>>> Crossbones Squadron /02...

SORTIE:02

Morose and cholic

The void freezes the blood cold

Bitter war blossoms.

Zetsubou

Wolfhound-class prototype Mech-Armour

<< in communication with >>

Conference Room

USNS Haephaestus
Forge-class patrol carrier

Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey

Avril 21^st, 2213

0635 hours Shipboard Time [SBT]

“You. Are. Completely. MAD!”

“I did warn you, Ice,” came the reply as he exhaled a gust of smoke. It swirled and faded as the recycling filters silently kicked in. “A week's notice, actually. It went pretty alright, all things considered.”

“I'm not one of your pilots any more, Commander,” snapped Antione. “And you could've been killed and your Mech – which is more valuable than you, I might add - turned into so much scrap. Damn it, Smoke, we were using live rounds for everything.”

“Blah-blah-blah. Then write me up and put me on charges, Ice. It's not like they'll take me away to rot on Charon or Uranus. I'd choose Charon, though, heard Uranus frackin' stinks. ”

He shrugged as a conference chair flew at the screen and bounced off the ceiling, clattering loudly to the floor. More smoke was exhaled as he scratched at his forehead under his rolled up balaclava. How on earth did she manage that? Those things are bolted to the deck! He leaned back in his seat, poker-faced, as the XO Antione stood quivering with fists clenched and glaring at him through the screen.

“Commander, could you please take this seriously?”

The quiet tones of the Captain Theorés Rafael Harlington broke the deadlock between Antione and Smoke. Smoke shifted his attention and addressed the captain.

“Sir. I am.”

“Explain yourself then, Commander.”

“Aye, Sir. The ship's crew needs to be drilled and tested. Ice has handled the drill and practice, but they've had no test. Loading dummy rounds and sensors will give the crew warning which then defeats the purpose of a test as well as, more importantly, leaving us momentarily defenceless in the case of a sudden assault by hostiles. We're still in contested territory. Sir.”

The captain nodded slightly, a finger tracing the line of his moustache. Smoke had couched his answer in understated, political correct speech for the benefit of the recording devices. He's learning, that's good, thought the captain.

“But still, Commander, it was a reckless move. You endangered your life and the sanctity of your machine.”

“Acceptable risk, Sir.”

“You are not just a pilot any more, Smoke. You lead the entire squadron,” interjected Antione in admonishment. The captain sighed.

“Well aware of that, Ice. Contingency plan was for you or Panzer to take over until a replacement can be found. IF I died, that is.”

“Oh, so you thought of everything, did you?”

The captain pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. If he wasn't already sitting in a chair, he would've sat down on the floor. Mother did tell me that there'd be days like this. He sighed again.

“Well, I do try to cover all the bases.”

“Well, COVER THIS!”

Another conference chair flew through the air, right through the holographic screen and crashed against a wall. Smoke didn't even flinch, instead just raising an eyebrow. She is well and truly pissed off, I'm lucky that I ain't there. And seriously, though, how the hell is she throwing those chairs?

“This ship and its crew needs you and your machine in one piece. Your squadron needs you. You can't keep risking your life recklessly and without a thought or care, damn it!”

Antione was screaming, fists balled so tight that the knuckles were going white. Her nails bit into her palm, breaking the skin. Smoke and the captain sat quietly as she raged, berating Smoke. Finally, almost spent, she asked in a hoarse voice, “Smoke, for frack's sake, why do you keep doing things like this, constantly throwing yourself in harm's way?”

Smoke replied laconicallly, almost inaudible, “Because I'm a combat pilot... and I've been living on borrowed time for far too long.”

Smoke cut the connection before either his captain or XO could reply, switching back to First-Person-Flying as the VR-HUD plates of his helmet extended once again to encase his face.

“For far too long while good people die all around me,” he said, his voice filled with morose and melancholy.

Quickly typing a short flight order, he beamed it back to the Haephaestus. He exhaled slowly, flicking his cigarette stub away, and rolled his head around his shoulders, hearing a satisfying crick. Firing his thrusters, he rocketed up and over the asteroid whose surface he'd been cruising across.

In the zero-gravity of his cockpit, the stub of his cigarette tumbled in place.

---

Ground Crew Offices

USNS Haephaestus

Forge-class patrol carrier

0640 hours Shipboard Time [SBT]

The dark-skinned redhead flicked the remote's buttons, rewinding the holo-video of Smoke's flight through the gauntlet of the Haephaestus' defense batteries. Her mouth was pressed tightly together as she watched the replay.

She flicked another button, pausing the video. Manipulating the little joystick on the remote, she zoomed in closer for a view of Smoke's Mech. Her mouth moved silently as she noticed the crystallised shards trailing behind the machine.

Zooming further in and adjusting the resolution, she saw the minute fractures and fissures that were spread like multiple latticed webs throughout the lower right leg, lost amongst the furrows dug by flak. And the dark colour of the fluids that were slowly leaking through and crystallising in the vacuum.

Xell flung the remote as she ran out the door, screaming for Panzer.

---

Bridge, The Johannes Run

Mule-class cargo hauler

Jovian Coreward Trade Run

Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey

0644 hours Shipboard Time [SBT]

The crew clung onto their seats and consoles as the ship shuddered, the tortured groans of the ship's hull filling their ears.

“She honestly can't take much more of this, Cap'n!”

“Terribly cliched, Mister Fisk, terribly cliched,” came the calm, cold reply.

“Even so, Cap'n, even so, it's the still the fracking truth!”

A shrill shriek and the smell of singed meat filled the bridge until the ventilators kicked in and cycled the air. “Now, remember what I've said about propriety, Mister Fisk. I will not have any foul mouths aboard this vessel.”

The rest of the bridge crew stared at the smoking form of Fisk, the damage control officer. The electroshock had burned him badly, cooking his skin from underneath as the spike had buried itself an inch under his skin before it triggered. But he was still alive. Barely. A crewman quickly carried him off the bridge, while another rushed to take his place.

“Except my bloody own, of course.”

It was a strange moment, the battle raging outside overshadowed by the act of cruel 'discipline'. Time crawled to a halt. The trembling and shuddering of the ship went unnoticed in . Armillo Thrann, captain of the Johannes Run, smiled coldly and steepled his fingers together. He sank deeper into his plush throne in the center of the bridge. His eyes washed slowly over the comely communications officer.

“Miss Emett, please do tell me that someone has responded to our distress transmission.”

The petite redhead at the communications station swallowed, a cold knot of fear tightening in her stomach. Her mouth was dry and she could barely speak. She spat out in a squeak, “No, captain, not at this time!”

She clutched the sides of her station as the ship shuddered violently and listed to the port. Several of the bridge crew fell out of their seats while a few clung white-knuckled to their stations.

Armillo breathed out noisily, his frustration evident on his face as his fingers dug into the arms of his throne.

“This is rather trying for business.”

---

Port Cargo Module

The Johannes Run

Mule-class cargo hauler

Jovian Coreward Trade Run

Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey

“Godddamm-URRRGH!”

Flight Officer Zenna Marsalas cried out in pain as she was sent crashing into a stack of plasticrates by the latest violent shudder as the Johannes Run fired its manoeuvre thrusters wildly. She pushed herself up, coughing and gasping for breath.

