Legal Name: Princess Anastasia Norton Church Name: Sister Mary Pax Age: 25 Gender: Female Nationality: White American Religion: Cathoic
Description: What is a nun beneath her habit? Many wonder, few ever find out. And some pray they never do. On the outside, Sister Mary Pax appears like any other nun of her order; austere, saintly and clad in the traditional black and white habit of a Nun of the Holy Catholic Church. The heavy cotton habit hides much more of her than her worldly appearance. It hides her Purpose.
Once, ten years ago in fact, she would have been seen running around the church garden with a number of young women being fostered at the convent in San Francisco, golden haired and care free. She may have once enjoyed bright colors and the beauty of life. But something happened. She saw something that shook her world and sent her diving into the warm embrace of her faith. She never told her father or mother what made her seek the life of a nun, to forego all worldly possessions and pleasures, she couldn't tell them. They wouldn't understand. Once you stare into the eyes of Satan, you either join him or you strive to drive him from the world. And so the next time she saw her patents, it was in a habit to say goodbye to her earthly family and to join the family of God.
Fanatically religious to a fault and paranoid, Sister Mary Pax's drive to rid the world of sin caught the attention of a group of Catholic priests. Her determination secured her a place in their holy covenant eventually, the first woman to join their ranks. With them she learned to wage holy warfare against the forces of darkness. She always tries to better herself, prove herself worthy to the leaders of the group, prove that a woman can be just as good at their job as a man, but she still earns a quarter what the men do in salary and enjoys no formal title in the group save the playful moniker: Sister Mary Guns, the crazy nun. It became well known that when she was on the warpath, she was crazier than a mad Injun.
The hunters she works with attributed her Craziness and paranoia to the event that made her want to hunt the darkness. After all, it's not perfectly sane to go monster hunting with naught but a few stakes, holy water, a rosary, and a revolver with silver bullets.
Background: Growing up, Princess knew her mother and father were not properly wed. Her earliest memories were of sleeping on a dirty cot in her father's apartment while her mother was away doing "business" in the evening. She knew papa hadn't meant to become a father, or wanted to, but he was still a decent father to her. However, his job drew him to the pub nightly as he "talked politics" with the other Californians. And soon neither had the time for Princess. Thank god they both had wits to see it and instead of neglecting her, they took her to the convent to be raised right.
The nuns took her in and housed Princess with the other girls they were watching. However they refused to call her Princess, instead calling her by her middle name, Anastasia or Anna for short. She missed her parents horribly as she lived at the convent, but she couldn't say she was unhappy. She received three meals a day, and though she would have argued the point then, received an excellent education, and most importantly, a home. True, the nuns were strict, making the girls work when they weren't studying and standing over them while they recited their prayers and rosaries, but it wasn't as bad as the orphanages.
In time, Princess even began to like it there. She saw her mother on Wednesday evenings for about an hour and her father on Saturday mornings. He still called her Princess, despite what the nuns recommended and told her she would be Empress of the United States one day. She would laugh and call him silly. She never seriously thought about it.
This tradition continued until her fifteenth birthday. She had snuck from her room late one night with another girl to run about the garden after curfew. They giggled and pretended that they were wild Indians from the plains. It was all in good fun until her friend, a younger girl by five years named Rachel, ran into something strange. At first they thought it was a strangely lifelike sculpture, a beautiful man with haunting eyes. He didn't blink or move or breathe. Then, like lightning, his arms wrapped around the young girl in a tight hold that no amount of kicking and screaming could break. The girl screamed. Princess screamed and then the man lowered his mouth to Rachel's neck and sickly began to drink her blood.
Princess had heard of demons, but she never expected one in the garden. But the fact was, though the garden was part of the church, it wasn't holy ground. The Sisters of the convent always told them to run from sin and if you ever see a demon or a witch, run from it too. Princess didn't listen. She grabbed the nearest thing that she could use to beat the demon away. A branch, sharply pointed on one end from where it had broken away from one of the trees in the garden. With a shrill scream, she plunged the sharp end of the stick into the attackers back. With a cry he dropped Rachel and rounded on Princess. The man's eyes were soulless and in the instant between when they locked eyes and when the man collapsed unmoving, she felt like she was looking into the eyes of Lucifer. Then the demon crumpled over Rachel's motionless body, equally motionless. It was too late for her friend.
And then the reality of what she had done hit her. Her hands started shaking and she gazed down at the thing she had just killed. And then she screamed until Father Bartholomew and the Sisters of the convent game running out with the fostered girls in toe, all still in their night gowns - or night shirt in the case of the Father. The Sister took her away sobbing and screaming to one of the chambers of the church where they gave her tea and prayed over her until she had calmed down to some form of rationality. They called her brave and courageous. She felt like none of those things. She felt afraid and grief stricken. Rachel was dead. The demon was dead. She should have been faster. Or she should have run for the church, she wasn't sure which sounded better to her right then.
That night she asked not to see either of her parents for a while, disturbed as she was by what happened in the garden. It reminded her of another event in a garden, except instead of cutting off an ear as the disciple Peter had, she had taken a life. Yes it had been a demon, but was judgement not the domain of God Almighty alone? She felt wrong and dirty. No amount of rosary prayers could soothe her soul.
For weeks she avoided everyone. Spoke to no one. She was called a hero, a saint, by the other foster girls. It was two full months before she could bring herself to speak to anyone. And when she did, it was to the Mother Superior. And it was to ask to take her vows. At first the Mother Superior and sisters tried to talk her out of it. They said she was young, she should consider getting married and having children before the life of service to the church. But nothing could sway her. Another week later and she was meeting her parents for the last time, this time clad in black and white. Her mother cried and her father looked somber.
"If this is the best way to keep my Princess safe, then so be it," he said as he hugged her one final time. "You'll get an Empress yet, my girl."
Princess didn't cry but she left the room and went straight for the Chapel to take her vows to the church.
For five years she continued to serve under her new, and slightly ironic name, Sister Mary Pax. It was ironic because even in her quiet and simple life, she had no Pax. She had no peace. She was restless, and it did not go unnoticed. One day, just before her twentieth birthday, Father Bartholomew called her to his office. "What troubles you, Sister Mary Pax?" he asked softly.
"I can't stop thinking about that night, Father. I need to move, to do something. I can't just sit here while the most foul of Satan's legions roam our city. I do not feel at peace. I feel Rachel's soul burdening mine, calling for vengeance, but I feel powerless."
The Father nodded, his expression grave. "There... may be something you can do. I can write a letter of recommendation for you, but I want you to know that they have never accepted a woman into their fold. Not even a pious one. However they may make an exception for you, not even twenty and you've already survived on your own against the darkness."
"But I'm not alone, Father. Not so long as I have the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost with me, no weapon of man or hell can stand against me."
Father Bartholomew smiled knowingly, "And that is why I'm going recommend you to the Libero Sanctum."
"I'm sorry, Father, the what?"
"The Libero Sanctum. You'll see."
And so he bade her to wait. And wait she did, for four months. The wait had been long enough that she had almost forgotten about the unknown group Father Bartholomew recommended. Sister Mary Pax was inspecting ancient hymnals for new deterioration when a priest she hadn't met before came into the sanctuary asking for her. He looked at her with surprise. She didn't look tough or powerful or experienced, but she came recommended.
"Father Bartholomew says you've staked a vampire, what was it? Five years ago? What were you? Twelve?"
"Fifteen, sir. I don't think I have the pleasure of your acquaintance?" She replied politely.
"She, I apologize. Father Matthew Raymond."
She looked him up and down, he couldn't have been more than twenty five, quite young for a priest. Then she remembered father Bartholomew's recommendation and she nodded politely at him. "Libero Sanctum, the Free Sanctum wasn't it? I'm not familiar with your group sir."
