by Araquael (Werewolf: The Apocalypse | Resources)
It was not always desert.
From here, all the way across the lands south of the mountains, down into the basin of the Great Rivers, and across, all the way to the now cold wastes of Iran, there were once a great forest of cedar trees.
The trees kept the land fertile, their roots deep into the earth, their canopies open to the sky, drawing down life and the sun.
It was in the shadow of this forest, Man began building his first cities, between the woods, the river and the marshes, in what is now, modern day Iraq.
Imagine. Imagine the harsh and empty lands now, and the glory of what was once there.
We ruled that forest.
Our groves, our kingdoms amidst the trees were sacred and beautiful, and at night, the air, clear and dry and wonderful; every night we fell in love with creation again.
We spread out, into the mountains, and from there across the world, building our fortresses and towers in the hidden places, out of sight, but we ruled nonetheless.
We loved you then, we love you now, but we cannot be together. We are forbidden lovers, all of us.
They tore down our kingdoms; our brothers. And the others, the priests and the wise men and the astrologers, they stole what was left.
They destroyed our forest, slowly at first, then finally, they took it all, burned it down, stole it, destroyed it, made waste and desert.
We wander now.
The Flood chased us away, cast us across the four winds, to the Western Isles, to the kingdom of Hy-Brasail, and east into the great Sentinel mountains where we created wonders; north into the steppes and the cold lands beyond, and South, where we found the great forests again, made our Kingdoms in the vastness of time and place and beauty. But they too were lost, lost, never to come again.
*
Palestine was never a place. It was a typical British corruption of an older name: the land of the Philistines, whose champion, Goliath, has gone into history and myth as a synonym for bully and adversary.
Oh, we know all about him. He was one of the Nephilim, the bastard children of our brothers�.
Our brothers have staked their claim to that land. Perhaps it is best to let them have it. But why should there be so much suffering? Why should there be such killing?
Why die for earth and sand and rocks and water, when there is so much alive and beautiful to live for?
You always forget that, children, always. But we never forgot, even when we forgot what that meant.
We too forgot, though. We forgot so much. When I think of how much is lost, how much can never come again, I weep, my heart breaks, and my tears make diamonds from the sand.
Take my hand child.
She woke, crying.
Bed strewn around, empty place he had left, feeling small and broken and fragile. She wrapped her sweater around her shoulders and eased out of the bed, gingerly letting her feet fall to the carpet.
She had been dreaming again. She had dreamed of, at first, a huge old house, which was somehow made of her thoughts, and she could wander through them, reading them again, like books. Then she was alone, looking into the huge dawn, under a sky so big it could steal your heart away.
She sat down with an old man, and broke bread with him, and he smiled, and he was no longer old, his leathery, wrinkled face suddenly becoming young. It was just dust, he said.
Dust?
Yes, from the desert.
She had looked around then, at the ochre wastes, across the sands, and the stone, and the heat shimmers and the mirages.
She had smiled then. The land was harsh and pure and empty, but it dreamed of the time it was a forest, when all was young and bright. But it was no less beautiful.
"This is a day that Allah has made," the man said.
"Why?"
"All days are made by Allah, so it is said, and he is the master craftsman, is he not?"
"Yes," she said.
She drank her coffee in the kitchenette, the plastic seat she sat on cold and unyielding. The coffee was harsh, unnatural, and sour. She spat it out, down the sink.
It was her regular brand.
There had been coffee in her dream, had there not?
Yes, he had given her coffee.
"Am I in your debt?" she asked, not knowing why.
"No, daughter, you are not, you are my guest, for we are both travellers on this road, and perhaps one day you will return the favour. That is the way of my people."
"Thank you," she said, awkwardly.
"Think nothing of it."
She noticed that she was sitting on the finest of silk cushions, and under the grandest of tents, the hard ground covered with rugs and silks and pillows. Her cup was made of the finest silver. He served her bread on a platter of platinum.
"It is a very fine place you have," she said.
"Thank you, it is humble, but it serves, when one is on the road."
"Which road are we on?"
"We are on the road, the old road that takes you from the edge of the old forest to the gates of Samarkand. It passes through the great city of Baghdad and on, unto cold Tehran, and then beyond, until you reach Samarkand."
"Where am I going?"
"You do not know? That is a pity, because had you known, we could have travelled along the road, a ways."
"How far away is Samarkand?"
"For one such as I, not far. For you� that depends."
"I am sorry."
And then she was alone, in the desert, in the sand, and the sun ached down on her, and bleached the world.
She woke up then.
She lifted her phone; quick dialled a friend�s number, asked a very strange question:
"Where is the Cedar Mountain?"
"Up north maybe?" he friend replied, confused. "What are you doing later?"
"Not much, have class at one, you?"
"Not much, coffee?"
"Sure, seeya later."
She hung up the phone, and stood there, struck by the question: where is the Cedar Mountain?
*
"It�s in Syria," she told her friend. "Weird that. I dreamed about a mountain in Syria."
"Your folks are from there, aren�t they?" he friend said.
"Yeah, sorta. My grandfather came here in 1948, from Palestine. My mom is Italian," she said.
"Weird, Ay, weird�"
"Don�t call me Ay!" she said jokingly.
"Sorry, Ayesha�" he friend said, sarcastically.
They were sitting in a Second Cup on St. Catherine Street, slouched against a counter, looking out onto the street. The huge window was open, and they dangled their legs out. Occasionally, people passed, and looked at them.
Emmanuelle was of medium height, yet petite and slender. She had her ancestor�s features, dark and delicate, her skin somewhere between olive and pale coffee. She had long fidgety hands, and subsisted, it seemed, on a diet of coffee and fruit. Her friend, a small Japanese girl named Nara was almost the opposite, shorter, slighter, yet completely fluid and economical in her movements. They were both students, both city girls, cynical and as wild as allowed themselves to be.
They finished their coffee, said their goodbyes and then went their separate ways.
Ayesha pushed her hands deep into her parka pocket; it was getting cold. She hated winter; she hated this false spring, this cold, endless April cold. It was endless and merciless and grey and dark. She imagined herself on a Florida beach, or some warm place like that. Thinking of sand. Like the desert.