She shook her head and swore when she got her breath back. She looked up and saw her ground crew strewn across the hold like broken dolls. All of them wore their combat EVA suits, prepared for decompression in case of a hull breach. The ship's artificial gravity was still active and the hold was still pressurised, contrary to combat regulations.

These factors were not doing the suited up spacers any favours.

In the momentary calm of the straining ship, they scrambled for handholds, anything that would keep them upright.

Zenna had just wrapped her hand around a cargo restraint when the ship lurched again, sending one of her ground crew careening into her. Both of them went down in a heap, her arm pulled and stretched agonisingly at the socket.

Blinking back tears, she cursed and swore.

---

Starboard Cargo Module

The Johannes Run

Mule-class cargo hauler

Jovian Coreward Trade Run

Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey

More cursing and swearing was being conducted in the opposite hold.

Valkyrie Flight's ground crew were scrambling for handholds and cover as its three pilots watched on from their cockpits. They'd been unpacking and assembling their Mechs just before the ship's erratic manoeuvring had begun. The ground crew had been working feverishly to certify the Mechs fit for operation.

But unless the ship's captain de-pressurised the hold, they were stuck.

They were just spectators.

And inaction didn't sit well with them.

---

... being the second chapter.

>>> Crossbones Squadron /01...

SORTIE:01

Burning always burning

Molten sphere of rage within

Waiting explosion.

Crew Quarters, USNS Hepahestus

Forge-class patrol carrier

Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey

Avril 21^st, 2213

0630 hours Shipboard Time [SBT]

Smoke cursed aloud as his head smashed into the top of his bunk. Clutching his aching head, he took in the collection of memorabilia affixed to the walls and ceiling.

And the slumped, sleeping forms of his mostly female ground crew in various stages of undress, some still clutching their poker hands. Must’ve been quite a party, he thought.

Too bad I don’t remember any of it.

He scanned the cabin for the cause of his current headache. His eyes narrowed to slits as he found it.

He threw a pillow at the shrilly beeping 21^st century alarm clock, only accomplishing a muffled trill.

He sighed heavily.

Gently removing the tattooed arm that was draped across his hips, he swung out of his bunk. “Sorry, Xell, I’ll see you when I get back,” he whispered as he bent and kissed the redhead softly on her forehead.

Stretching, he muttered, “Damn.”

He grabbed his flight suit off of a rail and slipped out, quiet as a ghost. As the hatch slid shut with a soft hiss, the pillow flopped to the floor.

The alarm wailed out anew.

- - -

He flicked his smoldering cigarette and watched it tumble through the zero-gee of the hangar module. Smiling thinly, he slipped his skull-and-crossbones emblazoned balaclava over his head.

He kicked off the floor and floated upwards towards his Mech’s cockpit. He put out his right arm as he neared the opened hatch. He gripped the edge of the hatch and swung himself in, twisting to face the other way as he landed in the seat.

He donned his helmet as the hatches sealed. Screens and gauges came to life as he flipped the switches, bringing his machine to life. His helmet hissed softly as the side- and top-plates slid out, covering his face as the holo-projectors lit up, creating a VR Heads-Up Display.

His right eye flared blue as the cybernetic combat system built into his optics activated, revealing the ‘V’ shaped optical slit.

<<PLEASE ENTER VOCAL AUTHORIZATION CODES>>, scrolled the letters across his HUD screen.

“Kakurenbo,” he whispered, softly. “Victor-Yankee-Kilo-Niner-Niner-Three-Romeo, Lieutenant Commander Vinzent Azraleodias-Dubois, callsign Smokescreen.”

<<ACKNOWLEDGED, COMMANDER, WELCOME ABOARD>>

“Good to be aboard, buddy,” he said into the empty air, sinking into the well padded seat.

A faint ping and violet glow announced the appearance of a feminine face with flowing hair framed in the top right corner of his screen. Smoke stifled a groan. Of his two AIs, this was the one that had the better ability to 'read' him.

Of course, considering that we’d based her off my dead fiancée, why shouldn’t she be able to</i>, he thought with a pang. Yet he quipped, “Ho, Valkyrie of my Heart, how goes the electronic life?”

“Save the charm, you horrible boy,” came back the sultry voice of his AI. “You’ve barely slept and it’s obvious you’re not in a good mood. Couldn't you have traded your flight with someone else?”

He laughed, a soft chuckle. “I can't do that, now can I, Vyky? Have to be a proper role model and show a good example. So, how’s the old boy?”

“The old boy, as you put it, is fine. All systems green and weapons loaded. Ready whenever you are, Commander.”

“Thanks, Vyky,” he replied with a cheeky smile behind his mask. “Somebody's going to hate me in the morning.”

Vyky looked horrified, “Commander! You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

- - -

Bridge, USNS Hepahestus

Forge-class patrol carrier

“Sir, I’m registering a sudden decompression in hangar module 1, pod 5.”

The XO, Antione Jazareth, turned around sharply and asked, dreading the answer, “Whose machine is in that hangar?”

“Commander Dubois’, sir,” answered Ensign Pomela Andretti, a Venusian volunteer assigned to the bridge crew. Which had been in spite of her protests, Antione noted inwardly with a grimace. “Bulkheads are sealed, logs indicate 10 minutes before the event of decompression. Detecting and reading IFF now, sir, the Commander is in flight and, erm, oh, dear.”

“What is it, Ensign?”

“He, er, erm, he seems to be heading straight for us, sir. Err, directly at the bridge, sir,” came the nervous reply. Several of the bridge crew exchanged puzzled looks.

The XO held her face in her palm, frustration radiating off her in waves.

“What the frack is he doing!?”

- - -

Zetsubou

Wolfhound-class prototype Mech-Armour

You are the machine, and the machine is you.

A shiver ran down his spine as the thought ran through his mind, the voice of his old flight instructor ringing clearly through his head. He blinked and shook his head.

He sped through space, skimming barely inches above the hull, his fingers drawing sparks as they brushed against the armor plating. He felt a tingle in the tips of his meat fingers.

Meat is weak. Steel is strength. Draw strength from the Steel into your Meat.

In his head, his flight instructor, an 'ancient' of the fabled Steeled Fists’ squadrons of Earth, droned on. Fine, fine, old man. And now I’m almost half Steel, so I hope that you’re bloody happy, his inner thoughts snapped at the recalled words.

As he gazed ahead through his electronic eyes, he saw the bridge beginning to retract into the hull.

He threw his throttle open as he rolled left, his thrusters flaring. He accelerated, head up and looking straight, closing the distance as the bridge seemed to speed up its descent. He twitched a finger, and an audio track, a rousing mesh of 19^th century classical and 20^th century heavy metal, roared out into the air of his cockpit. His two AIs looked on with frowns.

He grinned behind his mask, the skin-hugging cloth stretching slightly.

Lookie, lookie, the Big Bad Wolf's come out to play, kiddies.

- - -

Bridge, USNS Hepahestus

Forge-class patrol carrier

Antione stood in the middle of the bridge, quivering with her anger and balled, white-knuckled fists. She spat a curse as she realized that the bridge would not be fully retracted in time.

“Comms, get that maniac on the horn. And someone wake up the Captain now. Engineering, can you please speed up the bridge's descent,” she barked. “Tactical, what exactly is he playing at?”