He walked around one of the pews and came to stand before her, looking her in the eye. "Most never hear about us and many more never want to meet us. We are the hunters. We find and carry out God's justice. The forces of darkness fear us. And you are to join our ranks? No woman ever has. Most couldn't take care of a Vampire like you did as barely a child. It won't be easy. Training will be rigorous. Our biggest asset is being unassuming. And let me just say, if you turn out to be half as good as Father Bartholomew thinks you'll be, no witch or beast of hell will see you coming."
Sister Mary Pax returned his look with one of awe and determination. "I won't let you down, Father." That night she packed her meager possessions and was on a coach with Father Matthew to a church in Ogden, Utah a small rail road town under the leadership of Father Lawrence Scanlan. This was the hidden training facility for the Pacific region hunters and it was where Sister Mary Pax spent the next three years training to slay the forces of darkness.
Father Matthew had been quite serious when he said the training was hard work. The men didn't slow down when hem of her habit caught at her feet or when any other female related issues hampered her ability to keep up. She eventually traded her comfortable slippers for the boots favored by the men, hemmed her skirts a few inches shorter than proper (they would have showed off her ankles if not for the boots she wore) and wore loose trousers under her habit. She had had to re-engineer that too so that it had slit in the seam concealed from a casual glance. In truth, Vampires and other strange creatures rarely stood still when a lady told them to stop in the name of God, and so she would need to run after those creatures.
She beat the odds and the expectations by graduating her training in Utah and soon was sent home to San Francisco to operate with the hunters in the area. She exceeded expectations. Though as good as she was, her stipend from the church was a quarter what the men earned. As such, her equipment was always older, though she kept it all in good condition.
January 8, 1880... it was a normal day and Sister Mary Pax was cleaning the front steps of Old St. Mary's Church at Dupont and California when a familiar figure came marching down the road. It was her father. She stopped her work to watch him pass, wondering if he would recognize her. He stopped suddenly and she wondered if he had seen her. She found herself a little excited and descended a few steps about to call out to him. And the he fell. She dropped her broom and ran down the stairs even as a police man ran to the fallen "monarch". It was the last time she saw her father alive. She sat with him, praying as the police man went to find a carriage to take Joshua Norton to the hospital. Despite her prayers and faith, he died on the side walk. As the carriage carried him away and the crowd disbursed, she whispered to the now quiet street, "Hail Empress Anastasia Norton..." she shed a silent tear and climbed the steps back up to the church.
Supernatural Ties: She has witnessed an attack by a Vampire and has since become a Hunter, but this by no means is representative of her knowledge of the supernatural. She has a rather black and white view piling supernaturals either into the category of Witch or Demon, though she's probably never actually seen a real demon to her knowledge. Tone: She's a bit crazy, a religious zealot, but I'd like to see her learn that not all supernaturals are bad. I could actually see her going Geist at some point in the narrative, probably further down line. Bonds: The church, her family, her gun. I think it would be interesting if Rachel was resurrected by something (vampire, demon, Geist, what have you...) that would shatter her reality pretty intensely, probably more so than her father "coming back from the dead". Motivations: Her long term goal is pretty ostentatious at this point. She wants to rid the world of the forces of darkness (fat chance), her short term goals by comparison seem rather petty: fair representation in the Libero Sanctum, equal stipends, better hunting equipment, to find out why a man she had watched die is sending her letters... more sure to come. Misc.: Listening to Spotify as we speak for musical inspiration. Music so far: Vengeance and Don't get in my Way by Zack Hemsey. The Arena by Lindley Stirling.
"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live..." One of the many verses of the bible that is very nearly a litany for every hunter of Libero Sanctum. Founded in Colonial New England in 1692, the conspiracy has maintained steady and reliable operation. The citizens of the small town of Salem cried out to their local church in desperation and the request went all of six months unanswered even though missives for help had been sent to the larger churches in the colonies and England. It was in November 1692, during the height of the fanatical witch hangings in Salem, Massachusets, that a freelance Hunter who sometimes served for the church, came visiting an aunt and saw the desperation of the people there.
Ever the kind soul, Mathias Elroy trained a couple of local sheriffs in the arts of recognizing the supernatural and exterminating it. This did nothing to save those poor souls who had already been put to death on the suspcion of being witches, even though later evidence supported that they were merely sinners and not witches, their convictions were not overturned. Even after Mathias left, those sheriffs trained others and soon the church was aware of a growing supernatural problem among thier small colonies. Church to church, the techniques spread. Visiting hunters sometimes shared valued information about how to hunt properly and new strategies that vampires and other demons took to evade the forces of God.
By 1750, this rag tag legion of God found a name for its self and took the moto "Stipendia peccati mors" ("The wages of sin is death") as their moto. Slowly, they spread across the colonies and delved deep roots into New England as the colonists rebelled against their mother land. Libero Sanctum began to take on a new meaning for its hunters as the new country, the United States, was born. As the contry began to expand into new territory, Libero Sanctum went with it, often placing one hunter near every church established. When the settlers crossed the plains, they set up a training facitiy in Utah where new hunters from the plains territories and states could come to train. At first it was little more than a shanty town, but when the Railroad began its expansion, the small town of Ogden, Utah, and its equally small church became the premier training facility for regional hunters.
In 1875, Sister Mary Pax, a nun from San Francisco, became the first woman to be trained at the facility and was summarily laughed at when she graduated and demanded that her monthly allowance be equal to that of the men she served with.
Statuses:
* Initiate, a hunter that knows just enough to do their job, or a woman among the group.
** Ranked, a hunter that holds a rank in the church or specialized training to deal with the more serious infestations of the hellish forces they battle.
*** Hunter Superior, a hunter who is a priest within the church, a recruiter, or a highly specialized hunter.
**** Secondus: The second in command. Either a powerful member of the country Archdiocese or a powerful hunter, he is not usually both once he attains this rank.
***** Primus: The leader and coordinator of the Libero Sanctum. He handles all the case dispatches and sends them out to hunters in the area around the infestation for extermination. It is really the Secondus who controls the conspiracy while the Primus handles the paperwork. As such, he truly has no idea what the local supernatural climate of the country is as it all comes down from his Secondus.
A young irishman of stout physical stature with perfect teeth and a muscular build.
Declan O'Toole was born to Margret O'Tool beloved wife of Grady O'Tool in the Green Isle. They resided in Ballyhaunis in the County Mayo where the boy grew to the ripe age of fourteen as a kind and beloved soul. His mother considered herself blessed to have such a well tempered young boy in her graces as he was always ready to help out wherever he could, which was quite often in the fields of their family farm.
What their small farming community enjoyed the most however was the way Declan could make a fiddle sing. Each day around dusk he would sit up on the hill and practice his fiddle, at first it was a task of labor, but the boy picked it up quick and soon people were coming miles to hear him play. He would play at all of the local festivals livening up a people who had been pressed down by hard times. It was after one such night that tragedy struck.
The people of Ireland were not the only ones listening to Declan O'Toole, no there were other forces with their ear to the wind as well, ancient forces who were always seeking those that shined the brightest, the Fae. It was after Declan had played his finest ballad at the Litha celebrations. The Summer Solstice was one of the greatest in years thanks to the young boys music and when the boy arrived at home he was on such a high he climbed to the top of their thatched roof and continued playing long into the night. It was a mistake that would cost him dearly for an ancient fey was out that night and followed the trail of the great music. It was in the darkness that the music finally stopped. When Declan's parents came out to see what their son was up to they were met with the body of a boy who did not quite look like Declan crumpled up having mysteriously fallen off the roof. What they did not realize was that the body was indeed not their son for he had been taken by a great and powerful fey.
For years he was forced to play for the demon who had captured him for the fae could only be described as the Devil himself. Declan's mastery only seemed to get better as day after day he played every sort of ballad one could master. The boy however changed with every day he spent in Arcadia. Despite it all Declan and the will of an irishman and refused to give in the the bliss Satan attempted to provide him. He kept his eyes and ears open and soon found his way out for even his capture was as arrogant as the rest of the Fairest and it was through that arrogance Declan would find his freedom. When O'Toole finally felt he was rady he challenged his captor to a duel of fiddles. If he won the duel then he would be granted his freedom, but if he lost then his soul would be forfeit.