"Excuse me," a voice said.
She stopped, turned around. People passed, pushing by her, the street crowded with midday shoppers and the endless roar of cars and horns and shouts.
"Excuse me," a man said. He was tall and dignified and well spoken, his accent was British, she guessed. He wore the finest of business suits. He wore and expensive London Fog raincoat against the cold. His skin was the dark olive of her homeland.
"Yes," she said, guardedly.
He bowed.
"Forgive me," he said, quietly, "I must apologise for the intrusion."
"Can I help you?" she asked, all businesslike and clipped.
"It would appear that I dreamed of you last night," he said, embarrassed, apologetically.
She was at a loss for words. She said nothing, but glanced around, looking for a way out, psycho alert, psycho alert� only, she did not feel threatened. There was no rush of adrenaline.
"That�s� very interesting," she said, glibly.
"I dreamed that you and I were walking together, on the road to Tehran."
"So did I," she said calmly and quietly.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"And who, my dear, are you?" he replied.
They sat in silence in another caf�, further down the street. He was very handsome, she thought to herself. But not in that way.
"It would appear," he began, hesitantly, " that we share some bond, do we not?"
"Perhaps, yes." Her mind was racing, reaching deep into her skull, searching for the dream.
"But what?" he continued. He caught her eye, looked deep inside her, and shook his head.
She said nothing.
"I cannot speak long; I wish that we could have spoken more. But alas, time is passing. Others will come; when they do, when you see them, you must warn them. Tell them this: the Red Lord is wakening. He rules Malfeas in dreams, but he sleeps beneath the ice. His movements, as he slowly wakes, they are igniting the fire in the north. The Northern Lights have been so very active these past weeks."
"Tell who?" she asked, almost pleading. "Why can�t you tell them yourself?"
"Because, my dear, they would not believe me, worse, they will not trust me, and with reason. We are Djinni, you and I. But you are yet young. It is your task, this I grace you with. And now, I must, bid you farewell."
And then he was gone.
The Story So Far�
Once upon a time, they were the rulers of the land. They were kin; they ruled a land still sacred; still beautiful, still young. The undying, the lordly ones. The undying had all the powers of Heaven. They could wear the shape of a Wolf. They walked with spirits and dreams, and each day the world was born anew, but they knew such a thing could not last.
It did not.
What happened it unclear, no myths record, no legends tell, no histories deceive. Perhaps nothing happened, save the passing of time. All things must pass. Petty quarrels, intrigues over power, the divides of kinship, and other considerations, can take a toll on any such arrangement.
The division evolved and evolved so much that now it is as if it had never been. There are two groups, the Sidhe of the Fae and the Silver Fangs of the Garou, who were once kin, once partners, once the nobility of a long forgotten time. They are of the same blood, some say, and they are forever sundered.
Time passed, things got worse.
The Sundering, the Impergium, the War of Rage, the Quietening, and the Shattering, all came and went, taking their toll. The Weaver and the Wyrm grew in power. The world grew darker and colder, until there was nothing left. The Garou were dying. They warred constantly; their enemies multiplying. The Fae had long departed. The Tribes of the Garou were sundered. Tribes fell, never to rise again.
And then the Fae came back.
We all know the story. In 1969, man touched the Sphere of the Moon, opened a path to Arcadia, and the Noble Host came again onto the Earth.
For 30 years, the Fae made their false Kingdoms on Earth. The Kingdom of the Northern Ice, the Kingdom of Concordia, the land of the Shining Bright Cloud. In some places, their people were waiting, remembering, preparing, in others, they were not. They found a world bereft of magic, hope and dreams. They found a world where their enemies gathered close. In their councils, the Noble Host trapped in their human seemings, prepared for War. The Fomorians were coming back; the Infernal were growing strong, and no help could come from Arcadia.
The Sidhe on earth, were young, with little memory of the time before, save a few fragmented tales and memories, but House Scathach remembered. Their loremasters walked far and wide through the world, going to the ancient fastnesses in the hills of Ireland and Scotland, into the cold wastes of Norway, and then beyond, through the fallen wastes of Russia, and then, at last to the Cedar Mountain, in Syria, where they parleyed with the Huwawa guardians of the Sacred Forests there, hidden in the coastal hills of that troubled nation. There they found records of many things. The way back was long and hard, and many of the loremasters were lost, but at last they came back to Concordia.
They found only chaos and rumours of war.
In desperation, they went north, into the Kingdom of the Northern Ice, and the strange city of Ottawa, which is ruled by a strange council. The Fae lords of that city offered their protection. Messengers were sent out into the world, telling the Fianna and the Silver Fangs that they wished to talk.
The Silver Fangs, in their dotage, sensing a trap, have been cautious in their response.
Time is running out, however. Certain other forces have been aware of the mission of House Scathach for some time now. They are closing in, slowly. The Silver Fangs have chosen Montreal�s West Island as a meeting place. Their reasoning is unclear, and worse, while the West Island may be a secure place for the Garou, it is not for anyone else. Whoever accompanies the messengers to Montreal is in a very great deal of danger.
Overview:
This is a voyage into the unknown, into realms which the Changelings know little. The heritage of magic in the world is still a mystery, and the explanations given for why the world is as it is, are theories, dogmas, metaphors and outright lies. Things are moving in the night, and have the power to snuff out any Changeling it comes into contact with.
The characters must travel to Montreal to escort a scholar of House Scathach and an Envoy representing the Kingdom of the Northern Ice to the Silver Fangs. First they have to get there, and then enter a stronghold of the Sabbat so as to reach the domains of the Silver Fangs on the West Island. However, the scholars have attracted the attention of certain forces who know what they are about, and wish to prevent such a thing occurring. Worse still, the Garou themselves do not trust outsiders, and, surrounded as they are by the Sabbat, are inclined to kill first and ask questions later. The Fae of Montreal are unlikely to aid the characters in their quest.
Theme:
The Meeting Place is about trust. It�s about exploring the validity of the notion that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. In the end, though, it�s about forgiveness, moving on, and looking at the future.