“I believe he's playing a rather dangerous game of tag, my dear XO.”

She spun around and found herself staring at the chest of the ship's captain and standing way too close to him for her own comfort. She held back a surprised gasp and stepped back quickly, snapping off a salute. How had he got on the bridge with no one knowing!?

“Sir, I,” she began, and floundered as the captain waved her off in a dismissive manner.

“Do what you must, Anti, I'm just here to observe.”

Lips pressed thin, she turned back to Tactical and gave her orders. The crew went to work after a second's pause, their training kicking in despite any misgivings that they harboured. Their movements and actions were quick and efficient. Antione looked on with pride and then turned her attention to the view-screen that displayed the recalcitrant Mech.

She stood ramrod straight with a fingertip to her lips as she murmured, “If you want to play, you daft idiot, I can play right back.”

- - -

Zetsubou

Wolfhound-class prototype Mech-Armour

The bright lances of lasers and the tracer trails of solid projectiles crossed space, weapon turrets tracking the swiftly moving Mech.

Ignoring the comms alerts and proximity warnings, he concentrated on slipping through the fields of withering fire. He'd had already weathered the initial wave of weapons fire, shrapnel having left furrows in his lower legs. “Score one for the Home Team,” he thought out loud. “But I only need to score once.”

His eyes narrowed to slits, the glow of his artificial eye brightening. He danced his machine across the void, spinning, flipping and somersaulting but maintaining his forward trajectory.

Turrets swung round, muzzles spitting death. He zagged left, then rolled up and over, coming down in a loop from another track that led in from the bridge's starboard side. A battery of missiles fired, their payload rushing towards him with corkscrew contrails. He spun sideways, feinting a dive and then pulled up hard, accelerating. He swung round in a shallow fish-hook, spinning and rolling as the missiles gave chase. His eyes swept his HUD, small reticles appearing over the approaching swarm.

“Aw, crap. I should never have suggested that Seeker payload as a defensive measure!”

The swarm drove into him, the explosions lighting up the void.

- - -

Bridge, USNS Hepahestus

Forge-class patrol carrier

Some of the bridge crew gasped, not completely comprehending the . An ensign stood up from his station, hands planted on his console with disbelief on his face. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Status report!” barked Antione, cutting off the ensign.

“N-no trace of IFF, sir,” replied Pomela, shaken by the event. “But the Seekers' explosions may be interfering with the scan of that sub-section of space, sir.”

“Visual. I need a visual!”

“Lenses are still blinded by the Seekers' mass detonation, sir, they're compensating. Compliance in under thirty seconds,” came the reply from Tactical.

“Goddammit, someone get me a visual confirmation of the kill! Can we run weapon-cam playback?”

“Working on it, sir, running through the vidfeeds now.”

Antione held her arms crossed in front of her chest, solemn and serious. She stared at the armoured shutters of the bridge.

“Wind back the shutters, lads, but continue the bridge's descent.”

Antione glanced askance at the Captain. “Sir?”

“Old school method visual confirmation, my dear, we do it by eyeball,” said the Captain, holding up a pair of ancient binoculars. Must have be one of those presents that that idiot found on one of his 'treasure hunting' trips, thought Antione with a touch of irritation.

She spun around when she heard a gasp rise from the bridge crew. The rescinding shutters revealed a massive dissipating cloud of dissipating smoke.

Which in turn revealed glimpses of a pair of glowing optics set in a scorched and blistered stylized wolf's head. With the smoke wafting off it, it truly looked like a monster out of a fairy tale. The bridge went still as a grave, the crew almost glued in place, some halfway out of their seats.

Then, suddenly, a metal finger flicked out and tapped the viewport, a bell-like sound ringing softly through the bridge.

The comms system pinged once and the speakers spoke.

“Tag, you're It.”

---

... being the first chapter.

>>> Crossbones Squadron /00...

SORTIE:00

Through brightest nightmares

Escape from reality

Within darkest dreams.

Dripping with sweat and blood trickling down his face, he opened his remaining eye.

Through his cracked visor, he looked out at the cockpit.

His cockpit.

It was bathed in the crimson glow of warning lights. Alarm klaxons wailed, viewscreens crackled with static and frantic comms-net traffic competed for his attention. And yet, above the chaotic din, he heard the sibilant hiss of leaking atmosphere.

He sighed and looked down at the simple two-dee picprint of his fiancee affixed to his dashboard by a piece of chewed gum. The ghostly echo of her last words rang in his ears. He plucked it from its place and gazed at the woman he had loved through tearing eyes.

Then, surrealistically, the picprint began to fragment and dissolve. He blinked and his fingers held nothing, the last fragments winking out of existence.

As the collision proximity alarm shrieked, his eye snapped up to his last operating viewscreen. The bulk of an escort carrier filled the screen, details becoming larger as the seconds passed.

His target.

He sprang into action, juking and jinking his already battered Mech as the escort carrier's point defenses opened up, solid projectiles and laserbeams crisscrossing space, slashing up towards him.

A laserbeam sheared off his Mech's left leg. Solid shot peppered his mecha's frame, gouging and shattering armour plating. The reactor was pierced by shrapnel, venting atmosphere and reaction mass like a glittering cloak of stardust.

The operating systems shut down, his last viewscreen winked out, his life support faded with the hum of the 'cyclers and his flight controls froze.

Trapped by momentum and inertia, his Mech was locked in a fatal, suicidal dive towards the carrier.

Gripping the useless controls, he shut his eye with a scream on his lips.

---

... being a prologue of sorts.

>>> A recipe for...

A Rainy Afternoon for Two
As Arranged within the Humble
Domicile of a Young Lady
in the Business of Education

Ingredients:
1 human, young male
1 couch, plush
1 table, low coffee
weekend, late afternoon
rain, heavy downpour
books, stack of
cushions, plump
Note: Young male should be of a teddy-bear like consistency.

Directions:

1. Cushions should be arranged to your satisfaction prior to the rainstorm.
   Place stack of [well-read] books (eg. novels of various genres) in a semi-untidy fashion at the foot of the couch's armrest.
   Pull the low coffee table closer. Place scripts for marking & scoring in neat stacks and within easy reach upon the tabletop.
2. Position young male of your choice in the corner of the sofa at an almost 45° angle. (As long as it is a comfortable angle for you, it should work.) 
3. Arrange the young male so that it is easy for you to sit or lean against him on the couch. Place a book in his hand so that he can occupy himself and not have his hands touching you inappropriately.
   However, any inappropriateness or increased intimacy is at your discretion.
4. Prepare² two mugs of hot cocoa or a pot of your own home-made tea blend¹ (or a commercially available blend that contains chamomile). Place beverages within easy reach upon the tabletop.
   1 Creating and/or making your own tea blend is a nice, cultured activity for a young lady and gentleman to engage in, if they so choose.
   2 You may employ the young man to prepare your preferred beverage if you so wish.
5. Once all your preparations are done, pour yourself onto the couch into a position of leaning against the young man. Fold the unoccupied arm against your personage as you desire.
6. Proceed to enjoy beverages, the young man's company and perform or ignore the marking of scripts (or other educational tasks) as you will and see fit.