The result was a concert like none had ever heard before. Across all of Arcadia the ballad could be heard first one fiddle taking over than other until finally his captor not having played as long as Declan had finally fell to the mastery of the boy. Declan was granted his freedom by force of will and talent. When the boy was finally allowed to stop playing he suddenly realized how much he had changed. Instead of his frecked skin he now was covered in scales. Sharp teeth and a large maul covered his mouth. As he stretched he noticed the span of giant wings to either side. Terrified he fled the fey land as fast as he could making his way home to his parents. Having left the world of the Fae his beauty had transformed. In the world of mortals he wore the mask of a beautiful Irishman with a flowing red hair and beautiful if not unnatural golden eyes. His body was firmly cut and very attractive not as stickly as it was when he had left.
It had been four years since the boy had gone missing. Since his parents had pronounced him dead. It was with great dread the looked upon him upon his return. His parents knew all the old stories, children replaced in the night and taken by the ancient creatures of Ireland, they had just never believed them. So when they were met with the beautiful image of their son they could not bare the sight of him. They also could not bare his new found anger. The pleasent innoscense of the young child was gone and in its place was a hot rage. The devil had made its way inside of Declan and he burned with the fury of a red hot temper. In his abscense Declan had become a man and his parents had told him as much. Insisting they could not afford to keep him on the farm with the War of Lands occuring in Ireland they gave him just enough money to secure passage to America.
It was soon after Declan found himself in California with know talents available to him other than that of his fiddle. Playing on the streets of San Franscisco Declan found himself meeting all sorts of people including The Emperor of the United States. The man was down right insane but he loved it when Declan played and often brought him to have a meal under the tab of his great title which suited the young Irishman just fine. Their relationship worked out for awhile until one day Declan lost his temper on a newsreporter mocking Norton. Placing a firm fist in the man's jaw Norton did not approve and cast him out. So Declan moved north toward Oregan looking for farm work and place to play. He never expected to hear from the insane emperor again.
Supernatural Ties: Declan is tied to the Summer Court of the Fey as he has been was taken by the Fairest and changed into something of Draconic origins. Tone: Angry and Cynical but he has the Irish light hearted humor. Maybe I mix between Spike and the Flannery brothers. Bonds: The Summer Court, he has tried to forget his fey heritage as much as possible but is loyal to the Court and has been known to serve them from time to time. Motivations: He is pissed but the problem is the person he is angry at is Satan so whatever he can do to give the devil his due he is all for. He is kind hearted underneath a very rough exterior. He also is a very big fan of whiskey. Misc.: He plays the fiddle A LOT. Its kinda his thing so he will pretty much be playing tons of this kind of music when he's not drinking and fighting.
Name: Sese Redja "Red" Nekubo Age: Get real I am black and it's the 1880's. Nobody knows. Gender: A manly man. No seriously, male. Nationality:Nubian Religion: Bah I am Uratha, I do not believe I know what is and what isn't. The rest is for the cattle.
Description:"Jizus Christ bouy, dat no place fer a neegro." That's how Red was usually greeted as he roamed the south in the aftermath of the civil war. Those who'd heard the stories knew better than to mouth off like that, lest be picking themselves off the floor, but it was a big country, and obliviousness tends to go hand-in-hand with racism. Facts be facts, Redja was not your average freedman in the south. Yes, african descendants, particularly Nubians, were big fellas and of strong build, but he was something else entirely. More beast than man they said. A monster they said. They had no idea.
With Red standing just shy of the 2 meter mark, equipped with lean muscles and a fearsome gaze, the statement is well placed indeed. He usually shaves both his head and facial hair although he can be seen wearing an extended goatee now and again. He is leaning on loose clothing in hues of black, dark brown or cypress green, capable of both blending in with his surroundings and offering a certain degree of comfort. Roper-style boots, belt and a worn out boss of the plains to top off his unique style. He does favor a set of old round sunglasses, and he's never seen without his hatchet or his large bowie knife, it's handle engraved with a strange-looking symbol vaguely resembling an eye. His body and part of his face is heavily scarred yet some cuts seem to form patterns almost ritualistic in nature.
It's common sense that, when you see a large man with an axe on his belt and an animalistic temperament, you best stay away. Thing is, curiously enough, that wasn't always the case. Hate run deep in the South and thus, Red's preferable method of resolving the frequent "misunderstandings" a black man challenging the local stereotypes will undoubtedly endure, involved a direct and no less violent, approach. Even while he served in the National Park Rangers, not once did he draw his '73 Colt Single Action Army. Hearsay testimonies spread as a result, claiming that even if he did, he wouldn't know what to do with it. Such tattler had the habit of attracting unwanted attention, yet mostly amongst the drunk or the foolhardy, willing to overlook his figure, or the less widespread -in San Francisco that is- and far more disturbing rumor on how he got to be nicknamed "Red". In any case one could falsely assume retribution would be loud, full of cursing, spitting and screaming as per usual, yet the case was far from it. It was instead, quiet, swift, clean and efficient. Never did the same man insult him twice. Many would just disappear soon afterwards with no-one caring cause, let's face it, it is the West. There was at least one case of a man that lashed out against him to end up a week later brutally dismembered in the woods. Apparently Red was put under investigation and released from service, yet the results were inconclusive. They ended up blaming a grizzly instead. On the bright side, they did take his revolver away. One less thing to worry about.
Red will almost solely use his Hishu form inside city limits, and will rely on Urhan or Urshul, only during the Siskur-Dah or while roaming the wilderness of the many national parks nearby San Francisco. He has been known to use his Dalu form in cases of emergency even within the limits of human civilization, yet it does make an impression, and he will preferably avoid such attention if he can manage to do so, since in his Dalu, he is a fearsome sight to behold indeed.
This story is true. Before the Firstborn hunted down Urfarah, all Uratha inhabited Pangaea, a world of both shadow and flesh. A single vast hunting ground the earth still was at the time, and all Uratha run across it's span freely. But then the Firstborn sinned, Mother screamed and Pangaea shook and broke into pieces. That is what we call the Sundering.
This story is true. Upon the Sundering, the Uratha spread unevenly across this new territory. One pack found itself isolated, cut off from the rest in the land the human now calls Africa. The eldest amongst the Uratha, a wise shaman, said to his People: "This is our home now, and our hunting ground. Respect and protect this dark continent." And so we did.
This story is true. The Uratha that claimed the land as their hunting grounds were fierce and unforgiving warriors. Soon the human upon this earth brew legends and stories about the People. They drew pictures of a wolf-headed man and called him Anubis, the god of death and the afterlife. They would chant and prey, yet in the call of the Sacred Hunt, death would nevertheless undoubtedly arrive.
The man was heavily sweating. His orifices oozed with waste and a terrible smell came off his pants. His left leg was completely broken to the point he could almost rip it apart with his own hands should he tried. Somehow, amidst tears and moans, he managed to bring himself to crawl to the nearest wall of the estate which was now being consumed by flames. He could hear the screams echoing in the darkness. The stuff, the slaves, they were running aloof trying to battle the raging flames. Probably in vein. And what good would it do anyway?, the man thought. His family was dead brutally butchered by that thing. He would soon die too for he could hear his footsteps in the midst of all this chaos. The realization hit him suddenly. That beast was merely playing a game, teasing him, taunting him. The man that was none other than the son of Joshua John Ward the owner of the Brookgreen Plantation in Georgetown, South Carolina. He was the heir to the throne, the eldest, the firstborn. And now he would die in his own waste, degraded, shamed. He should have given heed to that incident 3 weeks ago. But he thought it to be a mere case of a runaway slave. And even though it was rare for a runaway to dismember the foreman before leaving, he did not anticipate such a disaster. He sent word to the local authorities, certain they would bring the negro back on all fours. But now he knew better. It must have been that creature. That.... thing.
"Oh dear god, make it end quickly, just make it end quickly..."
"I do not think so, child."
