerk says from the supply closet. He tosses a bottle of clear liquid soap to Alex. “Don’t feel bad about this waste of flesh. He was a drug addict, lost to the Wyrm. It was only a matter of time before he became a Fomori.”
Wyrm. Fomori. The clerk’s jumble of strange terms means nothing to you. “Killing is against the law.” Fear trembles in your voice. “Between this and Scott, they are going to lock me up and throw away the key.”
Alex searches for his notebook and finds it in a puddle of blood. He shakes it dry. “Sigrid. You did a good thing here.” He writes.
“You aren’t freaking out I killed someone?”
“If you didn’t kill him, I would have.” Alex writes.
“Non-kin feed themselves a bunch of bullshit so they can sit on their asses and not do anything to fix this fucked up world. Shit they let pass, pisses us off.” The clerk nods at Alex. “Some more than others.”
A tightness in your chest releases. “I thought I was a psychopath….” You admit. “All those fights and school suspensions… You are saying I’m the sane one and everyone else is crazy?”
“You are among your kin now, Sigrid.” The clerk says. “We of all people understand how you feel.”
You tear up. “I thought I was a freak.” All those years. Your mother didn’t say anything. Your father didn’t say anything. Why didn’t they tell you? You sit on the floor sobbing in relief. You weren’t crazy. You were normal. For the first time since your incident with Scott, you understand why your mother brought you here. She was bringing you home.
You feel warm fingers on your hand. Alex gives you a reassuring smile and squeezes your hand. You regain control of yourself and squeeze Alex’s hand back.
“You good?” The clerk asks. You nod and wipe away your tears. Alex lets go of your hand. “Great.” The clerk thrusts a roll of trash bags under your nose. “You can help me toss this tainted food away.”
As you help Joe the clerk, you realize he is eager to share what he knows about Crying Rock. It is not a subject he is able to talk about often. There is a veil of strict secrecy surrounding the wilderness refugee. With Alex’s reluctant help, Joe enlightens you to the mysteries of Crying Rock.
“Alex is what you call a Garou, a sacred warrior of Gaia. You know who Gaia is right?”
“Gaia is the Earth Mother. The mother of all things. She made the earth and everything on it. The Oceans are her blood. The Forest her heart. The Soil her body.” You quote your mother’s stories. You may have thought Gaia was myth until last night, but you didn’t want to seem completely clueless.
“Crying Rock is a holy site of Gaia. The Garou protect Crying Rock and we kinfolk support the Garou.”
“You aren’t Garou?” You ask Joe.
“No, there hasn’t been a Garou in my family for four generations.” Joe mops blood off the floor, leaving a scarlet smear in his wake. “Lots of Garou in your bloodline. There’s a good chance you’ll go through your first change. Probably why your momma brought you back here. Most Kinfolk who leave return when their teenage kids start raging out.”
“First change?”
Joe’s face cracks into a grin. “Oh, you don’t even know the best part.” He attracts Alex’s attention away from the now fixed camera. “Alex, show her what you can do.” Alex, embarrassed, shakes his head no. “Don’t be shy. The blinds are down and no one is going to come by.”
Alex crouches on the floor. In a blink of an eye a wolf stands before you. The wolf with black fur bespeckled with brown. You stare at Alex, mouth agape. Familiar golden eyes stare back.
“Shit! That was you!” Alex nods, a strangely human gesture on a wolf. He changes back into a human and stands up. “Miss Anne told me to keep an eye on you while you were running. It was too hot to run, but she figured it would burn off some rage.” He writes.
“You can turn into a wolf…. That is so cool!” You are impressed. Why would your parents keep this from you? Your mother made it sound like something awful happens at Crying Rock. “You like a werewolf or something.”
“We prefer the term Garou.” Alex writes.
“You think that’s cool,” Joe leans against his mop, enjoying your reaction to Alex’s shapeshifting. “you should see the War form. Wolfman, like the movies. Alex, grow big!” Joe raises his thick arms and makes claw motions with his fingers.
Uncomfortable of being Joe’s show dog, Alex shakes his head no. “He can show me later.” you say.