... a lovely rain-filled afternoon.

>> Even in this urban jungle...

"AH, my lord, you enquire after his righteous and most loved personage, Our Guardian General, the ever honourable Kyobeimaru Koning? The Thundering Hammer of the Golden Heavens, March Lord of the Demon Hundred's Parade, Lord Guardian General of the Azure Jade Lions Emerald Court, known as Ten-Roaring-Bells-at-Daybreak, he is truly a hero amongst heroes, the General Kyobeimaru-sama is our stalwart titan who leads from the front and the embodiment of our two hemispheres working together in harmony against the End. A giant of financial strength and a greatly respected individual for his work in law enforcement, he is a paragon of virtue in this humble court. Even with silver showing in his flowing mane of gold, he is still unhurt and unbowed by the travails of time. His is a long and epic saga which would take many turns of Her Holy Empress Luna to recount, my lords and ladies. His Deed-name and Titles are more than well-earned and warranted, from his time in the wilds of Afrika, to his wanderings in the Mad West and through the Emerald Wilds of Asia from the Land of the Rising Sun. And, now, there he stands at Kereihime-sama's right hand... Do you wish to discuss some private matter with his august person, my lord? I, ever your humble servant, could attempt to arrange a private audience with the Lord General, if you so wish..."
-- Gotetsu Ayari, Ashes-in-the-Waves, Courtier of the Azure Jade Lion Emerald Court

Kyobeimaru Koning, Ten-Roaring-Bells-at-Daybreak

Simba Daylight Homid, Hengeyokai

Thundering Hammer of the Golden Heavens,
March Lord of the Demon Hundreds' Parade,
Guardian General of the Azure Jade Lion Emerald Court

Alpha(N) / Confidant(D)

Bon Bhat (5) / Silver Fist (5)

Willpower 9 | Rage 9 | Gnosis 10

Physical 18
Social 16 | neg: cynical
Mental 17

Academics, Athletics x3, Awareness x3, Brawl x5, Craft (Woodcarving) x2, Dodge x5, Drive, Empathy x2, Enigmas x3, Etiquette x4, Expression x2, Finance x3, Firearms x3, Intimidation x3, Investigation x3, Leadership x4, Lingusitics x2, Meditation (T), Melee x5, Occult x2, Politics x3, Rituals x2, Security x3, Stealth x3, Streetwise, Subterfuge x2, Survival, Tactics x4.

Allies x3, Contacts x3, Den-Realm x1, Fame x2, Fetish x7, Secrets x3, Totem (Mantis) x3.

Finance x5, Media x2, Police x5, Street x3, Underworld x3.

Perfect Protocol (m1), Calm Heart (m2), Graceful (m2), Huge Size (m4).

(1) [Bastet] Catfeet, Cat Claws, Cat Sight, Command Attention, First Slash, Lick Wounds, Razor Claws, Shriek, [Beast Courts] Blaze Talons, Courtly Speech, Create Element, Mindspeak, Sense Imbalance, [Simba] Armor of Kings, Majesty, (3) [Bastet] Attunement, Clawstorm, Ignore Pain, Impala's Flight, Spitfire, Wolf's Terror, [Beast Courts] Part the Wall, Walking Dreams of Unity, [Simba] Fireroar, (5) [Bastet] Soothe/Summon Storm, [Simba] Rising Sun.

Knows all Common Rites of the Beast Courts and most of the rites associated with the Bastet. At the STs' discretion.

Notes:
* Doom's Melodious Chimes : (Level 6, Gnosis 8) Fetish Weapon, macestaff, counts as a Grand Klaive. Koning's weapon and symbol of office is as long as the average human is tall, which is roughly 6', and resembles an unspiked medieval morningstar. Its head is a solid sphere with ten shaallow 'wells' bored into it. Suspended inside each well is a clear jade bell. The tapering shaft is made of Japanese white oak with silver engravings along its length and wrapped in fine black and white silk. Just a half inch below where the shaft meets the head is tied an intricately knotted charm of red cord. This unique fetish weapon is inhabited by no less than three great Wisdom spirits: Thunderous-Roar-Upon-Earth (Storm), Font-of-Battle's-Blood (War) and Spectre-From-The-Darkess (Death). These three spirits may physically manifest within 30' of the grand klaive, and may actually affect the physical realm in any way should they so choose. They also form a part of his War Councils, providing advice and insight when needed.
The Doom's Melodious Chimes grants five bonus Traits in combat, inflicts two extra levels of aggravated damage and possess two powers, of which the wielder may use only one once per scene:
- the Heaven's Cacophonous Roar, which is activated by either slamming the butt into the ground or by swinging the macestaff in a full circle, that emulates the Shriek gift but in the form of a thunderclap and, in addition, stuns people within 6' of the wielder for a number of turns equal to half the wielder's Gnosis.
- the Abyss' Muted Scream, which can be activated by striking an enemy which will trigger a contested challenge using Gnosis to part the enemy from its soul. If the wielder is successful, the target dies instantly from a lightning strike and a Shriek is produced that affects all within 3 paces of the target. If the wielder is unsuccessful, he will take equal damage to what he has inflicted upon his target
The three spirits who inhabit the macestaff are of Incarnae levels, so STs please use your own discretion for their stats.

*Perfect Protocol (1-pt merit) : refer to MET: Way of the Beast Courts pg 118.

*Graceful (2-pt Merit) : refer to MET: Changing Breeds 1 pg 164.

... you still don't mess with a Lion.

posted from Bloggeroid

>> A skilled sniper...

The target was standing at the edge of the crowd around the makeshift stage, bopping her head to the heavy beat of the growling band. In her small hands, she held a massive but aged SLR camera. The kids in the crowd had parted for her earlier like she was some sort of royalty or rock star. 

Either that or perhaps the people were just instinctively afraid of her true nature. Intel said differently, though, having read out that she was positioned highly "in the scene".

Smiling unnaturally wide, he vocalised into the mic as he casually touched his ear. "Target spotted."

A hiss of static followed by a sibilant whisper, "Stay on target."

Nodding, he slipped further into the shadows, hands sinking deep into his pockets. His smile stretched ear to ear, flesh splitting bloodlessly and yellowed serrated teeth showing through.

---

She felt tired.

So tired that her camera felt it was going to pull her to the ground and keep her there. She yawned and blinked. Her clothes were sticking to her body and she felt perspiration trickling down her back and face.

Slinging her camera around her shoulder, she walked leisurely out of the small bar which was holding the gig. Yet again, the crowd parted for her. Once upon a time, that would have made her feel really smug, but not now, not tonight. 

Not for a while, in fact.

Once outside, she fished out a battered pack of cigs from her jacket pocket. Sighing, she pulled a stick out and placed it in the corner of her mouth. She sighed again, deeply. Am I getting too old for this or what?, she wondered as she looked up into the sky while leaning against a wall. She stayed like that for a while, her cig getting soggy as it hung from her lips. A couple of kids came out for the air, giving her a wide berth and space. She ignored them, finally lighting up.

Blowing out a stream of smoke, she felt a chill travel down her spine. She rotated her neck, hearing a satisfying creak, while her eyes slowly looked around. She felt someone watching her, like there was a target board hanging around her neck.