The voice was more of a rumble than an actual human vocal stimulus. Than man looked up only to witness not a beast, not a man, but something in between. The towering figure had fiery eyes, and was dressed in nothing but rags. Red bloody rags. His ears were pointy and his jawline unnaturally extended. His teeth resembled that of a canine, and his skin was pitch black.
"What are you? WHAT ARE YOUUUU???"
The realization hit him. The slave! It was the f##king runaway slave. How or why did not matter. He found that last piece of anger within his broken body and torn apart soul. He would hang him high for the world to see, he would whip his flesh clean, he would feed his carcass to the dogs, he would...
"Mercy! Please mercy! I beg of you!"
"You beg?" The beast smirked and growled. "You will not recieve mercy from me child, only pain." The beast squatted and a clawed hand reached out. The man screamed until he couldn't then started chocking on his own blood and saliva. And in the midst of all this pain he could still hear his voice...
"I was born in a small tribe in the land you call Egypt. My people used to roam the unforgiving desert wastelands by the Nile. I was but a boy too young to have felt a woman's touch, but still I remember. My people were pastoral nomads. Some would occasionally settle down and turn to agriculture by the river, but most lived from the cattle and goats. We were not rich, but we were happy. We used to dance and run in the endless sand dunes, rest in the shadow of the canyon between the cliffs of sandstone and granite, and clench our thirst in the great Oasis formed by the river of life. We used to hunt with a bow. My father was an excellent archer. I haven't layed my hands on a bow since the white man came.
The white man tricked us. He used trickery and deceit, deceit and cruelty. He murdered my people, he enslaved the men, he degraded the women, he sold the children to slavery. We were not a threat to the white man. We had nothing he wanted. No gold, no valuables, no land to grow crops on. Nothing. And yet we were hunted and slaughtered like animals. Like cattle. By the time the elders decided we raise arms and go to war it was already too late. Maybe it was futile from the very beginning, I am not one to say. I was too young. I wasn't permitted to fight. I was to stay with the women and children back at the camp. I really wish I could do otherwise. It wasn't long before they came for us too. It was a massacre, a genocide. I can't recall the details. I don't even want to, to be honest. All I remember is soon afterwards I was put on a ship to sail for the Americas. A child still I was, yet in chains. No food, no water, for days even. They whipped those who dared to raise even the smallest of complaints. Disease struck. The elders were the first to give up. They rotted from the inside out. The slavers didn't even dump the bodies, they just sealed the trapdoor to the deck.
When we finally arrived at the port in Virginia, barely a dozen of us were left alive. My mother who escaped the massacre by the Nile, rotted in a prison cell in the hold of a ship, while still holding me in her arms. Further degradation came next. They pushed us around presented us as mechandise, sold us to you fancy Southerners. Men with guns and sticks to beat us around. As if we could do anything to resist. Two men six women and a child. That's what was left of us. We traveled further South in the company of your father. He was a man that made an impression, i'll give him that. Class, bravado, pose. You know what he would do? Apparently he fancied us darkies. That's what he called us. Darkies. Each time we made camp he would take our women to his bed. Different one every night. He would rape them, beat them and then share them with the guards. When we finally arrived at the plantation only half of the women had survived. I am still uncertain which ones were more fortunate.
In any case you should know the rest, shouldn't you? After all, we were immediately sent here upon arrival. To face abuse in your incompetent hands in turn. You know I thought I'd be a prisoner for all my days to come. A prisoner to a filth like yourself. Imagine how surprised I was when I finally rose under the full moon. It was... ecstasy. I remember the stories. They've been passed down for generations amongst my people. The legends of the wolf in sheep's clothing, the incarnation of Anubis, the shepherd and the cattle. I secretly wished them to be true, but never believed. Not until now. And so here we sit the one who carries the blood of the Wolf and the heir apparent. And that you are, are you not? I mean yes, you can still learn a trick or two to match your father's glory, but you'll do nicely."
The beast rose slowly to gaze upon his masterpiece. The man was now but a lump of torn apart flesh yet he was still alive. The beast made sure he was going to be when the flames were to finally catch up. "This is goodbye Samuel. While you burn, know that I will hunt down and devour every last member of your family. I will wipe you clean of this earth. Your memory will faze out and your name shan't be spoken no more." The man erupted in a violent, bloody cough, as the beast slowly walked away. "Mer...cy..."
Act I; Bloodshed: The Civil War
December the 21st, 1862
Last night's incident in the Brookgreen Plantation was the result of slave insurrection. According to official reports the count was 17 dead, including foremen, stuff, Samuel Ward, his wife and son, as well as approximately 300 runaway slaves. Furthermore evidence suggested foul play in the case of at least three foremen and 6 guards that were found with their windpipes cleanly severed. "An upstanding member of the community and a great benefactor to the southern economy was brutally murdered by slaves. The culprits will certainly be brought to justice, as the public demands they be hanged for their heinous crimes," stated the military officer charged with the duty of apprehending the runways. Claims have been made that the traitorous Abraham Lincoln, staged the assault to secure forces for his waning army, as rumors already circulate that the so called Emancipation Proclamation, will be issued as an executive order by the coming month.
The Georgetown Times
By the time the search parties, consisting mostly of volunteers, completed their first sweep over the area connecting Southern to Northern Carolina, Redja was already over the border. He stayed in his wolf form for days or even weeks at a time. He was slowly turning to a wild beast existing only to hunt and roam the wilderness never knowing what it really meant to be an Uratha. More than half the slaves, mostly women and children, had already been apprehended, he knew as much yet he didn't care. Not at the time. He was lost, driven by the mad rage inflicted from the never-ending torture he had to endure all these years. The mad rage that forced his hand, even upon a child, a sin he was meant to be tormented by in the future. His hate run so deep, that malformed spirits of misery, pain, sadness and despair were drawn to the lonesome Uratha. And it would be months, before fate would lead him upon the very first step towards salvation.
As the winter left the coastal state of Northern Carolina, Redja had a most unexpected meeting. He happened upon a kinsman while hunting deep into the Deep Ridge Mountains. All this time since his First Change he had been running berserk, never imagining he would actually meet another Uratha in the flesh.
In any case the meeting would prove lifesaving for Redja, since not only did the fellow Uratha managed to calm him down, but he ended up educating him in the ways of the Wolf. Listening to the stories about Urfarah and Mother Luna, about the Sundering and the Siskur-Dah, he begun wondering whether there was more to this gift bestowed upon him by his ancestors than simply imitating a wild beast. His mentor, who went by the name of Shingas, turned out to be a wise elder of the Lenape tribe also known as the Delaware tribe who sided with the Union during the civil war. A shaman and a warrior he would guide Redja into his very first steps as a true Uratha and would even convince him to join the union army to fight the Southern slavers and their supporters.
Leading Redja back to New Burn he acquainted the yound werewolf to William Henry Singleton who was at the time, recruiting runaway slaves from the Trent River contraband camp. Singleton quickly raised troops amassing to a few thousand fighters, naming the regiment the First North Carolina Colored Volunteers. Singleton served as the group's unofficial colonel, but when it came time for action, the unit was assigned white officers. The US Army trained and armed the men and the regiment was shipped to South Carolina, where they participated in the siege of Charleston.
After President Abraham Lincoln approved the use of blacks as armed troops for the Union Army, the regiment was rebranded under the title 35th United States Colored Troops and subsequently served in a number of battles most prominent of which in Olustee, Florida and Port Hudson. USCT soldiers of the 35th were among the first Union forces to enter Richmond, Virginia, after its fall in April 1865.