Mood:
The mood of this story is about desperation. Essentially the characters are going to have to go and enter the territory of a group of beings that are completely alien to their way of thinking, armed only with the word of an untrustworthy scholar. The Silver Fangs will delay and delay, and each passing hour bring enemies closer to the characters. And through it all, a red star gets that little bit bigger with each passing night.
Involving Our Heroes:
This one is easy. Someone orders them to. A boon is called in, or a higher-up Noble simply puts the hard word on them. Sounds a bit harsh? That�s ok, because said higher-up has probably thought the same thing. And why our heroes? Well, the two best reasons, either someone high up likes them, and wants someone competent for the job, or someone high up does not like them at all, and wants useful cannon fodder.
Metaplot:
This is the first episode of the "Ex Libris Nocturnis" Changeling Chronicle, The Northern Lights. It pits the Changelings against the mysterious, and overwhelming force who hail from the Spiral Tower. It throws the Changelings into the violence of a wider conflict that the small events of their Concordia. The Northern Lights is a large story, designed to be told episodically. The story starts with a new wrinkle in the ongoing deliberations and diplomacy between the Sidhe nobles of the Fae and the Silver Fangs of the Garou.
House Scathach sees a necessity to bring Kithain and Garou together. It�s seers have unveiled a truth from the past, but also a terror in the future. They believe that Concordia will fall before the onslaught of this truth; they believe the Garou to be next. But, perhaps, if the Garou and the Kithain were to work together�?
Plot:
The Story essentially involves a haunted journey to Montreal, Canada. The players go from wherever they are now to the City of the Royal Mountain.
Before their journey, mortal Hunters confront them; normal people with strange abilities are powers.
On the way dark strangers waylay them. They are not Changelings.
On arriving in Montreal, the characters have to open negotiations with the Silver Fangs, and, as the discussions go on, put forward the Scathach�s point of view. The Scathach and the character�s superiors separately see an opportunity to advance their goals. The character�s Concordian superiors see having the Garou on one�s side is a good thing, full stop. Enchanting a few a watchdogs, perhaps, say the Unseelie amongst the upper echelons of Concordia nobility. Great warriors, say the Seelie.
The Grey House, however, know different. Their ways have always been different to that of the Nobility. They have a darker, more realistic motive. We hang together, they say, or else, we will surely hang separately. They have sent out their messengers. Things are ready. Now, they feel, it is time for the game to begin.
The second Chapter sees the characters present at the massive politicking and intrigues that surround a Quebec tribal moot hosted by the Silver Fangs of Montreal. The characters must prove themselves in the eyes of a strange girl who knows too much.
The Third chapter sees the Moot coming to a close, but the darkness has come for them all.
The Meeting Place:
The Origin Songs is a story for a group of 2-6 Changeling characters, be they characters generated by using Changeling: The Dreaming, Changeling: The Celtic Cycle, or Changeling: The Exile Fey. (Both of the latter sets of rules are available on Ex Libris Nocturnis). The first part of the story takes place in the characters home city. For the sake of argument, this home city is assumed to be San Francisco.
San Francisco
While the massive changes in the world of the vampires has gone on, things for the fey of San Francisco have changed, but little. Yes, they have seen the first, and distant, rumblings of the Second Accordance War. Yes, the loss of High King David has been a blow to the fragile stability there. But life goes on. The aristocracy has not changed. The Shadow Court still continues its intrigues. However, sorcerers from House Eiluned still watch, and what they see disturbs them.
San Francisco itself has changed since the writing of "Immortal Eyes: The Toybox." The city, according to residents, has changed, for the first, due to the effect of the recent quake, and of the burgeoning effects of the New Economy. Internet Start-up companies, the lifeblood of the New Economy have filled the city with young, some say unsociable, professionals. This has led to a marked division between the established population and the "geeks." "**** You and the start-up you rode in on," is the most common graffittied slogan.
However, while things remain largely unchanged in the Duchy, things are stirring. A large group of Technocratic mages, although the Fae do not recognise them as such, has been monitoring the Fae�s activities. They see the Fae as some sort of as yet unknown group of Mages � perhaps Marauders. They have noticed the contacts between the "Marauders" and the Tradition Mages from the Bay Area.
This group is however, somewhat split. One faction believes that the Fae are obvious, puissant and active "Reality Deviants." The other faction, mostly younger "operatives" are not so sure. There is something about the Fae � something beguiling, something attractive.
However, that first faction is taking matters into its own hands.
Character Prelude: Hunted
Omens:
It�s very cold today, even now, in late spring. The wind is bitter, chill, bone cold and relentless. You all awake late, after a night of vague, dark nightmares. The news on the radio is bad, the morning is relentlessly dull; it is as if all that is banal has settled onto the world.
Last night, the red star, the Eye of Balor shone brightly in the sky. Its existence is not just visual, when it is high on the horizon; some report that it causes terrible migraines and insomnia. Those reporting such effects are few, but they grow more common, over time.
This story begins the Northern Lights Chronicle.
The Hunters.
The Imbued are mortals who have been given certain powers from mysterious entities, to purge the human race of things that haunt the night, be they vampire, fey, werewolf or other, less clean, things.
The Hunters themselves organise and communicate via the Internet. They communicate, discuss and define their problems here. Targets are identified; experiences exchanged, methods compared. However, this innocuous web site and online list have been monitored, on occasion, by various interlopers. One such interloper is the strange group of sorcerers who sometimes call themselves: Iteration X. Certain of these sorcerers have decided that such a list could be used to their advantage. The most obvious benefit is extra data on the various "reality deviants" at large. The second, less obvious benefit, is the potential for manipulation. What if, the sorcerers ask, that certain of these "Messiah wannabes" could be nudged in the direction of certain targets?
Iteration X, of the Technocracy, sees Changelings as a danger, but certainly not the greatest danger of all time. It has identified them as a potential proving ground for their new project. Can these "wannabes" kill whoever these RDs are?
An Iteration X agent kidnapped a type of Imbued called a Bystander, and after hours of torture, learned enough to emulate this person, on-line. The Union databases were scoured for potential targets. These potentials were tagged, corrected, cross-referenced and isolated. Then, this information was leaked on Hunter-Net. The sorcerers decided to sit back, and wait.