She pushed away from the wall and stretched. Yawning, she strolled down a ways to the entrance of an alleyway. Casually looking to her left and then her right, she cocked her head to one side as she exhaled a thick puff of smoke. Sighing again, she walked into the darkness of the alleyway.

A dark figure followed shortly behind, slipping in and out of the shadows, followed by an unusual couple. The couple acted like they were in heat and virtually slithered into the alleyway.

Several pairs of glowing eyes looked on into the alleyway from the shadow cast by the roof of the bar.

This night was about to get bloody.

---

Even if being decked out in the unusual ensemble of silver necklaces, thigh-length cheongsam, fur-trimmed leather hooded jacket, brass knuckle rings, skin-tight dark Cheap Mondays and a pair of industrial Doc Marts wasn't a giveaway, her multi-colored streaked side-fringe, long jet black hair and petite size would be.

This scene queen is famous locally not only for her unique sense of style and presence at every music event & venue but her amazing photographic skills and her loud, outspoken support of the LGBT community & women's rights.

This pugnacious li'l firecracker doesn't talk about her past before her Rite of Passage much, if at all. She clams up if ever asked, some claiming she looks haunted when pressed for details about herself. Grapevine has it that she's an orphan or an abandoned teen who lived around and grew up in the local music scene. There are some other far-fetched stories circulating around the local septs, but it's been chalked up to too much imagination and free time among the younger crowd.

To her, it doesn't matter where she's been and who she was, only that she's here now.

And she ain't going anywhere till the Fat Wyrm sings its last.

[Tsoi] Mei Lien, Flash-at-Dawn

Scene Queen Photojournalist

Black Fury Galliard Homid

Visionary(N) / Rebel(D)

Cliath (1)

Willpower 3 | Rage 4 | Gnosis 2

Physical 5 | neg: lethargic

Social 5 | neg: awkward

Mental 7 | neg: impatient

Brawl, Craft (Camera: Analog), Dodge, Etiquette, Expression (Photography) x3, Language (Cantonese), Performance (Guitar: Acoustic), Performance (Singing) x2, Streetwise, Subterfuge

Contacts x2, Fame x1, Fetish x2 (Camera Obscura), Resources x2

Influence (Media) x2

Dark Secret (f1), Petite (f1), Short Fuse (f2)

(1) Persuasion, Mindspeak, Heightened Senses

Note:
* Negative trait awkward is a lesser version of the negative trait shy.

* Fetish - Camera Obscura: (Level 2, Gnosis 5) The Camera Obscura is a vintage analog camera that's used to detect spirits and other invisible creatures. These rare artifacts are inhabited, and powered, by either an owl-spirit, death-related spirit or, Gaia forbid, an actual wraith. Flash-at-Dawn lovingly crafted hers with a combination of a titanium frame, mahongany veneers carved with roses and ivory inlays as well as charming the owl-spirit into service. Once this fetish is activated, the user can use its viewfinder to see any spirits and other such normally invisible creatures in the area for the duration of the scene. It cannot see through walls and other forms of thick barriers. However, on a critical success, the user may be able to peer into the Umbra.

* Flaw - Petite : Short, Vampire: the Masquerade page 297.

... with a phos-bright camera-flash.

>> From a statement of time...

"2219"

Welcome to the Year 2219.

The world has changed a lot since you were put on ice and spaced up.

It's been broken down into two super-powers: the Euromerican Alliance in the Western Hemisphere and the Pacifica Conglomerate in the Eastern Hemisphere.

Euromerica is not so much an alliance as it is one large federalized union of nation-states dominated by the nation-descendant of the 21st century USA.

The Conglomerate is a representative oligarchy, since the countries of Asia and Australasia Privatized, transforming into corp-nations.

The Yangtze Syndicate and Jai-Hind Megacorp have the largest blocs of voting power on the Oligarchical Council, but Singapura Tech (SingTech for short) and Nippon Foundries own the technologies that every nation uses.

The region originally known as the Middle-East is now known as the Desert Emirates, aligned with neither side and stubbornly holding on to neutrality. The militaristic Emirate of Israestine, the end result of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict, maintains its grip on its territory, including the area surrounding the Suez Canal, and resists the predations of the other Emirates.

Russia's been broken down by severe economic pressure & downturn, orchestrated by the pre-privatisation Pan-Asian Bloc, industrial sabotage, internal strife caused by dissenters, agent provacateurs & rebels, the Chechen Problem coming home to roost, "Siberiarization" - the freak Ice Age that hit poor Mother Russia - and the Bratva Russkya hostile takeover of the government nearly a century ago.

Whatever's left of Russia is actually the physical landmass of Siberia, which currently stretches up to Irkutsk and is now the Corpnation of the Russo-Cyberian Enclave.

The Russian Steppes are home to nomads and vast underground warrens, neither side able to claim them wholesale due to the presence of the Kossacks and their underground dwelling Kohl Black allies. Therefore, both sides had to be satisfied to leave it as a buffer zone.

Africa is mostly desert and grassland, its countries having dissolved into supposed anarchy or gone 'wild', its people returning to feudal or nomadic ways.

Except for the remains of South Africa, Namibia, Lesotho, Swaziland, Mozambique & Madagascar and some of surrounding islands which now make up the arcological ecopolises of the Afrikaan Republic.

There are a lot of possibilities for making cred and earning rep, regardless which side of the line you choose, mate.

Unless you choose to be one of the Greys, which is another story by itself.

So, let's get you cleaned up and looking good for the world, ey...


Sent from Catch Notes for Android
https://catch.com


... came a whole idea for a world.

>> Sing a song or two...

The following two lyric sets were written/composed for the small group role-playing the members of the Gaia's Tears Rock Band pack. This was just for flavour and fun.

Enjoy.

Our Mother

Gaia's Tears

Spoken:
Can You Hear it?
Our Mother, She's Crying...
Can You Hear It?
Our Mother, She's Weeping...
Can You Hear It?
Our Mother, She's Crying Out for Help.

Neglected, Uncared for, Unloved
By Her Children, and Generations beyond
None Believed, None Saw the Truth for What it was
Living In Their Own World,
Cocooned By Lies

Can You Hear it?
Our Mother's Cries
Can You Hear It?
Our Mother's Weeping
Can You Hear It?
Our Mother's Crying Out for Help

It Came Too Late, When They'd Stopped Running
Her Skin was scarred, Body Milked Dry
Battles Upon Battles, Wars Upon Wars
Her Children, They Bled,
For Their Own Greed

Can You Hear it?
Our Mother's Cries
Can You Hear It?
Our Mother's Weeping
Can You Hear It?
Our Mother's Crying Out for Help

Listen With Your Heart
Listen With All Your Might
Can You Hear it On the Wind?
Can You Hear it On the Waves?
... Our Mother's Crying Out For Help

Can You Hear it?
Our Mother's Cries
Can You Hear It?
Our Mother's Weeping
Can You Hear It?
Our Mother's Crying Out for Help

A New World (Into Gaia's Arms)
Gaia's Tears

Gaia's arms...

Gaia's arms...