It was during the war that Redja sheded his name to adopt the alias Red. The reason was twofold. His unnatural, monstrous bloodlust which would scare even his brothers-in-arms unaware of his true nature, and his disturbing habit of refusing to wash the enemy blood off his clothes or skin, painting a grisly visage of a red reaper in the battlefield. Red was mostly tasked with the duty of a scout and guide in the vanguard of the main army. As such, in the company of Shingas they would infiltrate enemy lines causing havoc and retrieving valuable information. Red was instructed by the Lenape scout to the secrets of the trade; how to use the terrain to his advantage or how to remain unseen to prying eyes. The need for subtlety led the two to conduct their duties in unconventional ways, armed mostly with bows and arrows instead of modern rifles which were the nomr in the Union army. Yet this posed no problem for the Nubian, who by merit of genetics was an above average archer. Unbeknownst to all but Shingas, Red would often raid the enemy camps solo, embracing the beast within and wrecking havoc amongst the Confederate army forces. His mentor would often tag along, feeling responsible for the younger and less cautious Uratha. They parted ways a few months before the war came to an end at which point the Lenape went back to his people, leaving Red with the oath of the Iminir and the teachings of Skolis-Ur.
The war was over. Slavery was no more. Discrimination and hostility persisted but it was to Red's eyes undoubtedly a victory. Soon the Freedman's Bureau was established and thousands of Northerners came South as missionaries, teachers, businessmen and politicians. The world was moving forward. Red was tempted to finally leave the South for good, yet he didn't. Much was to be done still. The tragedies of the war, the bloodiest one in US history, filled the Hisil with restless spirits of misery. Furthermore, racism was long from dead in the south. A group known as the Ku Klux Klan, were mobilizing against the freedmen committing atrocities against both them and their families in the span of all the Southern states. The wolf could smell the hunt. Red was a predator and that would not change under any circumstances, yet he was no longer the out of control youngster he once was. He was by now prudent and aware of his duty and obligations. He would conduct his hunt with calmness and care, according to the Oath of the Moon and the laws of the People. That was not to say he ceased to be ruthless or efficient. He just ceased to be unnecessarily loud.
He went through Georgia, Florida, Alabama and Mississippi before finally reaching Louisiana. He left a bloody trail behind, dreadful and gruesome. He also brought forth a message. Thus always I bring death to tyrants,Sic semper evello mortem tyrannis proud motto of the USCT. In New Orleans, Louisiana he arrived as early as 1872 in hearing rumors of white insurgents trying to suppress black voting by force. During these turbulent years he would meet a biracial ex-slave named Jaquann, the son of the owner of a small plantation and a Nubian White Witch. Although Jaquann himself did not possess the talents of his mother, he nonetheless decided to follow the Uratha. Tired of his crusade, Red decided he would head further west towards California enrolling in the 24th Infantry Buffalo Soldier regiment stationed as Park Rangers in the Sierra Nevada. He stayed in service for 18 months before the headquarters relocated him to Yosemite National Park where he served for a couple of years before they released him from service after a certain incident involving a former Confederate trooper with a big mouth and a mutilated corpse.
Living as a freedman in a big city was a challenge for Red. He had trouble managing the basics of proper etiquette and manners knowing all too well he could never truly own such a style. More importantly however a sudden arrival in the spring of '74 eventually changed his life. A young Lenape woman, in her late 20s made way in San Francisco along with the news that his mentor and friend, Shingas, recently passed away. Zitkala, was honoring her father's last wish to find his son, as he often would call Red, to aid the cause of the Uratha. A Wolf-blooded herself she knew of another Uratha that inhabited the area. George Harris was his name and he was an old acquaintance of the recently deceased Lenape. The two of them met yet their friendship would not last for long. A year later, Ol'George too will pass leaving behind his true heritage. For in his funeral Red will meet his nephew, the Irakka Morgan Harris, and his first true packmate.
Supernatural Ties: Werewolf obviously, spirits, the Ridden and the Claimed. Tone: Nubian ex-slave, born in Africa, brought to America, former Union soldier and current freedman. Holds a serious grudge against slave owners and their supporters in the south. The silent type all around tough, macho, on the Native American side wild wild west kind of guy, with a sense of sarcasm to boot. Despite appearances however, a reliable, loyal and honorable individual. A man of his word. He has a rather longer fuse one would expect of an individual of his reputation, yet once lit, it goes out in a bang. He strives to keep the balance between the man and the beast within, the gift of his people and his motherland. Motivation: Red takes the Hunt very seriously. He believes the People are striving to keep a decaying world balanced and they are losing the fight. He wants to do more, to be better to be stronger, to be smarter. For the People, for the pack, for himself. He needs the win. To succeed. If he doesn't he will tirelessly keep trying until he does. At the same time he frequently bathes in the desire to make slavery supporters disappear of this earth. It's a remnant of his lost humanity, his anchor to the flesh. He occasionally indulges that wish. Skolis-Ur is his guide in all things that matter. He secretly loathes and loves the beast within. He believes it to be pure, cleaner than human ever was. He often dreems of visiting Africa, the land of his forefathers once more before he passes. Bonds: His army buddies are either gone or lost across the continent. He never was particularly close with any of them. Most if his fellow Buffalo Soldiers are still stationed in Sierra Nevada and the local Park Rangers are mostly white Southerners who dislike Red at best. His sole connection is the pack and it's periphery. Morgan naturally, the wolf-blooded Zitkala and Morgan's cousin; Jaquann Fields the mortal biracial son of the white witch from New Orleans and Fluff alert!Mr Zhang, a Chinese physician who owns a business practicing traditional medicine in Chinatown, and who has no idea who or what Red really is. Emperor Norton he knows mostly by name and reputation, although he did have drinks with the man on at least one occasion, by merit of the Emperor's friendship with Morgan. Avatar: Peter Mensah. Art is from Spartacus. Misc:Hell on Wheels opening theme, Ennio Morricone in The Hateful Eight, and A Fistful of Dollars. Also this and of course this.
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Mental
Physical
Social
Int
Str
Pres
Wits
Dex
Man
Res
Stam
Comp
Skill
Rank
Specialization
Investigation
Medicine
Occult
Athletics
Brawl
Biting
Stealth
Shadowing
Survival
Tracking
Animal Ken
Empathy
Intimidation
Subterfuge
Basic Stats
Renown
Rank
Cunning
Glory
Honor
Purity
Wisdom
Attribute
Rank
Health
10/12/14/13/10
Willpower
6
Primal Urge
1
Harmony
7
Essence
7
Proving my growth by bringing down a worthy opponent
Hunt down an enemy of the Iminir
Beat the sh#t out of a racist f#ck
Merit
Cost
Effect
Language
First Tongue (Free)
Multilingual
English, Chinese
Resources
He's poor. Big surprise
Embodiment of the Firstborn
+1 Str/Max, if I spend willpower anyone attacking gains shaken condition
Defensive Fighting
Use brawl+dex to calculate defense
Efficient Killer
Perform killing blow when opponent is denied his defense. Usable in Gauru only
Brawl gains 9-again Investigation loses 10-again. Willpower is +4 when in Full Moon (Totem)
Hunting Ground
Sanctify area as pack territory (Rite)
The Destroyer is an embodiment of devastation. Hes a tidal wave, a hurricane, a force of nature. To the Destroyer, anything worth doing is worth doing hard enough to leave rubble in his wake. Your character recovers a point of Willpower when he causes significant, lasting damage in pursuit of success. He recovers all Willpower when he abandons himself to Kuruth without exploring any other options.
The Pragmatist has a goal in mind. He's ought to detail all the steps to get from where he is to where he needs to be. The reckless may criticize his methodical approach, but he doesn't wish to fail because something important wasn't taken into account. Your character recovers a point of Willpower when a careful plan of his produces favorable results for the pack. He recovers all Willpower when he eschews the Hunt in favor of a more practical approach to a pack problem.
Retribution (Physical Touchstone): Your character has a grudge against a person or group of people related to his life before the First Change. Perhaps he was bullied or had a rough childhood, or perhaps he was even abused or tortured in the past. After he rose as an Uratha, he was quickly immersed in a world fundamentally different where he is the predator and not the prey. However, the trauma runs deep and he is unable to forget. He longs for compensation, and the only currency is blood. Yet the world of the Uratha is unforgiving. His pack needs him and danger lies ahead. How could he be so selfish as to indulge his personal desires in expense of the safety of his people?