There are a total of 8 Imbued operating in the immediate vicinity of the characters. They are taking a deep and immediate interest in the Changeling population.
They will not be openly confrontational, until they have established how powerful the characters are, and how much of a threat they present.
The four deaths.
The descriptions of these four deaths are deliberately left vague. The Storyteller is encouraged to customise these figures to their needs. Perhaps the storyteller could use this as an excuse to be rid of some less than useful NPCs. None are particularly close to the characters. But neither are they complete strangers. The deaths take place over a period of days, not less than a week.
The First Death.
A Seelie Redcap, known to the characters is found dead. He has been shot � several times. Surprisingly, there is no trail of blood, gore and carnage around him. He�s simply dead, a pathetic heap lying in a sidestreet near the Oakland docks. He looks, in death, almost peaceful. Tears streaks still stain his face.
His fey weaponry lies broken, a few yards away. There is no sign of any others.
The Second Death:
In a far-too-cool-for-words loft in the Mission District, the second body is found; again this is someone known to the characters. She has been nailed to the ceiling, and left to die. She was an Unseelie Sluagh for a penchant for ravaging. Her body, again, small and broken and pathetic, bears marks of torture. Whatever they trapped her with, she was not able to wiggle out from. There is, however, a strange look of peace on her face.
The Third Death:
Behind a fashionable nightclub near Haight-Ashbury, lies the third body. He was a Satyr. He was shot in the back of the head, at close range. It�s an execution style shooting, and done with a reasonable amount of professionalism. The police find the body. They assume it�s gang-related. The dead man was known amongst certain circles, which included drug takers. The police believe that it was not the work of a professional hitman, but rather an up and coming gang banger. They have nothing else to go on.
However, the dead man had friends. These friends begin putting it about that there would be a fine reward if the killers were found, and brought to the justice of the Seelie Court, be the killer mortal, immortal or prodigal.
The Fourth Death:
Baron Ralagh of Oakland is found dead, in his home. He is a minor noble, but he is connected. There are terrible signs of struggle. There is blood everywhere. The Duke�s body is utterly shattered. His limbs dangle from his corpse, barely attached to his torso. His face is blackened. There is more blood than could have come from him. He took his attackers down with him.
With the death of the Baron, political pressure will mount for the killers to be apprehended and destroyed. The political machinery amongst the fae will also begin turning. Various lords and ladies will do their best to ensure that they appear to be doing something � anything � about the problem. This pressure will be directly applied to the characters.
Scene One: Morning.
It�s an unseasonably cold and misty morning. The characters are all tired, and irritable. They all receive a fax, or phone call, or indeed, some more mystic message, to come down to the Duke�s palace.
Have them make arrangements to meet, and then get to the Duke�s palace on Nob Hill. Note the chill of the weather, the unpleasantness of the morning. The city seems to have woken up badly too. Cars sound their horns more. Police sirens are frequent. The radio plays very bad, and very aggressive music. The news seems grim.
The characters are being followed.
Have each of the characters make a perception + streetwise roll every few turns. More than one success indicates that they notice that someone is shadowing them. On 4 successes or more, they notice that there are at least 4 people shadowing them. They look like normal people. See below for a better description of the Hunters.
What do the characters do?
If the characters lead the Hunters to the Duke�s palace, the Hunters will note where the characters went, and come back later, with help. They will also note the location on Hunter-Net and subsequent investigation will reveal that many of these strange, demonic beings (the fey) frequent the area. This information will be in Iteration X�s hands by nightfall.
If the characters are smart, however� they may think of other options. But remember, the characters have been summoned to the palace, and tardiness may be a fatal insult.
Scene Two: Confrontation
This is the initial fight scene. It happens whenever the Hunters confront the characters. Depending on the Storyteller, and the player�s decision, this could happen on the morning of their first noticing that they are being followed, or days later.
The Hunters are reasonably well armed. They all carry, at the very least, pistols, and at least one will have something "stronger" like a mini-Uzi or a Mac Ingram.
They are savvy enough not to be led into any traps, and they are brutally efficient. The characters will have one chance, and one chance only to take down their enemies, or get free. Which choice they make is up to them, but they will not be able to emerge from a fight with the Imbued unscathed. Nor can they escape from the Imbued for long. The Hunters know where the characters live, who they are, who their friends are � they have been watching for quite some time. However future events will render these concerns moot.
How this scene plays out is up to the Storyteller. At least six of the Hunters will be around at any given time. Four are acting as "shadows" on the character. Two, at least, will be covering the "shadows" from passing cars. If the characters attack any of the shadows, the other shadows will be upon the characters in two rounds. In two more rounds, the "backups" will arrive. One backup will run into the fray, while the other spends another round, rooting in his trunk for weaponry. He will choose an FN-FAL assault rifle. He will stay back from the fray, attempting to pick off the characters as they become exposed.
Chapter One:
In the meantime we try, try to forget that nothing lasts forever.
No big deal, so give us all a feel.
Funny how it all falls away.
When did you first realise?
It's time you took an older lover baby; teach you stuff although he's looking rough.
Funny how it all falls away.
Pulp,
Help the Aged
Scene One:
The scene has the characters been issued summons to their local Freehold. The representative of Concordia wishes to speak to them. This is the bit the Storyteller has to do herself. If you are using the San Francisco scenario from the main Changeling rulebook and the first of the Immortal Eyes trilogy, they are summoned to the Toybox, for example.
The Representative meets them cordially. Perhaps too cordially, depending on your chronicle. He wishes them to run an errand for her. A piffling thing, she says.
Asked what, she will elaborate conspiratorially: those idiotic Scathach are running off on some crusade again. They invoked a boon from our lord, and he must, unfortunately honour it.
Asked what exactly she wants, she will reply:
"We need you to go to Montreal with two of the Scathach. You are to escort them, guarantee safe passage to that city, observe whatever it is they are doing and come home. A road trip, if you will."
The representative gives the characters the feeling that the affair is of little importance.
However, she concludes, since you appear to be willing to help, (i.e.: you are going to help, no questions asked) we shall reward you well. The representative makes her apologies and leaves. The characters are then told by one of her functionaries that they must wait for their travelling companions.