S: No one believed her

No one imagined it was true

No one could see her

winter haven coming into view

F: She says she's seen the land beyond

She said she's walked through Babylon

She felt the cold beneath her feet

And time stood still where the winter won't sleep

S: (where the winter won't sleep)

Chorus
S: I've seen a new world...
F: like nothing before...
just step through the door right
S: Into a new world...
F: Into Gaia's arms
S: I've seen a new world...
F: like nothing before...
just step through the door right
S: Into a new world...
F: Into Gaia's arms

S: All hope was fading, a darkness far beyond their might

But love came crusading on the wings of healing sacrifice

F: She gave them something to believe

Came back in all Her majesty

She conquered evil through Her love and handed them the land they were dreaming of S: (love came crusading)

Chorus
S: I've seen a new world...
F: like nothing before...
just step through the door right
S: Into a new world...
F: Into Gaia's arms
S: I've seen a new world...
like nothing before...
just step through the door right
S: Into a new world...
F: Into Gaia's arms

F: I never dreamed it but it seems that She's alive again

Shaking Her mane She's just the same as I remembered Her

The spell is weakening with every breath She's breathing in

S&F: And when She roars they can't ignore that She's our queen again

S: (There, just beyond the moonlight)

S: I've seen, I've seen, I've seen a new world...

F: Into a new world...

Into Gaia's arms

Chorus
S: I've seen a new world...
F: like nothing before...
just step through the door right
S: Into a new world...
F: Into Gaia's arms
S:I've seen a new world...
F:like nothing before...
just step through the door right
S: Into a new world...
F: Into Gaia's arms

S: Into a new world...

S&F: Gaia's arms...

Note:

* played and sung similarly to Toby Mac's "New World" track.

* slightly modified from Toby Mac's "New World" lyrics.

* S : Siobahn, opera-like intonation.

* F : Faolan, rap feel.

... of sixpence and a pocketful of Gaia.

>> The best deals...

"Scars and Sutures are a strange pair. Scars is a petite girl of 18 years with social insecurities, and yet is still able to charm those who meet her, who wants to forget her past. Sutures is an oversized, happy-go-lucky pup covered with scars who loves Scars - and is more than willing to stand between her and certain death - who can't even remember anything of his life before Scars found him in the Alaskan wilderness. And they're virtually inseparable. Like I said, a strange pair, but nonetheless interesting."

- from the lips of Two-Tales, without his usual reiteration

The girl known simply as Scars was born to mixed Japanese and Eurasian parents under the name of Cassandra Akae Meung, and spent the majority of her childhood and early teens traveling from one oil rich area to the next. It was on her family's last stop in Alaska that she met Sutures, the young Wendigo that, even to this day, has no recollection of his past life before Scars.

Sutures was found, beaten, cut up and already scarred, by Sandra and her dad while out on a camping trip in the Alaskan wilderness. Mistaking him for a large, stray Husky sled dog, Scars convinced her dad to take him in. Sandra nursed him back to health and named him Sutures for the sheer amount of thread-work involved in sewing him back together. Shortly after he recovered, he was trained to be a Seeing-Eye dog for Scars' baby brother Cane, a survivor of an accident that'd taken the life of their elder brother, Kenichi, and had left Cane blind. At this point, Sutures was still unable to remember anything of his past as one of the of Garou, let alone his childhood as a wolf pup; he believed himself to be that which his 'family' called him, a Husky named Sutures.

A couple of years passed, and Sutures was feeling very much at home with the Meungs. And yet, he felt strange, that something was not quite right. Sandra had been having strange disturbing dreams as well, of running through many places with a wolf by her side. A wolf that looked strangely like Sutures only without the scars.

His feelings and her dreams were proved right one night in June when Sandra, Cane and himself were set upon by a group of what appeared to be bulky drunks. Sutures stood protectively over the two of them, snarling and biting any who got too close to them. Until a steel pipe knocked him soaring into a heap in a corner where two of the drunks viciously kicked and beat him repeatedly. In a daze, Sutures saw the forms of the drunks - men and women - shift into things that didn't seem natural; he watched through a red mist as Cane was slowly, almost languidly beaten, and Sandra was beaten and forced to her knees, her clothes being ripped from her body. And then he felt his body stretch, twist and grow upwards, just as the same phenomenon occurred to Sandra. Rage coursed through them, exploding outwards in a fury of fangs and claws.

They ripped through their assailants, and yet more appeared from the shadows to assault them. When they were on the verge of being dragged down to their deaths, a pack of Garou burst in, ultimately saving their lives. They were carried, lost to unconsciousness, to the local Caern where they were told what they had become. They'd assumed that Sutures was a cub. That was, until they saw the Renown markings that trailed down his arms and across his back and torso. A Galliard known as Two-Tales happened to be there and read the glyphs, discovering his name and his deeds. And yet Sutures was unable to remember.

Sandra's injuries, the ones that had broken and torn the skin, had been healed but the scars that they'd left behind were in the shape of stars. Her Rite of Passage was done and her petname from the Sept of the Black Snow became her deedname: Scars-Like-Stars.

Shortly after, the Sept flexed their influence and wrangled her father's re-assignment to the South-East Asian regional headquarters in Singapore as well as quarantine and veterinary documents for Sutures, hoping that Scars & Sutures' infamy as well as past would have difficulties chasing after them.

They have been staying low and out of trouble for a while since arriving in Singapore.

Though it may not stay that way for long.

Scars

Cassandra Scars-Like-Stars

Children of Gaia Galliard Homid

"The Little Girl"

Caregiver(D) / Child(N)

Cliath (1)

Willpower 4 | Rage 3 | Gnosis 3

Physical 3 / neg: docile

Social 10 / neg: naive, shy

Mental 11

Dodge, Performance (Acting & Singing), Rituals, Subterfuge, Survival

Kin Folk x1, Past Life x1, Resources x2, Rites x2

Influence (High Society) x1, Influence (Occult) x1, Influence (Street) x1

Short (f1), Shy (f1), Soft-hearted (f1), Banned Transformation: Star Filled Skies (f3), Ward (f3)

(1) Persuasion, Beast Speech, Spirit Speech, Mother's Touch

(0) Greeting the Sun, Greeting the Moon (1) Rite of Dedication, Rite of Cleansing

Sutures

Scar-Lined-Skin-Bound-By-Blood-Thread

Wendigo Ahroun Lupus

"And Her Big Dog"

Caregiver(D) / Protector(N)

Fostern (2)

Willpower 3 | Rage 5 | Gnosis 5

Physical 12

Social 7 / neg: bestial, feral

Mental 7 / neg: violent

Brawl, Dodge, Primal-Urge x2, Profession (Seeing-Eye Dog), Stealth, Subterfuge, Survival

Fetish x3, Pure Breed x1

Canine Appearance (m3) | Amnesia (f2), Scarred (f2), Ward (f3)

(1) Hare's Leap, Heightened Senses, Razor Claws, Call the Breeze (2) Clenched Jaw, Sense the Unnatural, Spirit of the Fray

Notes:
* Kinfolk (Cane Yori Meung) / Flaw - Ward (Cane Yori Meung) : Scars' 'baby' brother who was left blind by an accident. Sutures' was trained and is used as his Seeing-Eye dog. Cane is 'in the know' and works as a tutor to blind children while living and studying with Scars. _{Cane is the second subject attuned to Sutures' Dog Tags fetish.}

* Flaw - Banned Transformation (Star Filled Skies) : Scars cannot transform into any form - other than her Homid form - on a night where the sky is clear and filled with clearly visible stars.

