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[bone-shadow-beast-blog]

So, you're a Bone Shadow, right? What happens to werewolves that aren't found by a Tribe when they change the first time?

Yes.

It sometimes happens that there is no local tribe, or that the local tribe cannot find the emerging werewolf. We really don't know how many other werewolves go through the First Change in any given month. Generally, three possible fates await the tribeless.

Some are eventually found, frequently while they're on a rampage. Werewolves are instinctively destructive creatures, and the newly Changed have no idea how dangerous they are. Local spirits of wrath or violence might join in the fray, nudging the werewolf towards things that break or bleed easily. If local tribes hear rumors of the new arrival, they can usually follow the trail with little trouble. 

The Pure Tribes bring other lost werewolves in. Sometimes it's a race between the Tribes of the Moon and the Pure to get their hands on a newly changed werewolf. Some of the Pure can be very convincing and some of their targets respond to their message. There are other cults of werewolves beyond the Pure whose goals most of us do not understand.

Finally, some lost werewolves simply die before anyone can get to them. They might go on a killing rampage, forcing local law enforcement to put them down. Some end up angering powerful spirits, witches or vampires. Some take their own lives. Some simply chase a hallucination off a cliff. Death isn't the most common fate, but it happens often enough to be a depressingly notable statistic.

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A Norse God, hm? That's a new one. As for "some large bumbling muscle head," I'll have to decline. It's all I can do to handle the occasional Storm Lord or Blood Talon, thanks. 

What, were you expecting something else?

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I'm not entirely sure what I expected, but that was not it. You don' t look like a God. Actually, scratch that. I don't know what gods are supposed to look like so that point is moot.

Agreed. I am most definitely not human. I am a God.

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...Riiiight.

The Herd? I do hope I am more exciting than that sounds… It sounds rather… Dull.

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Humans can be dull creatures. So, what are you then?

Something new and exciting I hope. [smirks]

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[Tilts her head and leans back into a wall, arms folded over her chest]

Perhaps. We'll see. More exciting than one of the Herd, I suppose.

lokilaufeyson started following you

I thought I caught wind of something new.

[bone-shadow-beast-blog]

lokilaufeyson started following you

I thought I caught wind of something new.

[bone-shadow-beast-blog]

Kinslayer.

Coward. But that is unsurprising for a member of the Pure.

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Smart boy.

Careful there. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.

[bone-shadow-beast-blog]

Careful there. Don't bite off more than you can chew.

bone-shadow-beast replied to your post: ((Pfft, weve never even RPd

Mm, Flatterer.

Hmn, it’s only a first impression. The flattery comes later.

[bone-shadow-beast-blog]

The faint breeze fluttering across the empty planes of the spirit wastes bring with them a tangled snarl of scents. Metal, rust, asphalt, blood, vomit and ozone combine in a sickening bouquet that has become familiar over time. Unlike the wide, open wastes that overlay Earth's forests and fens, the spirit world's mockery of human cities is a jumbled mess of crumbling buildings and winding streets with pavement upheaved and dim lights flickering above. Disembodied voices whispered from its shadowy recesses and the quiet skittering of a plethora of unnamed fauna kept silence from falling overlong. The spirit wastes were a post-apocolyptic nightmare, one that sometimes spilled over into humanity's range of perception for a few choice individuals.

Willow could not help but wonder how many of those individuals were locked up in padded cells, chewing on a straight jacket and rocking back and forth, a gibbering mess. It was unnerving to think that, had her Tribe not found her, that could very well have been her eventual destination.

Such thoughts were pointless now. The cahalith had a job to do. The young Bone Shadow had taken on the urshul, or near-wolf, form for her trek through the spirit wastes. The massive wolf appeared almost prehistoric in nature, with hefty jaws meant for rending and tearing huge chunks of flesh and a build powerful enough to back them up. The silver streaking her dark grey coat gleamed faintly in the dim light as she passed under flickering approximations of street lamps. 

Suddenly, the young cahalith froze. She barely breathed, ears perked forward and claws digging into the earth. There it was, that familiar sound. The spirit she had been hunting. It does not know how to breathe, so its pale imitation  is a rasping rattle that sounds more like a death hiss than anything which would signify life. Phantom metal scraps against itself as the thing moves. Its feverish warmth grows closer, taints the atmosphere about the female just moments before its scent drowns out the scent of the spirit world: rotted flesh, congealing blood, infected wounds, rusting iron and, more subtly, the perfume of the shadow. 

Gleaming fangs were bared and hackles bristled just a moment before the spirit creature rounded the corner of a nearby alley. Although it had no eyes, it seemed to gaze directly at the young Uratha. 

I see you. I know your kind. You will not escape.

If only it knew. There would be no more excursions into the physical world for this thing, no more tormenting the sensitive humans within the territory of a cahalith with its ugly visage. The snarl that stretched the wolf's maw took a slightly mad twist in the moment before she lunged forward with a wild roar of fury, intent on rending the flesh from the creature's bones.

It was a long while before the wet ripping and crunching ceased, before the unearthly shrieks of a dying spirit faded into nothing. Willow faded away in that moment as well, returned to the physical realm weary and soaked in gore.

It was time to go home.

[bone-shadow-beast-blog]

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Masyaf-Mentor has started following you.

Hm...

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© art by: Abrar Ajmal White Wolf Publishing ( Werewolf The Forsaken, The Pure, Shadow of the U.K )

[bone-shadow-beast-blog]

“The Wolves are a free people," said Father Wolf. "They take orders from the Head of the Pack, and not from any striped cattle-killer. The man's cub is ours—to kill if we choose." "Ye choose and ye do not choose! What talk is this of choosing? By the bull that I killed, am I to stand nosing into your dog's den for my fair dues? It is I, Shere Khan, who speak!" The tiger's roar filled the cave with thunder. Mother Wolf shook herself clear of the cubs and sprang forward, her eyes, like two green moons in the darkness, facing the blazing eyes of Shere Khan. "And it is I, Raksha [The Demon], who answers. The man's cub is mine, Lungri—mine to me! He shall not be killed. He shall live to run with the Pack and to hunt with the Pack; and in the end, look you, hunter of little naked cubs—frog-eater—fish-killer—he shall hunt thee! Now get hence, or by the Sambhur that I killed (I eat no starved cattle), back thou goest to thy mother, burned beast of the jungle, lamer than ever thou camest into the world! Go!" Father Wolf looked on amazed. He had almost forgotten the days when he won Mother Wolf in fair fight from five other wolves, when she ran in the Pack and was not called The Demon for compliment's sake. Shere Khan might have faced Father Wolf, but he could not stand up against Mother Wolf, for he knew that where he was she had all the advantage of the ground, and would fight to the death. So he backed out of the cave mouth growling.

Rudyard Kipling, "The Jungle Book"

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