What�s Actually Going On??
This is a lot more complex than it seems. Regardless of the representative�s actions, the higher up do care very deeply about this. For no small time, whispers have been heard of bad things coming down. Informal contacts have been made with the Silver Fangs and the Fianna, and apparently, the Shadow Lords before. Neither the Nobility nor the Garou leadership want to be seen as over-eager. That�s why this moot suits them. It is reasonably big, close to the important battlegrounds of New York State, and close to the Sidhe strongholds in the Adronindacks. The Scathach have information, but they also have a proposal, and the player�s characters are there to make it sound official. The proposal is to implement a continent wide truce and alliance with the Silver Fangs, and perhaps even the entire Garou nation. If this official contact goes well, then the agreement can be implemented across most of The Kingdom of Northern Ice (Canada), the Kingdom of Apples (New England) and the Midwest in a fairly short order. If it goes wrong, then it wasn�t a major Moot, and red faces will be minimised. Such, unfortunately, is the thinking of too many Sidhe and Silver Fang leaders. They want to save face.
Scene Two:
After a few minutes wait, the two House Scathach members arrive. They are Harold and Ingrid. Harold is a Scathach paladin, a fierce knight, with cold, hard eyes. Ingrid is a Scathach Seer, a tall, mulatto woman with a pronounced Irish accent. They are dressed casually, and they have been travelling many weeks. They are both visibly tired. They regard the characters with thinly veiled contempt. They have been given the "run-around" by the Nobility for no small time now. They have to deal with the Silver Fangs, though, which means they have to come bearing some sort of official seal.
Introductions are made. The two are eager to be going on, because as soon as they get to Montreal, the sooner they get to go home. The Silver Fang Moot of the Sept of the Mountain, on the West Island, they read from a diary, is to be held on November the 28th, and will last for 3 nights, due to the Silver Fangs calling for a grand conclave of all the Tribes of Quebec. "We are most likely somewhere in the "other business" of the minutes," Harold spits, angrily.
The two travellers and the characters now have to finalise their travel plans. The rest of this scene is devoted to such plans. Using aircraft or trains are mentioned. Dorval airport is rigidly controlled by the Sabbat, Ingrid says. They may not bother us, probably not knowing who we are, but then again� The best options, she thinks is by overland route, or by rail. If the characters have access to an RV or similar, that will be chosen.
Encourage the characters to try and get to know their travelling companions.
Scene Three:
(This assumes the group takes the overland route).
It is a beautiful spring day. The sun is crisp and golden, the light fading gently down over the mountains and the fields. A few low clouds scud across the face of the sun, and the light is changed, catching the road in a halo of red. It is a beautiful scene. It is good to be alive. It feels as if the old tired world has some beauty and youth left.
The characters are nice and relaxed. The two travellers have chilled out some, and are somewhat more comfortable in the characters presence. They suggest a storytelling session to pass the hours. This can be role-played.
As the evening darkens, and the stars come out, the characters must decide whether to carry on, or stop for the night.
Whatever happens, the sky suddenly opens. A huge rainsquall tears down from the North. The night is black and murky and bitterly cold. The tyre blows on the car/RV.
When they go out to fix the flat, all hell breaks loose. Lightning crackles around the sky. Huge peals of thunder, razor sharp hailstones flash past them.
Harold will go out first, telling Ingrid to stay in the car. The job is exceptionally difficult, if the characters don�t help, he will ask it. The task will require 15 successes on Dexterity + Crafts roll at a difficulty of 8 due to the storm.
And when the characters are all out of the van�.
Ingrid steps out:
"This storm," she says, "its not natural."
As she speaks, out of the night loom 4 men, dressed like rednecks or bikers, fat, 40ish, bearded and unpleasant.
"What have we got here?" the leader asks.
If the characters advance, the men will attack. They are armed with tyre arms. Iron tyre arms.
As soon as the characters attempt any magical or chimerical attacks, something worse happens. The men change. They warp and mutate, turning into huge hairy monsters with wolf-like heads.
(An intelligence + Occult roll with 3 successes against a difficulty of 7 reveals that these are, in fact, Black Spiral Dancers). Otherwise, allow the characters to assume that they are some form of Chimerical monsters � until they draw blood. Then announced: these are not of the Dreaming!
The Black Spiral Dancers:
The Dancers have been given a task; to kill Ingrid, and any guarding her. They don�t know, or care, why, they just know that is their task. The message came from up on high. They are just following their orders. If there are any attractive female (or even Sidhe male) characters amongst the group, they will plan to have fun with her before they kill her. Their Theurge figures that the females could be used in the Breeding pools. But Ingrid must die, as far as they are concerned. What happens to her before she dies, no one said. The Theurge was responsible for the flat tyre. Something else was responsible for the weather.
They are all ugly, hideous brutes. They are bikers, dreaming that they are roaming the country, but in fact, they are territorial, patrolling a fairly small area of highway and countryside for Garou. They have a small Caern a few miles away. There are a large number of Banes waiting there.
The fight.
It all depends on the characters. Harold has been in a great many fights in his life, but he has survived this long by using his head, not his sword arm. He will fight to the death, but he will fight to protect Ingrid. If the characters use some interesting way out of this, reward them. If they fight, they should win against the Dancers.
But when the last dancer falls, his howl will tear across the countryside, and like crows disturbed, the Banes will come rushing down to their fallen brethren.
The vehicle�s flat had best be fixed by then. The Banes will pursue the character�s vehicle for about 20 miles before giving up. After another 30 miles or so, they emerge from the storm into windy starlight.
What has just happened?
The enemy has just tested the characters. It wasn�t a feint; rather it was a genuine attack. But assuming they won, the enemy now knows what sort of protection Ingrid has. The Banes had no interest in straying too far from their gateway.
Note: If you are feeling particularly cruel, you could have some Fomori or similar attack the characters at some other point. If the characters take the train, they are attacked on the carriages by several Fomori ticket inspectors.