“Come on. The place is closed up. No one is going to come by…” As Joe says this, the door chimes. The sound of police radio precedes a man dressed in black sheriff’s uniform. The sheriff stops short when he sees the ruin of the store. When his eyes land on Alex, he unconsciously rests his hand near his gun. The Sheriff must fall under ‘Kinfolk scared of Alex.’ Alex tenses, eyes never leaving the sheriff’s.
Realizing what he did, the Sheriff backs down and forces himself to relax. Alex turns away and folds up the ladder. The Sheriff folds his arms across his chest and turns his attention to the clerk. “Joe, what the fuck are you doing? Why are you standing here gabbing when you should be cleaning this place up?”
“Yes, sir.” Joe mops with renewed industry.
You return to throwing bloody food into trash bags. “Not you girl.” Your heart pounds when the cop addresses you. The others could be wrong. The Sheriff could be here to arrest you. To your relief, the Sheriff says. “It’s Joe’s job to clean up this mess.”
You stand and wipe your hands on your shorts. The Sheriff notices your disheveled state and lack of shoes. “Alex, you do a Rite of Cleansing on her yet?”
Alex, ladder in hand, freezes at the Sheriff’s renewed attention. Shit, Alex is more scared of the Sheriff than the Sheriff is of Alex. Alex shakes his head no to the Sheriff's question.
“Five Claws is coming by. You think you better get her cleaned up before he arrives?” The Sheriff suggests. He does not out right give Alex an order.
Alex picks up the liquid soap Joe gave him earlier. He plucks a camp cup off of a distant shelf and squeezes soap into it. The roots of your hair tingle as you watch Alex’s fingers dance over the cup. As Alex performs the ceremony, your inability to understand his signs frustrates you. You’ll have to learn sign language as soon as you can. Alex dips a finger into the cup. He draws glyphs with the soap on your forehead, hands, and over your heart. After each mark, he makes more signs.
“You need running water to complete the rite.” Alex writes in his notebook. “Go take a shower and I’ll find you clean clothes.”
“Wait,” You reach for his arm, but stop short of grabbing his wrist. You don’t want to smear the soap markings. “Are you a shaman or something?” You point at the glyph on your palm.
“I am a Theurge, one born under the Crescent Moon.” Alex writes. “It is my Auspice, my place in Garou Society. “
What Moon were you born under?
- Full Moon (Ahroun, the Warrior) - Those born under the full moon are called Ahrouns. The Full Moon makes a Ahroun the living weapon of Gaia. They are the warrior among a race of warriors, the champion of a martial people. Ever ready to kill, and to die if need be. Ahrouns often lead during times of war. Within a pack, Ahrouns take charge in the midst of battle and protect their packmates.
- Gibbous Moon (Galliard, the Bard) - Those born under the Gibbous Moon are called Galliards. The Galliard sings the soul of the Garou. They are the voice of the People, calling them to battle and inspiring them to greatness in life and in death. They are also keepers of traditions, carrying the lore of tribes all the way back to the beginning. Within the pack, Galliards stir the emotions of their packmates. They represent their pack to the rest of the Garou.
- Half Moon (Philodox, the Judge) - Those born under the Half moon are called Philodox. Philodox are the counselors, mediators, and law-keepers of the Garou Nation. They advise Ahrouns in time of war and often lead during times of peace. Within the pack, Philodox ensure the pack acts according to the Laws of the Garou. They settle any disputes among pack members.
- Crescent Moon (Theurge, the Shaman) - Those born under the crescent moon are called Theurges. Theurges are seers and shamans who understand the spirits and their ways. They have the gift of insight and act as intermediaries between their pack and the spirits. Within the pack, Theurges act as guides in the Spirit world, perform rites, and acts as healers.
- New Moon (Ragabash, the Trickster) - Those born under the new moon are called Ragabash. Ragabash play the role of the contrary, questioning tradition to find the wisest path. They are questioners and tricksters who stalk the Wyrm with Guile and Cunning. Within the pack, Ragabash act as scouts or assassins. They track their packs’ quarry or guide the pack away from danger.
Out of Character Commentary
I'll admit to cheating by making Alex a Theurge. My last quest character was a sorcerer who acted as an intermediary with spirits and gods, so I don't want to retread the same ground with Sigrid.
Out of Character Commentary
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eura
Unlucky Member
We've been combat so far so I'm gonna say Full moon. I could see an argument for Half-moon though.