The Wilds (Spiritual Touchstone): The wilderness calls to your character. Those places where humans fear to tread, where the Gauntlet runs thin, where the only rule is the rule of nature, those places resonate as home for her in a way no city can hope to. However, she has a life in that civilization. She has a pack, friends, family, and an entire context she cant just abandon and hope to maintain Harmony. Worse, the wilds demand her attention. Any time she spends a full day in the city, some awful coincidence occurs with the nature around her. Yesterday, a tree fell and nearly crashed her car. Today, flooding caused her to be late and lose her job.
Killer Instinct: The Rahu is a Moon-forged killer. This Facet brings his deadly instincts to the fore. Cost: 1 Essence Action: Reflexive Duration: 1 scene
The Rahu benefits from the 8-again rule on Brawl and Weaponry dice pools for the duration of the scene.
Warrior's Hide: Battle is a crucible. The Rahu must be tough enough to stand up against the very worst the foe can offer, and deliver a killing blow in return. Duration: Permanent
The Rahu adds his Purity Renown to his Health, gaining an extra point of Health each time he increases his Purity. This increase is permanent.
Primal Strength (Purity): With this Facet, the Urathas spiritual strength is poured into her blood and bone. Cost: 1 Essence Action: Reflexive Duration: 1 scene
The Uratha adds her Purity Renown to her Strength for the duration of this Facet. If the Uratha falls into Basu-Im, she will instinctively activate this Facet at no cost.
Hit & Run (Purity): An Uratha with this Facet can disengage from battle and leave her prey in fearful confusion. Cost: 1 Essence Dice Pool: Dexterity + Stealth + Purity versus Composure + Primal Urge Action: Reflexive
This Facet can be used to interrupt an attack action that is aimed at the Uratha. Before the action is taken, the Uratha may immediately disengage and move up to her full Speed away. This alone may foil an attack, but if she is able to move to a location that takes her out of line-of-sight of all of her prey, she then rolls the Facets dice pool against the highest Composure of those prey who could previously see her. The Uratha can only interrupt one action per turn in this way. Roll Results Dramatic Failure: The prey know exactly where the Uratha has fled to, and gain a +2 bonus to resist all further attempts by the Uratha to use this Facet or any other method of deceiving them for the remainder of the scene. Failure: The Facet has no further effect. Success: The prey utterly lose track of the Urathas current position. Enemies with Composure equal to or fewer than successes achieved are affected by the Shadow Paranoia Condition for turns equal to the werewolfs Purity Renown. Exceptional Success: Not only does the Uratha evade the foe, she may also immediately move her Speed again.
Tenacious:Once engaged in battle, the Rahu is a truly dogged foe. Injury, distraction, and even the world around her can be ignored, albeit briefly. Once per chapter, the player can ignore the effects of any Conditions or Tilts that are hindering her character in combat for two turns. The Conditions and Tilts effects return after the two turns are up; this power does not count as resolving a Condition or ending a Tilt.
Dominant: The Dominant Aspect. When invoked, it offers the Swaggering Condition.
Swaggering:Your character faced the full bore of a Rahus essence. Hes sure that he can win in the face of the Rahus fury. He can not prepare himself to face the Rahu or her pack in any way buying weapons, laying traps, or changing his normal routine without first spending a Willpower point and making an extended, reflexive Resolve + Composure roll. You may make one roll per turn, but each roll requires an additional point of Willpower. The target number of successes is equal to the Rahus Purity. Resolution: Suffer a wound penalty from lethal or aggravated wounds, or suffer a lethal wound in your characters last Health box.
Passive:You enter a confining, uncomfortable space. Common:Someone is attempting to somehow confine you to a specific area. Use of the Efficient Killer merit. Specific:You are caged, imprisoned, or similarly trapped by someone.
Name: Morgan Harris Age: 32 Gender: Male Nationality: American Religion:"I tried prayin' to God, once upon a time. Then I learned that we ain't seein' eye-to-eye on things. So I stopped prayin'. Best decision I ever made."
Description: Physically, Morgan appears much like any frontiersman. He is burly, tough, and has never been clean-shaven since the stubble of his chin started to grow in. Sure, he might trim his facial hair once in a while, but he'll die before he exposes his shaven throat to anyone. Morgan Harris detests the idea of dressing up, and while he isn't happy in rags, either, he is not a man fit for high society. Grace and elegance need only apply during the Hunt.
Mentally, Morgan is poorly educated, possessive, and territorial. He'll give permission aplenty to those who ask him for it-- he's (probably) more than some gruff, barking savage-- but he strongly resents those who take or impose without asking, and he is highly attuned to personal space and property. To "outsiders", Morgan can come across as snippish, grim, cold, and intense. While he is certainly these things in spades, it is merely one side of him.
To the few beings that Morgan recognizes as non-mortal-- and not enemies-- he can be a boisterous companion. While he never truly lets down his guard, he clearly considers himself leagues above mere mortals, and any other being like him automatically deserves respect for being better than the common rabble. Gender, ethnicity, political affiliation, or creed be damned-- if you aren't entirely human or trying to do harm unto him, you might as well be a friend. For better or worse, friends usually end up with dead rabbits delivered to the foot of their bed. For breakfast. Because he cares about knowing where you sleep, and he wants to make sure that you know that.
Background: Morgan has lived a complicated life, even without the added complications of being immersed in the supernatural world. The Harris family burned brightly and quickly. Morgan's parents met during the Rush of 49, wed, and had Morgan in 51. Unlike the veritable horde of prospectors seeking gold in the hills, Morgan's mother made her own small fortune by opening up a boarding house to take advantage of the influx of fortune-seekers. This is how she met Morgan's father, who sold mining and prospecting equipment (after buying it up from everyone else before the rush became national news), and the two entrepreneurs made not-insignificant profits off the prospectors.
Eventually the gold ran out, leaving behind nothing but desperate men with little to their names but despair, anger, envy, and mining tools. It is no surprise that criminal acts surged as desperation and shattered hopes took root. A fire in 65 claimed Morgan's parents-- or so he believes. However, soon after, the young man learned that he was something more than human, and the journal of his father, pulled from a safe that endured the fire, revealed more than Morgan could comprehend. At least before his first Change, his first Hunt.
Morgan remained in the California frontier, often falling in with unsavory individuals, especially right after this "Civil War" thing ended, but he rarely stayed with any group for very long. He really only cared about making enough money to be able to piss it away on women-- it was damn well impossible for him to get drunk, and he preferred sleeping outdoors to the foul dens most humans piled into.
Times change, as ever, especially the day that he received a letter from San Francisco. His paternal uncle died, and Morgan was named as a beneficiary in the man's will. Not one to pass up easy gains, Morgan headed to the city and received his inheritance. A monetary pittance, it would do little to change the course of his life. That improvement would come in the form of his cousin, a Wolf-Blooded well-learned in the ways of the Uratha, and son to Morgan's uncle. Morgan first learned what he-- and his father-- was by the shorthand comments in a damaged journal. His cousin knew everything and had a heavy hand in steering Morgan toward the werewolf he needed to be.
Morgan has been living in San Francisco ever since. It's been eight years of relative peace and quiet. The city isn't the frontier, even if it does have an active Uratha sneaking through its streets. Of course, ending up as good friends with the Emperor of the United States was an added luxury.
Supernatural Ties: Despite being an Uratha born to a Wolf-Blooded parent, Morgan has a little bit of influence from... something else. Specifically, his mother was a Beast, a being with a soul of something very old and very powerful, and it was the manifestation of a "Hero" that led to the apparent death of Morgan's parents. As a result, Morgan is particularly fond of setting up labyrinths to trap his prey within.
During his time in San Francisco, Morgan has bumped into a few cute and adorable (by his reckoning) critters that seem to think that they are bigger and scarier than he is. Of course, there's a big difference between a Changeling that happens to look like a wolf and an Uratha; Morgan doesn't particularly care how these "Changelings" think of him so long as they respect the bounds of his hunting grounds. If they're nice, he might even invite them along on a hunt or two, to show them how a real wolf hunts.