Scene Four: The City and Arrival
Montreal sort of looms out at you as you come in along the interstate. The city is on an island, and the island is basically a large hill in the middle of the St. Laurence River. The buildings are fairly high up, so you can see it from a long way away. Harold becomes visibly more relaxed as they get closer to the city. Approximately 8 miles from the airport, along Route 20, Ingrid tells them to turn off. A very small, very rough country road, takes them away from the motorway, past a copse of trees and into a very small plantation farm. The characters can see the farmhouse as they come up the drive, about a mile away. At that point, their vehicle�s engine cuts out. Three very sturdy, very tough looking men come out of the bushes to stand in front of the vehicle.
"State your business," the first one says.
These are Silver Fang Ahrouns. They have no interest of taking any crap from anybody. Montreal is only about 18 miles away, and is the stronghold of vile, unspeakable evil, thanks to the Sabbat and that which sleeps beneath the hill. This is a frontline base in the fight against the Wyrm. Strangers can mean trouble. Luckily because of the moot, and the fact that many other garou from all across Quebec, Eastern Ontario, and New England are coming, they decide not to kill the characters out of hand. They know a garou when they see one though, and our heroes are not Garou.
The only way through this is by presenting their credentials, which Harold keeps, which is a strange carving, imbued with spirit by the Silver Fang lord of Syria, the Silver Fang king of France, and the Lord Chamberlain of the Silver Fang Demesne of Texas. The fetish, for such it is, is a token of passage, and any Garou looking at it knows that the bearer means business.
Garou are killing machines. Remember that.
It�s getting dark, and the characters are tired. They are taken to the farmhouse, and led inside. They are given rooms to sleep in.
The Sept of the Mountain:
Caern: West Island, Montreal, Quebec, Canada.
Level: 3
Gauntlet: 2
Type: Kingship
Tribal Structure: Silver Fangs, although Fianna and Glass Walkers (common enough in Montreal) are welcome.
Geography: About 18 miles give or take from Montreal�s city centre on the Western end of the West Island, close to one of the many parklands. It is on a largish "tree farm" that is "forgotten" by the locals.
History: As far as it is known, this was once a Nihil into the Underworld, but the Silver Fangs, in the early 1930s, fought against the bizarre things that came from it, and somehow sanctified the place enough to become a Caern. There is another story, however, but that is not for now. The Sept call themselves the Sept of the Mountain against the glorious day when they retrieve the huge Caern on top of Mount Royal. However, they know this won�t be any day soon.
Bawn: The Caern�s bawn reaches out to the motorway and into the parkland for quite a-ways. It occupies almost 4 square miles of land, although the suburbs are encroaching fast.
The Centre: This is an older, burnt down farmhouse deeper into the property. Only half a wall and the floor and chimney remain. The Garou light an eternal, supernatural fire in that chimneypiece. The house was quite big, and on the stony floor, the Caern exists.
Information: The Caern typically plays host to two Silver Fang packs. At Moot times, it can play host to a great many more. That small farmhouse is a lot bigger than it looks. A lot. No one is quite certain how this is.
Chapter Two:
"Come senators, congressmen, please heed the call,
Don�t stand in the doorways or block up the hall
�cos he that gets hurts is he that has stalled,
for the times, they are a changing�"
Bob Dylan,
The Times They Are A Changing.
Scene One:
The next day, the day before the Moot, the characters are given pretty much the run of the place. It is shockingly normal. A few people hang around, others work. The farm does produce timber, on occasion. Certain of the Garou actually go and prune the trees, and put in the work. The characters will be pretty much ignored. Harold and Ingrid will keep to themselves. They do not see either very often. Let the characters decide what they will do until nightfall.
A little later, a young girl will appear out of the house, wave to them and walk over. This is Michaela. Michaela is about 12 or 13, and still looks more childlike than adult. She has huge blue eyes, of a tone few have seen before. She latches on to the characters and follows them around.
She is very inquisitive, and wants to know everything about the characters. And when they lie, she will ask again, until they tell the truth. She speaks with a very cute Quebecois accent.
Sample Questions:
1: M�sieur? How long have you been travelling?
2: Madam? I like your dress, where did you get it?
3: What�s your name? (Answering with one�s mortal name will get another repeat).
4: That�s a strange name, where does it come from?
Etc,
Basically, she knows a great deal about the characters and the Changelings already. She just hasn�t seen very many up close before. She has dreamed of the characters arriving, and she knows what the Scathach have to say. She hasn�t told the Fang elders this yet, though.
If the characters ask her questions, she will laugh and run away.
At last, the characters will be told that they are to come to the Caern. The Moot is beginning.
Scene Two:
The Garou discuss many things at the Moot; battles with the Sabbat, the rising power of whatever it is in the mountain, recent disappearances of Garou and kinfolk, the recent chaos in India, the Red Star, the Metis Cub and generally poor tidings from everywhere.
Much of this information can be found in the Vampire sourcebooks Montreal by Night and Time of Thin Blood, and the Werewolf sourcebook, Rage Across the Heavens. If you play Werewolf, Werewolf characters your Troupe is familiar with may be mentioned.
This is a Silver Fang moot. It is reasonable, restrained and full of pomp and circumstance. Speakers are referred to in full title: Knight somebody or other of the city of someplace, of the bloodline of someone else. Commoner Kithain will see a strange pattern here�.
If you want, and you have Werewolf, you could play a short scene, with the players taking Garou characters to play out the Moot discussions. Or you could initiate a discussion between the characters and some of the Garou. They may even be called on to speak of their encounters with the Black Spiral Dancers and the Banes.
Press home to the characters that this is serious stuff. The players no doubt, know all this, but the characters probably won�t.
At last, the Scathach speak. It is getting late, and the night is growing old. Dawn is but a few hours away. The Garou are getting tired or antsy. This is normally the moment the Sept leader would call for a revel. The reception is cool.
"I am one of the Morphean Oracles," Ingrid announces. "We look for what is, what is to come, and what has passed. We come to you with a legend." She allows this to sink in.
"We are Sidhe, of the faerie-folk, if you will." She lets this sink in as well. The Garou listen, politely.
"We are your kin."
This causes a consterned murmur amongst the Garou. She looks at them and a strange trance comes over her. Her voice is odd, when she speaks.
"It was not always desert.