* Archetype - Protector : Sutures feels the need to defend any and all who are weaker or unable to do so themselves as well as those he considers dear to his heart, and will go to great lengths to do so.

* Fetish - Dog Tags : (Level 3, Gnosis 7) Using a pair of identification discs [military or otherwise] hung from a simple collar or choker, a fetish was created which allowed the owner to keep track of those they love or have been charged with protecting. It allows the owner to know the location and status of his chosen subject or subjects, not more than two. To attune the tags to the subject, the subject must touch the tags while the owner activates it. Once activated, the owner will be able to know the status of the subject, breathed in his ear, though in simple wordings like "in danger" or "hurt". In addition, if the subject is far away, the owner may scry upon the subject's immediate surroundings which will appear in his mind's eye. However, there is a maximum limit on this viewing ability as it will not extend past the city limits and must be attuned to the subject in every different city that they visit. It is also rumored that these fetishes can be used on buildings or other valued sites. Any form of urban, protective spirit - such as a kestrel or watchdog - may be used to power this fetish.

* Merit - Canine Appearance : Sutures can pass himself off as a large Husky in his Lupus form.

* Flaw - Amnesia : Sutures has no memory of his life before meeting Scars.

* Flaw - Ward (Cane Yori Meung & Scars-Like-Stars).

... come in pairs.

>> Follow the road...

"Ol' Two-Tales ain't quite so ol' an' walks a circuit that ranges from the shores of Englan' 'own to the western coast of Australia. With the occasional 'etour an' all by foot, no less. A truly amazin' sonnuvagun, if'n I've ever hear-tell of one.

I once picked 'im up while out on a trucking run from Marseilles to Talinn an', boy, can that boy talk your tail  an' ears off! An' his storytellin's so good that we a'most ran off the damn Autobahn!! If'n you ever meet 'im, tell 'im that Big Road Roller One's a-hopin' that our roads cross again. Hot-damn, do I miss his stories."

- as informed by the trucker Big Road Roller One, a Glass Walker Ahroun

Two-Tales is the misbegotten son of a Wayfarer 'Strider and an enamoured Wise Guy 'Walker. He lived the usual cliché life of one of his breed, with one difference: his mother and her pack actually LOVED the boy and looked after him as well as they could. But it was apparent that he was more 'Strider than 'Walker; ghosts plagued him. Upon his First Change, the circumstances of which still remain a mystery, he was handed over to a passing 'Strider.

The 'Strider sent Two-Tales to the Wheel of Ptah where he received his education and Rite of Passage. His deed-name is a pun, of how he likes to say or recite things twice and of his twin tails deformity.

Now, he wanders the world, from the ends of Europe to the eastern coast of Australia, with stops along the way in the Balkans, the Middle East and Asia. At each stop, he'll check in with the locals at their caerns, swapping stories& news and performing the occasional inking needlework.

Menekh'temses Two-Tales

Spinner of Tales, Scribe of Scars

Silent Strider Galliard Metis

Builder(N) / Loner(D)

Fostern (2)

Willpower 4 | Rage 4 | Gnosis 4

Physical 7

Social 11

Mental 7

Brawl, Dodge, Expression (Tattooes), Garou Lore x2, Glyph Lore, Occult, Performance (Storytelling)

Contacts x1, Resources x2

Influence (Occult) x1, Influence (Transport) x1

Medium (m3) / Compulsion: Twice-Said (f1), Dark Secret (f1), Nightmares (f1)

Twin tails & spinal base malformation (disf)

(1) Call of the Wyld, Persuasion, Sense the Wyrm, Speed of Thought

(1) Rite of Dedication

Note:
* Flaw - Compulsion (Twice-Said) : Two-Tales feels compelled to repeat or recite important things twice, tho' not necessarily in the same form.

* Disfigurement - Twin tails : Two-Tales was born with two tails joined at the stump. It is present in all forms and he either disguises them as a deformed back [ie. hunchback] OR hides them by stuffing them into the bottom of a large backpack or butt-bag, which causes quite a bit of discomfort. He's also known to cosplay as the Two-Tailed Kyubbi form of Naruto. _{[Should we make this a Dark Secret!? - KAZEone]}

* Disfigurement - Spinal base malformation : Due to the twin tails, the base of his spine has been malformed and under constant pressure which causes him discomfort in all his humanoid forms.

... twice walked and traversed.

>> With a nurse in the family...

Cute and bubbly wit' a heart of gold, Sasha was well on her way ter bein' a good nurse an' an upstandin' citizen. That was 'til 'er First Change, o' course, and she foun' out that she was a werewolf, one of the Garou. One of us. Now she's busy trying ter juggle her studies an' ambitions of being a nurse, her duties as one of the Sept, an' bein' a good partner to her gerlfrien'. No, I'm not homophobic, y'hear! I'm just a-lettin' yer young pups know in advance before y'all - Gaia forbid - try to pick 'er up, y'understand. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, she's copin' alright, tho' I believe the stress of 'er not bein' able ter tell 'er other half the truth is eatin' away at 'er.

She's an excellent healer, believe you me, she sewed me up aft'r a most particularly bad scrap. Wouldn't even know the scar's there, too. But she couldn't 'urt a fly, not even in 'er own defense. Too soft in the 'eart ter 'urt any'un. So, y'all look after 'er, y'hear? I's gotsta go sit wit' the other old folks 'fore they eats all me food.

- As told by Grandpappy Larkins

Sashamani ^d/_o M Krishna

Student Nurse

Children of Gaia Theurge Homid

Caregiver(N) / Reluctant Garou(D)

Cliath (1)

Willpower 5 | Rage 2 | Gnosis 5

Physical 4

Social 7

Mental 7

Athletics, Empathy, Medicine x2, Negotiation

Resources x3, Rites x1

Influence (Medical) x2

Calm Heart (m3) / Soft-hearted (f1)

(1) Persuasion, Mother's Touch, Luna's Armour

(1) Rite of Cleansing

Note:
* Dedicated to KAZE's godsister, Sushma.

_{... you gotta give props somewhere and somehow.}

>> The crash and pound of waves...

Faolan, or "Mac" among friends, is not your run-of-the-mill Half-Moon. Faolan constantly obsesses over lore which he argues lends credence and support to the laws of our people. And to learn, he translates everything into music and sings to memorise what he needs to know by heart. An old Galliard of the sept was overheard remarking "that it was such a waste that he wasn't born a Galliard".

It must be said that music runs in his veins, if not his whole family. The older brother of Siobahn O'Gallagher, born of expatriate common law parents, Faolan has always been immersed in music. Encouraged by his parents, he learnt as much as he could about music. In fact, even his First Change at the age of 18 involved music, in a way. It happened at a heavy metal concert, when a mosh-pit had transformed itself into an ugly riot. When his sister was in danger of being trampled to death, he felt his skin crawl, stretch and twist, unleashing the heart of Rage that he carried within. The period of his First Change is hidden behind a black-out; all he knows is that he woke up, semi-naked and covered in gore, several miles away in a deserted park with his sleeping sister cradled in his arms.

