1. [Werewolf: The Forsaken 2e] Father Wolf

SHADOW HISTORY

What makes a werewolf a werewolf? Why are the blessings of animal power and the curse of Rage transmitted by blood, rather than a disease as the movies would have you believe? How can these creatures even exist? The answers may lie deep in the distant past, before history began. Everything a werewolf is — the source of his strength and speed, the curse of silver and the bloodstain that speaks the word “Forsaken” — is all said to tie back to the legend of Father Wolf.



Once, as the legend goes, the world’s werewolves were its guardians. They were loyal servants of Father Wolf, a mighty spirit that hunted the worlds and meted out punishment to those that broke the ancient bans. Then the first Uratha, the mothers and fathers of the race, committed an unforgivable crime. The other lords of the spirit world cast the Uratha aside, forsaking them. Now the werewolves have lost almost half their heritage. The pacts that were struck between them and their spirit cousins are all but severed. They walk among humans like wolves among sheep, disguising themselves in the skins of men and women, denied the hunting grounds of their father. Yet they still hunt.



THE TALE OF PANGAEA

This story is true. Everything we are and everything we were began in Pangaea. You already know what Pangaea was. You’ve heard stories of the Garden of Eden — that’s the best that humans could do trying to remember it. You catch glimpses of it in your dreams, and sometimes you smell something — maybe a whiff of a healthy plant, or something about the scent of your prey — and you almost remember. The scents are the hardest to forget. You can’t remember it fully, though, can you? Nobody can. Only the first of our kind walked in Pangaea. And they were the ones who had to destroy it.



Can you remember the scent? The world was lush and full of promise. Spirits could enter the realm of flesh easily, and animals and humans could walk into the cool spirit shadow of the world. Pangaea wasn’t the joining of continents that geologists talk about, but the world in its first form. Humans and spirits shared a common language, the First Tongue. We can’t remember whether Pangaea was a time, a place, or both. All we can recall is that it was glorious, and it was lost.



When Pangaea was in full bloom, its beauty seduced the heart of the moon itself. Mother Luna — Amahan Iduth — grew enchanted with the world growing beneath her. She took the form of a woman of flesh and descended to earth. She walked among the jungles and swam in the seas. She was the most beautiful creature in the world, and she had countless suitors. The greatest and most valiant was Urfarah… and you know that name, don’t you? He was Father Wolf.



Pangaea was glorious, but it wasn’t a world of perfect peace and gentleness. It was a hunter’s world. The lion still hunted the lamb; the spirit still took what it needed from the world of flesh. Death was a part of this hunter’s paradise, and the greatest hunter of all was Father Wolf. He was a warrior of the Shadow Realm and the muddy world of air and earth.



He roamed the boundaries of the physical world, keeping everything in its place. Spirits roamed into the world of the flesh, but not far or for long. Urfarah was all too ready to give chase when a spirit overstayed its welcome. When necessary, his teeth and claws pushed mortals and animals back into the relative safety of the flesh world if they strayed too far into the spirit world. His heart burned with supernatural strength and conviction, a righteous Rage that made him unstoppable. But he was the master of that Rage. He was first above us all, and greater than any other.



Father Wolf loved Luna as she rode across the skies, and was overcome with joy and love when he encountered her walking through the borderlands between the spirit world and the physical. He was not alone in either of these sentiments.



For her part, Luna found Father Wolf to be valiant and wise, strong and handsome, and she loved him in return. They knew one another, and she gave him children of both spirit and flesh — the first werewolves. Although she wore a human body, Luna gave birth to the first werewolves as a litter of nine pups, a sign of their future fate.



From Luna our ancestors gained the power to change shape, just as she changes her own shape every month. From Father Wolf they gained senses, strength and speed that went beyond those of flesh-born wolves. From both parents they gained a measure of spiritual power, for Mother Moon was Queen of the Shadow Realm and Father Wolf was Lord of the Border Marches.