From here, all the way across the lands south of the mountains, down into the basin of the Great Rivers, and across, all the way to the now cold wastes of Iran, there were once a great forest of cedar trees.
The trees kept the land fertile, their roots deep into the earth, their canopies open to the sky, drawing down life and the sun.
It was in the shadow of this forest, Man began building his first cities, between the woods, the river and the marshes, in what is now, modern day Iraq.
Imagine. Imagine the harsh and empty lands now, and the glory of what was once there.
We ruled that forest.
Our groves, our kingdoms amidst the trees were sacred and beautiful, and at night, the air, clear and dry and wonderful; every night we fell in love with creation again.
We spread out, into the mountains, and from there across the world, building our fortresses and towers in the hidden places, out of sight, but we ruled nonetheless.
We loved you then, we love you now, but we cannot be together. We are forbidden lovers, all of us.
They tore down our kingdoms; our brothers. And the others, the priests and the wise men and the astrologers, they stole what was left.
They destroyed our forest, slowly at first, then finally, they took it all, burned it down, stole it, destroyed it, made waste and desert.
We wander now.
The Flood chased us away, cast us across the four winds, to the Western Isles, to the kingdom of Hy-Brasail, and east into the great Sentinel mountains where we created wonders; north into the steppes and the cold lands beyond, and South, where we found the great forests again, made our Kingdoms in the vastness of time and place and beauty. But they too were lost, lost, never to come again."
This is a true speaking, she whispers.
"We come here seeking alliance," Harold says, in his gruff warrior�s tone. The Garou whisper amongst themselves.
"Why?" comes the simple response from the Master of the Rite.
Now comes the character�s turn. The characters will be put on the spot, and asked what they say and what says the nobility of the Fae.
Roleplay this. Don�t let them use dice, unless they are trying to use Glamour. In that case, there is a very good chance the Garou will notice them using magic and get upset. What follows is up to you.
The characters have to show the Garou that the faeries are not useless, idle tricksters. They have to convince the Garou of the seriousness of their intent (and perhaps themselves).
Note: She is reciting a dream-song of the Djinni. This dream song is a type of oral history-poetry-folk memory. It is part of the old and mysterious magics of the Djinn.
What the Fae want:
The Scathach want allies in the coming war against the darkness. They already have contacts amongst the Silent Striders, certain of the Romany, and with some Mages. But they know that they need the entire Garou nation. They know they face a terrible dark being, and his allies. The Changeling leadership of Concordia want an alliance with the Garou anyway, for political purposes.
What the Garou want:
The Garou are quite unsure as to what they want. They are Silver Fangs after all. They have really lost sight of their goal. They fight to rule and rule to fight, and they are losing at both. The Theurges amongst the Silver Fangs however, have had dreams of renewal and rebirth. They are willing to listen. The younger Garou are also desperate to break the cycle of endless war and destruction. They want to fight. They want to win. They want the world to live.
As the sun rises, the Silver Fangs agree to vote on the issue later.
Scene Three:
Later that next day, when they all wake up, they see the girl running around the farm. As they watch her, one of the Fang elders comes up to them and says:
"That one is a mystery." He says this fondly.
If asked why, he will say, "I believe she is a special child, she is not garou. When the time came for her First Change, she was very different. She did not become a beast. "
The elder will leave. The girl will come up to them and smile, and then says, follow me. She brings them to a small tent in the woods. She shows them three books, leather-bound, and heavy. They look very impressive. They seem to be imbued with some strange magic. She will not them open the books until they leave.
If asked what they are, she will say:
"They are the story of the old story."
Before they leave, she turns all serious.
"The shadows are coming, I see them in my dreams! Be careful, and be brave," she smiles then and runs off.
If the characters check later, they are a recent printing of Paradise Lost by John Milton, the Silmarillion by JRR Tolkien and Jack of Kinrowan by Charles De Lint. But they still have that odd power about them.
What�s going on?
The girl is far more mature than her behaviour indicates. She sees much in her dreams, and occasional waking visions. She is still a kid, but she knows things. She hides her fears with her happy appearance. She knows what is coming. The books, are, as she says, the story of the oldest story. They are echoes of the origin of the Fae. Very distant echoes, but true echoes nonetheless.
Chapter Three:
How well I remember that terrible day,
When the blood stained the sand and the water.
And how in that hell
That they called Souvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turkey was ready; He'd primed himself well.
He showered us with bullets,
And he rained us with shells.
And in five minutes flat,
He�d blown us all to hell.
Nearly blew us right back to Australia.
The Pogues,
"And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda"
Scene One: Before the Storm
The Moot continues. It�s a dark night, cloudy and misty, the waning moon is hidden behind the clouds. The debate on whether or not to enter into alliance with the Sidhe goes hither and thither. Some speak of the usefulness of such alliances in other parts of the United States, in such places as Chesapeake Bay and France. Others regard the fae as treacherous, and how they have stolen Caerns from the Garou before, especially in New York State. The meeting appears to be going nowhere. Give the characters the impression that the anti-agreement group may really want to be convinced. So let the characters convince them.
At last, it looks as if the Garou will accept the alliance, to be ratified at an Imperial Moot at some later date.
Then all hell breaks loose.
Scene Two: Attack!!
As the debate unfolds, any characters paying attention (Perception + Survival against a difficulty of 6) will note that strange, dark clouds are looming overhead. The night has become deathly silent. No need to panic, or is there?
Then, as one of the older, more boring Silver Fang elders makes his rambling and non-committal speech, one of the Ahrouns who stopped the characters earlier, comes bounding into the meeting place.
"We are under attack!! The enemy is upon us!!" The Ahroun is bleeding from many wounds. The other guardians are dead. The Master yells "Prepare yourself!" but then the storm breaks. Vile, black rain pours down on the Caern. Banes flock out of the night, throwing themselves at the surprised Garou. And amidst flickers of lightning, the Black Spiral Dancers, perhaps two dozen of them, loom closer.
What the characters do is up to themselves. If they run away, well, they can, but the chance of a Sidhe/Garou alliance is doomed, perhaps forever. If they fight, well, they can. They may fight and live, or they may die. The characters would best be able to fight well. Another option is to stay out of the way and use Cantrips to aid the Garou in their fight. They had best be obvious about doing this, though.