A few days later, while he was contemplating what had become of him, he was set upon by a trio of lean, sickly-looking black dogs. Standing in the surf, under the light of the Half-Moon, he Changed and held his ground, following the rhythm of the sea in his defence. He was rescued by a pack of Garou which had been tracking the trio of dogs. Taken to the Sept and educated by his elders, he learned quickly of what he was and what he had to do. He also learnt that his parents were truly kin in more ways than one.

He is part of Gaia's Tears because of several reasons: his sister Siobahn formed it after her First Change, he loves the music they play and he hopes to reach out to people's souls through the music, to make them aware of their actions and teach them about Mother Gaia. He hopes to change the world, by educating as many people as he can through the music the band plays. Not to say that he is not above teaching others a lesson with his fists, of course.

Faolan mac Conmara, Rhythm-of-the-Tides

Gaia's Tears

Headbangin' Musician

Fianna Philodox Homid

Alpha (N) / Visionary (D)

Cliath (1)

Willpower 3 | Rage 3 | Gnosis 3

Physical 6

Social 7 / neg: condescending

Mental 6 / neg: impatient

Dodge, Expression, Garou Lore, Music Theory, Performance (Rap, Bass & Drums) x3, Streetwise

Fame x3, Kinfolk x1, Pure Breed x1, Resources x3, Totem x1

Street Influence x2

Seldom Sleeps (m2) / Addiction: Nicotine (f1), Short Fuse (f2)

(1) Salmon Leap, Persuasion, Sense Wyrm

Note:
1) Faolan is pronounced "fwail-awn".

2) Translation of name is "Wolf Hound of the Sea".

... heralds a real threat to your system.

>> He who laughs a thousand times...

Wenenses was just another wolf living in the wilds of Minnesota, albeit a much leaner wolf than most. Even as a cub he'd a penchant for games and wandering, always mucking about with his brother and sisters or leading them off to explore their surroundings. This continued even into his adolescence, when even his siblings had outgrown it. His explorations took him further and further away from his pack, until he wandered out into a field of long grass. A small group of humans saw him and gave chase. Wenenses thought it was such a great game; leaping here and there, letting the humans get close and then darting off again. This carried on for a while until one human got fed-up and shot him in the rump.

This sparked his First Change, the pain giving way to Rage for having been hurt in a game that didn't warrant it. Losing sense of where and what he was, he only came to when the moon shined down upon him, illuminating his place in a rough circle of carnage and blood. Feeling some form of horrification, he turned to run but a glint of something shiny caught his eye. Curiousity overriding his better sense, he investigated the shiny object: a golden ring worn on a ripped off finger. Somehow using his teeth and paw, he trotted off with the ring in his maw.

He was found the next day by a pack of strange wolves who opened his eyes to what he had become even as his family shunned him. Wenenses laughed in joy, and has been laughing ever since; journeying the world in all its realms, exploring every nook, cranny and then some, and sneaking off with little trinkets whenever he can.

Wenenses, Laughs-a-Thousand

Laughing Rogue

Silent Strider (Wayfarer) Ragabash Lupus

Jester(N) / Jester(D)

Cliath (1)

Willpower 3 | Rage 3 | Gnosis 5

Physical 9

Social 5

Mental 5 / neg: Impatient

Dodge, Expression, Primal-Urge, Scrounge, Stealth x2, Streetwise x2, Survival

Ally x1 (Raven Gaffling), Fetish x1 (The Whole Gym Bag), Fetish x2 (Swift Fetish, Scar), Pure Breed x1

Medium (m3) / Banned Transformation: Relaxing Music (f1), Kleptomaniac (f2), Too Curious (f3)

(1) Hare's Leap, Blur of the Milky Eye, Open Seal, Sense Wyrm, Silence, Speed of Thought

Note:
* Fetish - The Whole Gym Bag : page 78, Tribebook Bone Gnawers Revised; a gift from a Sept of Bone Gnawers for delivering a cub safely into their hands.

* Fetish - Swift Fetish, Scar : page 81, Tribebook Red Talons Revised; part payment and part gift for services rendered to them for carrying warnings of an imminent assault by Wyrmfoes and participating in the defense of a 'Talon caern.

* Flaw - Kleptomaniac : page 76, Breedbook Ratkin

* Flaw - Too Curious : page 87, Breedbook Bastet

... often laughs last.

>>> I'll never let you fall...

This track has been bouncing around the inside on my head, repeatedly, in a random pattern. Especially the chorus. Strangely enough, this doesn't worry me. Probably because that it's pretty normal.

In my case, anyway.

Even if it has me wanting to mosh like a fiend.

Yup, pretty much average.

Just normal.

Really.

Anyways, lucky me found the music video on YouTube. So in true unselfish fashion (No, not just 'coz I'm crazy. Really!), I'm sharing this with whoever wanders across this way. Hope you lot enjoy it.

WOT-HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

... right outta my head, just slide slowly out.

>>> Another post-apocalyptic...

... animation, is anyone noticing something yet?

>>> Off the cuff...

A Fistful of Copper is a spur-of-the-moment creation actually written as the beginning of a tandem story piece between a friend and I, so it may not, if ever, see completion. Originally 'written' off the cuff in under two hours, I've just spent the last six hours, off and on, editing and rewriting it to make it somewhat presentable.

I need an editor. Hahaha.

And feel free, if you like, to continue this in your own way. All I ask is that you allow me to read your work.

Thanks!

I hope that all of you enjoy this mad creation.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!
A Fistful of Copper

Extra notes:

1 Most mages in this world are called Casters. Eg. Warcasters who use their magic with military purposes, Tekcasters (rare outside of foundry/forge cities) who use their magic mostly for the creation of items and technology (such as it is), Hexcasters who cast curses and huck up aggressive spells (think witches and warlocks), etc.

2 The halfling is a Tekcaster by the name of Magraudlin "Mags" O'Roark, who's an army veteran, trader, tinker and talented 'Jack-smith. He is possessed of endless cheerfulness, which some think is some sort of unbreakable hex, and an incurable curiousity. He is infamous along the Frontier Border and can proove to be a frustrating character to deal with.

3 Mags' 'Jack is a siege-grade custom Warjack named Wideload, powered by a custom-built V-twin stack 'flashcore' eldritch engine powered by coal but also has the ability to absorb fire & lightning strikes for use as fuel and armed with Stormhammer fists as well as a pair of recessed large caliber HEAP (High Explosive Armor Piercing) slugthrowers in its shoulders while being protected by thick layers of armour. Its armour is adorned with engravings of clockwork mechanisms and hexagonal dragonscales. Due to its sheer weight, its speed is considered to be slow but the custom-built engine not only allows a short boost in speed but also the ability to 'flashstep', a form of short-ranged teleportation. There is a small saddle for Mags so he can ride on it. In addition, the Jack is capable of quadrupedal movement which doubles its ground speed, and can carry up to five times its weight.

4 All 'Jacks are powered by Eldritch Engines, usually a single stack of a rugged, robust nature. Eldritch engines use different kinds of fuel, depending on purpose, maker and model, which can vary from enchanted coal to molten lava.

5 'Jacks require Casters to control them, though there are rumours of 'Jacks gaining sentience. These rumours are unproven, however.

... with a pocketful of coins.