Tone: Bleak, gallows humor. Dark, but balanced by jolts of levity. Psychological horror is a must here.
Bonds: Morgan has formed a small pack in San Francisco, composed principly of his Wolf-Blooded cousin (who is quite jealous that Morgan was the one to experience the Change), and another Uratha named Red. Until the death of the Emperor of the United States, Morgan considered himself one of the man's many friends. A Beastkin Changeling by the name of Elov Isakson was taken under Morgan's wing, recently. Morgan finds it adorable that the pup things he knows what its like to hunt, and he has been trying to convince Elov to accompany him on the Siskur-Dah for months now.
Motivations: What is the difference between a man, an animal, and a monster? Learn that, then discover if those things are mutually exclusive.
Misc.: There is so much I could add here. Frankly, there's too much, so I'll leave you with this.
1. Lead the Siskur-Dah.
2. Toy with an inferior being.
3. Enlarge the Pack.
4. Totem: Expand the Pack's Territory.
Merit
Cost/Rank
Effect
Defensive Combat (Brawl)
Calculate Defense from Brawl, not Athletics
Embodiement of the Firstborn
+1 Attribute/Maximum (Dex). When spending Willpower, any attacking enemies receive Shaken Condition
Language
(Free)
First Tongue ()
Moon-Kissed
(Totem)
Stealth gains 9-Again; Politics loses 10-Again
Relentless Assault Style
Drop of a Hat (), Eye of the Tiger ()
Resources
Dolla' dolla' bills y'all
Rites
(Free)
Rite of the Sacred Hunt ()
Totem
(Free)
Nothing. Yet.
A Monster revels in the shadows, using terror and shock to cripple the victims of his hunts. It's less important to overwhelm a victim by force than it is to overwhelm it psychologically. By the time his jaws clamp down, the fight should already be over. Your character recovers a point of Willpower when he resorts to disgusting or frightening someone into submission. He recovers all Willpower when using the hunt or Kuruth as a terror tactic.
The Lone Wolf knows that sometimes the answer lies not with the pack, but with the individual. He's not inherently bad at working with a team, but he's much more willing to handle something himself if he feels it's the best recourse. Your character recovers a point of Willpower when he acts independently of his pack to solve a pack problem. He regains all Willpower when his pack is on the hunt, and he subverts their plans and solves the problem alone.
Buddy Spirit: She's a wolf spirit; she's a minor member of your character's tribal totem's umia. Most importantly, she's a friend. She's a confidante. She's a companion. She's like a drinking buddy, in wolf form. She's the perfect listener. Any time your character has problems, she hears them out. She never judges. She just asks your character to run with her through the woods, to feel the warm wind against his fur, and to hunt for the sake of the hunt. She tells him to sell his house, to burn his possessions, and to just be happy. How can he say no to that?
All That Remains : The journal reads like the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm. It tells of monsters guised as men, of spirits that seek to enter this world, and of beings that sustain themselves on the death of humanity. Impossibly, it is all true. The book is dilapidated and in poor condition, but it is the only reminder you have that there is still a real world beyond your world. It is a reminder that you have a purpose in this world, and that no matter how much you Hunt, and much you run through the dark wilds, there is a purpose waiting for you when you emerge.
Gifts: Evasion, Nature, New Moon
Eviscerate
Cost
Dice Pool
Action
Duration
Static Effects
1 Essence
n/a
Reflexive
n/a
Brawl or Weaponry attacks against surprised or unaware enemy become rote actions.
Hit and Run (Evasion)
Cost
Dice Pool
Action
Duration
Static Effects
1 Essence
Dexterity+Stealth+Purity v Composure+Primal Urge
Reflexive
n/a
May interrupt attack action; move full Speed away from target. If escape LoS, roll facet dice.
Dramatic Failure: The prey knows exactly where the Uratha has fled to, and gain a +2 bonus to resist all further attempts by the Uratha to use this Facet or any other method of deceiving them for the remainder of the scene. Failure: The Facet has no further effect. Success: The prey utterly lose track of the Uratha's current position. Enemies with Composure equal to or fewer than successes schieved are affected by the Shadow Paranoia Condition for turns equal to the werewolf's Purity Renown. Exceptional Success: Not only does the Uratha evade the foe, he may also immediately move his Speed again.
Knotted Paths (Nature)
Cost
Dice Pool
Action
Duration
Static Effects
1 Essence per target
Wits+Survival+Honor v Composure+Primal Urge
Contested
1 day
n/a
Dramatic Failure: The Prey is easily able to leave without obstruction, and benefits from a +3 bonus to Initiative if the Uratha attacks before he leaves. Failure: The Facet fails. Success: No matter what they do, the prey cannot escape the area that they are in for the Facet's duration. Winding woodland paths leave them back at the clearing where they started; crumbling urban wasteland just seems to turn in on itself no matter where they run. A road winding through a remote valley never actually delivers them to the valley's border. Dramatic Success: If the prey is in a group, then they rapidly end up split apart, losing track of each other. A lone prey soon gives in to fear, gaining the Shadow Paranoia Condition.
Honed Senses (Cunning)
Cost
Dice Pool
Action
Duration
Static Effects
None
n/a
n/a
Permanent
Exceptional successes on Perception rolls with 3 successes.
Renown
______
Cunning
Glory
Honour
Purity
Wisdom
Pack Passive: a pack member takes lethal damage Common: seeing someone attack a pack member Specific: you cause lethal damage to a pack member
Teeth/Claws +0L: Unarmed attacks with the werewolf's claws deal lethal damage to humans. While in a grapple, successful bite attacks deal lethal damage.
Defense vs. Firearms: Apply Defense against Firearms attacks, as her instincts jerk her out of the way before shots are fired.
Mild Lunacy: +2 to observer's roll against Breaking Point
BAMF: The Dalu form is imposing, intense, and overbearing. This can force a crowd to give up the Uratha's prey. Roll Presence + Primal Urge contested by the prey's Composure + Primal Urge. If successful, anyone surrounding or protecting the prey will back down or offer him up.
Teeth/Claws +2L: Claw attacks deal +2 lethal damage. Bites deal +2 lethal damage and do not require a frapple. Bite and claw attacks can establish a grapple in addition tocausing damage. Increase initiative by +3 when using teeth or claws.
Defense vs. Firearms: Apply Defense against Firearms attacks, as her instincts jerk her out of the way before shots are fired.
Full Lunacy: Breaking Point at -2 for observer.
Regeneration: Uratha in Gauru form regenerate all bashing and lethal damage each turn.
Rage: A Gauru-form Uratha must attack an active opponent within striking range each turn. She does not have to continue to attack a crippled opponent as long as another opponent exists. If an opponent is out of reach, she can move toward or throw things at that opponent. If she has no opponents, she will attack anything she can reach. If she does anything else, roll Resolve + Composure or fall into Kuruth.
Primal Fear: Gauru force all enemies-- including most humans, spirits of lower rank, and non-supernatural animals-- to use Down and Dirty combat. If the prey hides in a group of more powerful enemies, resolve combat as normal. In normal combat, opponents count only their Dexterity or Wits to their Defense; they may not add the appropriate Skill.
Teeth +2L/Claws +1L: Claw attacks deal +1 lethal damage. Bites deal +2 lethal damage and do not require a grapple. Bite attacks can establish grapples as well as cause damage.
Defense vs. Firearms: Apply Defense against Firearms attacks, as her instincts jerk her out of the way before shots are fired.
Moderate Lunacy: +0 to observer's roll against Breaking Point
Weaken the Prey: Werewolves in Urshul are devastating to physical prey. Once per scene, the Urshul can apply one of the following Tilts when she damages her prey with her teeth or claws. Arm Wrack, Leg Wrack, or Knocked Down. This does not require a targeted attack.
Teeth +1L: Bite attacks deal +1 lethal damage and do not require a grapple. They can establish a grapple as well as cause damage.