Especially impressive would be if a Sidhe amongst the characters, along with Harold, leapt into the thick of things, as a true Sidhe should, glowing and majestic. The Banes and the Black Spiral Dancers will draw back in horror as the sight of two of the Wild Ones in all their glory.
Scene Three: Save the Child
As the fight rages on, one of the Garou yells: where is Michaela? Where is the child? He sends any of the unoccupied characters off looking for her. This errand will take them into the heart of the fighting, and Banes and Black Spiral Dancers will attack them at random. They need 12 successes on a Wits + Enigmas roll, between them to find the girl.
She is deep in the woods, asleep.
When they do, they find something really strange. Standing around her, bathed in blue light, are four very tall, very beautiful, very scary men. The light comes from within them. They are singing softly. The characters will not be able to draw close.
The men will not speak unless spoken to.
They will reveal:
The Child is under our protection. She has our mark upon her.
The darkness comes for her and the Oracle.
If the characters go to the men and somehow manage to convince them that the mean no harm, they will see that Michaela is asleep. If awoken, she will wake up, smile at them and say: they are my friends, and go back asleep. The men will continue singing their song.
If the characters make any hostile move, they will be attacked by the music itself! The song will grow louder and they will be repulsed. If they continue attacking, the music will begin to hurt them. They should get the hint. If the character attempt to storm the men, they will disappear, and Michaela too. The forest will go dark, and the Banes will suddenly get interested in the characters, which they weren�t before. Or rather, they simply weren�t interested in coming into the area�.
Scene Four: Battle�s End
The Battle is over, many Garou have fallen, but with the character�s help, the Caern and the Sept was saved. Michaela is found, still sleeping, in her little tent near the woods come daybreak. The Silver Fangs cast a ritual that burns away the remains of the Black Spiral Dancers. Many elder Garou have died. The younger Garou see the Fae as allies now. They declare a life-friendship between themselves and the characters, and a special relationship between the Sept of the Mountain and the character�s Freehold. Perhaps one day a Moon Bridge or Trod will link them�.
The job is over. Time to go home.
Michaela gives each one a hug, and says; don�t forget to read the books!! She then runs off, back to whatever she normally does.
Before they go, however, two Silver Fang Theurges approach the characters will a request. This wish to work a ritual that will give the Fae Sight to any Garou who hears of this alliance.
Scene Five: The Ritual.
At midday, the characters and the Theurges gather around the Caern, and begin working the ritual. The Rituals calls on Luna to grant the gift of her children to the Changing Breed.
The Rite of Seeing
Level Three.
This rite is performed for the first time at this Moot, and will be performed at other Silver Fang moots around the world, as the alliance is accepted. The Rite sends strange dreams to the Garou in a huge radius. When they awake, little has changed. They are, however, now enchanted. The participants sing a song and spent a point of Gnosis or Glamour on the Caern. When the Rite is completed, a silver Falcon takes to the air, and flies away.
Note: It will be a long, long time before the Sidhe and the Garou ever fully ratify their alliance. There will be much resistance on all sides. But slowly, but surely, the Fae will bring their lost brothers closer to them. No system is included here, but it should work.
The ritual takes an hour, and when it is over, the characters may depart.
Chapter Four: And on the day after�
Scene One: Coffee
Just before the characters want to go home, they are given a message, with a phone number on it. If they check, it belongs to someone with a Bell Canada cellphone, but no other information is forthcoming.
The voice on the other end answers in French. The voice is female, and belongs to a French speaking Quebecer. She introduces herself as Chretienne Anouille. She wants to know who the characters are, and why she is calling them. After a few moments of confusion � and English is not the woman�s first language � the penny drops. Have fun roleplaying this out.
"Oh�. I am very sorry," she says. "You are� one of us, yes?"
She says that she wishes to meet the characters, and could they spare her some time?
She arranges to meet them, in downtown Montreal, offering them the choice between the Second Cup in Chapters, or Cine Express, both on separate ends of St. Catherine Street. She strongly favours the latter.
Assuming that this story takes place in the early afternoon, the traffic into the city will be relatively light. CHOM FM reports delays for motorists coming over the St. Laurence Bridge, but this does not affect the character�s progress. Also mentioned are long tailbacks for people coming up through New York State, to the border crossings. There is nothing significant about either of these pieces of information, but make the players guess, anyway. (It�s always like this).
Meeting Chretienne.
Setting:
Second Cup is a Starbucks-type affair on the second floor of the Chapters Book store, on St. Catherine Street. It is brightly lit, airy, with lots of chairs, where you can read books. The chairs are not especially comfortable, but the place is always almost full. A lot of the "beautiful intelligentsia," or those who believe themselves thus, hang out there. Expect lots of "poseurish" conversation, in English and French, to drift past the characters as they talk.
"Oh, I think that Jefferson Davies is so pass� nowadays; he represents a faded genre."
"Books are actually nothing but fodder to the cinema. Cinema is immediate and sensual, literature is sterile and obscure."
"I find it strange that on the Simpsons, shown in Quebec, Homer and all the normal people speak Quebecois French, while Principal Skinner and the Reverend speak Parisian French." *
"I believe that Microsoft are a domineering force in modern culture, an OS for the monoculture which the West wishes to force others to follow. Linux on the other hand can be customised, as local culture can."
And so on and so forth. I am sure you know exactly the sort of statements that can be made. The coffee is nice enough.
Cine Express, however, is quite the opposite. It�s kinda pricey, serves alcohol, and has a big cinema screen that shows the Simpsons and the X-Files and movies every evening. The rest of the time, they show the local variant of MTV. Conversations are hard enough to conduct, over the constant music, never mind hear what the others are talking about. Their sex lives, mostly.
Either way, Chretienne is waiting for them. She sits by a table close to the entrance of Cine, or close to the escalator in Second Cup. When they arrive, she waves to them, able to tell exactly who they are almost immediately. She invites them to sit down. She has already ordered their favourite teas or coffees.
Her message:
After some small talk, she gets straight to the point.
"You are outsiders. I would like to tempt you to stay."
She continues: "things are happening, in the Kingdom of Northern