After giving birth, Luna returned to the skies and Father Wolf raised the First Pack. He taught the first Uratha the ways of wolf and man, flesh and spirit. He showed them the roads from the Shadow Realm through forest, mountain or desert into the world of flesh, down trails to the tribal homes of men.



Father Wolf raised the First Pack to aid him in his duties as guardian of the Border Marches. They took to these duties and helped bring order to the spirit world and the muddy world. They were shepherds of human, animal and spirit.



They culled any herd, tribe or pack that got too large or too dangerous, playing the role of first among predators. Of course, some spirits and some tribes of humanity didn’t take well to this treatment. Some fought back, and through force of numbers, magic or strength, some wouldn’t die so easily. Father Wolf and his pack banished the worst to the far reaches of the spirit wilds, including mighty spirits, lesser servants of those spirits and tribes of men who worshipped dark powers and committed blasphemous crimes. Others, such as the Plague King and the Spinner-Hag, opposed Father Wolf when they could and fled when they found they could not take on his entire pack.



We were lords of the dawn world. Our great strength and our ability to take different forms allowed us to dominate any man or creature. Few predators could challenge us. No prey could resist us. Even the strongest mammoths and fiercest predators of that era were no match for a pack of werewolves. It was a dark time to be human, but it was our age of glory, a golden age painted with the bright blood of our prey. And like every golden age, it was doomed.



THE DECLINE OF FATHER WOLF

You see, it began with Father Wolf. Before our time, before the humans arose and when most spirits were still young and weak, only Father Wolf was necessary to keep the two worlds in check. No spirit managed to linger overlong in the physical world or gather too much power. Father Wolf’s personal power diminished a little as he brought forth progeny both by Mother Luna and by other spirits. He was still wtrong and fast — for a time.



It took many, many years, more than could be counted, but gradually Father Wolf began to lose his strength and speed. His fangs began to dull, and his wisdom did not reach as far. More spirits escaped his notice, setting up their terrible kingdoms among the humans and bloating with power. When he caught these would-be gods of suffering and gluttony, it took him longer to finish them off. Some even escaped — lessened by the struggle, but free all the same. Gradually, Pangaea was becoming a paradise for the spirits and for those humans who accepted their rule, and a purgatory for all the rest. Our forefathers and foremothers saw all this, and doubt began to gnaw at them.



And what happens when a wolf pack begins to fail at its hunts because its alpha is too weak, too slow, too blind to lead? Either the pack dies, or the alpha must be replaced. This question was the same, but the stakes were the whole world. What happened next was a horrible thing that should not have been necessary — but it was.



THE FALL

Every spirit has bans — unbreakable laws that govern their very nature. A spirit of pain is forbidden from healing a living creature; a shark-spirit is forbidden rest. Father Wolf was one of the most powerful spirits in Creation, but even he had a ban. He felt such a strong connection to his duty that he would not close his eyes until someone could take his place. His ban’s strength was such that if those who could do so were to rise against him, he could not defend himself. Of course, the ones best suited to take Father Wolf’s place were his own children.



Now, tales of this time make it quite clear that Father Wolf could unsheathe his claws and bare fangs against his children in ordinary struggles for dominance. Yet if Father Wolf’s pack truly desired to bring a killing blow against him, his very nature left him powerless. He would not be able to defend himself actively against such treachery, and his thick hide and powerful muscles would prove to be no more help than the wind and rain. So the only way to overthrow Father Wolf was to strike to kill.



And we slew him. With his last breath, Father Wolf let loose a howl that shook both worlds. Humans collapsed sobbing at the sound that stirred nothing but fear in their hearts. Spirits cowered in their dens, struck with terror that something could have slain the great merciless wolf-spirit. They say the werewolf who struck the killing blow was himself instantly slain by the sheer force and emotional weight of the howl. Upon hearing the death-howl of her favored lover, Luna herself cried out in anguish and betrayal, cursing all the children she had ever borne. That curse would never be fully lifted.