Chase Down: Spend 1 Essence to pre-empt another character's action in combat with your own, usually an attack. This takes the place of a normal action. If other characters are capable of pre-empting actions, it becomes a Clash of Wills. If your character has already acted in a turn, she cannot use this ability. In a foot chase, an Urhan uses Speed in place of Strength+Athletics.
Does not occur immediately, but when the witness would otherwise take a rational breath and come to her senses.
Roll suffers penalty equal to Uratha's Primal Urge, modified by the Uratha's form (+2 Dalu, -2 Gauru).
If the Uratha caused lethal damage to the witness, she gains a +1 bonus. If the witness has wound penalties, add those to the roll.
If the Breaking Point succeeds, gains Guilty, Shaken, or Spooked Condition and takes a -2 penalty to all actions for the scene. On an exceptional success, the witness suffers no Conditions or penalties, regains all Willpower, and remembers the scene with perfect clarity.
On a failure, the witness loses a dot of integrity and gains a Lunacy Condition-- Atavism, Delusion, or Reception. Will either panic or flee, and will strive to rationalize to maintain worldview. Lasts up to Primal Urge in days, but does not grant a beat if resolved this way. On a Dramatic Failure, the character becomes Wolf-Blooded.
When two people try to resist Lunacy together, they add +1 to the roll. Small groups (<5) add +2. Large groups (<10) add +3, and any larger mob adds +4. Wolf-Blooded or any creatures lacking Integrity do not suffer Lunacy.
__________________
Assume I am a bear that woke up from a five-year-long nap. Three minutes ago.
That is how I feel.
Last edited by GeoAvanti; Aug 30th, 2016 at 07:00 PM.
Aspiration:Expand the pack territory Manifestation:Twilight Form Manifestation, Reaching Ban:Cannot deny aid to pack members Bane:Weapons made of the bones, claws, or teeth of great cats.
Ghost Eater:The spirit may sense ghosts in Twilight, and consume their Essence as though they were spirits.
Implant Mission (R):This Numen grants a mortal a vision of a task the spirit wishes him to accomplish as well as a mystical determination to see it through. The spirit pays 2 Essence and rolls Power + Finesse. On a success, the subject receives a short vision of whatever the spirit wishes him to do and is under the Obsessed Condition regarding carrying that mission out.
Totem Merit: Moon Kissed -- Pick one Auspice-Skill. That skill gains the 9-Again quality, improving to 8-Again if you already have 9-Again. When your Auspice Moon is visible, spending Willpower grants +4 to that skill instead of +3. Choose one non-Auspice skill you have dots in. that skill loses the 10-Again quality.
'Is name's Elov Isakson. Calls himself a "Hunterheart Beast". Whatever you say, kid. He's got a lot to learn about th' Hunt; he's also some kind of fairy-thing to hear 'im say it. Explains a lot, 'suming it's true. Way I see it, he's a bastard offspring of some wolf-spirit and fleshy bits, without enough of any side to belong to either. Might as well give him a chance to fall in with us. See if the kid can keep up.
Aspiration: Prove himself to the Pack Dice Pools: Shadowing (Stealth) 3; Canines (Animal Ken) 4; Dirty Fighting (Brawl) 5 Willpower: 2
Jeremy Harris is m'cousin, don't let th'name turn you from that. He's smart and 'e knows books fierce. Uncle had enough money to get him to some real good schools. Good fer 'im. Too bad uncle didn't know that Little Jeremy only wanted t'be Uratha when he grew up. He's got the blood-- I'm livin' proof of that, but he doesn't have more than that, an' it tears him up real good. Credit where it belongs, though, I learn'd everything about being what I am 'cause of him. 'Fore I met Little Jeremy, I was barely more than an animal, livin' from hunt to hunt an' rut to rut, oblivious to everything else, and that fact drives him crazy. He's keen on the notion that he deserves bein' Uratha more an' me. It's all quite adorable.
Aspiration: Prove that he deserves to undergo the Change. Virtue: Ambitious Vice: Arrogant
Does not suffer breaking points for encountering the supernatura[/I]l
Resources
Tell: Evil Eye -- Determine an action. Spend willpower, roll Man+Occult v Res+Primal. If successful, the next time the target takes that action, it is automatically a dramatic failure.
She' got a lot of names, but my fancy is fer Isabelle Gagne. Think she's Dutch, but all I know for fact is mainland Europe. Why she matters is a tough one. Dunno what she is. None do. Turns out she doesn't know if she's somethin' either, but I do know that she locked eyes with a rightfully pissed Uratha and didn't bat much of an eye; not many mortals can make that claim. She's a grifter, make no mistakes, but she's definitely no Wolf-Blooded, and no one else can figure much of anything. If she is all human, then I gotta say that she's the kinda human worth cleaving to.
Aspiration: Ply the cons and turn a profit. Dice Pools: Body Language (Investigation) 3; Pickpocketing (Larceny) 4; Confidence Scam (Persuasion) 5 Willpower: 2
Jaquann's mother was an Awakened one, yet he never managed to transition to what she would describe as a supreme state of awareness. Jaquann is a lost cub, a man in agony to discover his true identity, who he is supposed to be, who he is meant to be. He is of Nubian descent and I'll be damned if I look away from kin. Not true kin, not to me anymore, but kin nonetheless. He is part of the pack now, looking to prove himself worthy. I can abide by that. Jaquann is not much of a fighter or a hunter, yet he knows his way around the city, he is well connected, he knows who to ask, how to ask, and what to ask for. He is a valuable asset for the Pack in urban environment.
Aspiration: To prove myself to the Uratha Dice Pools: Underground Connections (5), Bait (4), Revolver (3) Willpower: 2
Zitkala. The Red Bird. The daughter of Shingas yet the child of the Wolf. A spirit seeker, a shaman of the supernatural, a worthy ally, a trusted friend. Zitkala grasps the soul of humans and spirits alike. Her talent is unique, her Resonance with the Hisil rivals that of an Ithaeur. She is constantly surrounded by spirits, she communes with them, she binds them. Zitkala is our guide to the Hisil, to the legacy of our Urfarah. She is irreplaceable.
Assist the pack in fighting a supernatural threat
Guide a member of the pack offering advice
Loyal: Your character is loyal to a group, possibly the other players characters. His loyalty isnt blind hes capable of seeing the flaws in whatever cause hes signed up to but once given its unshakable. Regain Willpower when he puts himself in danger by refusing to act against the groups interests.
Obsessed: Your character Spirits and the Hisilhas an obsession which is imperative to her personality. It could be a place, a person, a legend, a remnant of her past. Whichever the case, she just won't let go. Regain a willpower point when she spends time in a scene persecuting the object of her obsession.
Int+Occ to trap a ghost for hours equal to successes
Raised by Wolves
Does not suffer breaking points for encountering the supernatural
Esoteric Armory
Resources for ephemeral hunters
Waystone: Acts as a 1 dot Loci for the purposes of Reaching. Attracts spirits and creatures of Twilight
I met Zhang by chance, lost in Chinatown a short while after my arrival in San Francisco. He is a smart man one can easily tell. Apparently he was a big shot doctor back home. Then he lost his daughter to Tuberculosis and couldn't look his wife in the eyes anymore. She felt the same, in all probability. Never met a man who knew so much about the human body and it's functions. For the love of me, I couldn't grasp half of it, but I did fancy anatomy. You'd be surprised how much easier it is to severe the carotid artery of your prey when you know where to strike. I guess you could call Mr Zhang my friend. He's earned it, I can tell you as much. He even helped Zitkala get over a terrible affliction a couple of years ago. Zhang is a bit more than a doctor nonetheless. He is also a smuggler and a damn good at that. Whatever he does though, the chinamen he brings for free. I respect that. They do too.
Aspiration: To help a friend in a time of need Dice Pools: Medicine (5), Spy/Information (4), Smuggling/Contraband (3) Willpower: 2
__________________
Assume I am a bear that woke up from a five-year-long nap. Three minutes ago.
That is how I feel.
Last edited by GeoAvanti; Aug 30th, 2016 at 06:19 PM.