It is said, then, that the soul of the planet itself stirred. As the denizens of the Shadow Realm and the mortal creatures of the physical realm recoiled in terror, the two worlds were sundered. The earth shook and storms lashed the land. Ice broke free from the north, and islands sank into the ocean. Pangaea was no more. After the Fall, the hunters’ paradise was gone forever.



FORSAKEN

That’s why we are what we are. That’s why we’re wolf and human. That’s why we’re children of the Shadow Realm, but Forsaken by spirit. The spirits have feared us — and most have hated us — since that day. They fear and hate the thought that creatures part flesh and part ephemera now have the power to police them, and that we once had the strength to destroy the one spirit they all feared. The humans would go mad if they knew we’re not just movie icons, but real creatures that walk among them.



We destroyed the greatest thing we ever had because it had to be done. We keep the spirit world in check, and spirits can’t stand us for it. We do our best to keep humans from maiming the spirit world in turn, and humans would despise us for it if they knew. Our own brothers have turned on us, hating us for doing what they lacked the courage and compassion to do themselves. Only fickle Mother Luna and our wolf totems stand with us, but that’s enough. We are the People. We are Uratha. We are the wolves who hunt in both worlds. We are the Forsaken, and heaven help anyone who draws down our fury.



THE HATRED OF THE PURE

It’s said that three werewolves of the First Pack did not raise their claws against their father. When the others turned on Urfarah, these three refused to attack, out of either cowardice or corrupt love for the decadent place that Pangaea had become. Though the self-titled Pure and their descendants were banished from Pangaea and scattered across

the changing world along with their traitorous kin, they claim that they are not the ones who are truly Forsaken. It was not their sin, they howl; they were loyal to Father Wolf. As this cry went out, Dire Wolf, Rabid Wolf and Silver

Wolf — Father Wolf’s three most unforgiving, hateful and bitter spirit children — took particular notice. They hated the “kinslayer tribes” for the bloody deed that ended Pangaea, and they saw in the self-styled Pure a means to punish the offenders. The three spirits reached out to the three Pure with an offer of alliance, and thus the Pure Tribes were born

— the fiercest and most relentless enemies the Forsaken would ever know.





BONDS OF THE MOON: AUSPICE

This story is true. When our ancestors slew Father Wolf so that a stronger hunter could take his place, they fell to fighting among themselves almost immediately. Each powerful chieftain or alpha vied for the right to inherit the full measure of Father Wolf’s strength and duties. Blood fell on the earth as the fighting grew fiercer, and Mother Luna wept to see it.



Nobody knows how long this lasted. Yet however long they fought one another instead of the enemies they claimed to oppose, it was too long. We might still be fighting even today, with the world suffering for it all the more, were it not for the descent of the Lunes.



Why did Mother Luna intervene? We don’t know. Nobody can know her mind. Some believe that she acted from benevolence, as a long-suffering but still loving mother. Others say it was self-interest: that we were simply the best choice to keep an eye on the world, and this was the best way to set us to that task. Still others claim that she was obeying some obscure ban of her own, that she walked on the earth only when permitted by some cryptic celestial alignment and that granting us our auspices was merely an afterthought. And some say she did not intervene at all — that the Lunes did not offer blessings, but rather were brought into submission. Nobody will ever know for sure, but such is the nature of our fickle, ever-changing mother.



At the behest of Luna, Lunes from the five choirs descended. They told us that although Father Wolf’s full power was too great to be held by any single being limited by flesh, each of us could inherit an equal share of his duties. They coaxed forth memories of Father Wolf’s five roles — warrior, visionary, judge, wise man and stalker — and the magics that Father Wolf used in each of those roles. From these wisps of memory, the five lunar choirs taught each Uratha to adopt one of Father Wolf’s five roles. Luna had seen the First Change of each of this generation of Uratha, and she saw into each werewolf’s inner nature, so she knew which of Father Wolf’s roles was most appropriate. She promised to give an obvious sign to future generations of Uratha, so that every werewolf would know what his role would be.



Now every one of us — save the heretics who call themselves “pure” — experiences his First Change under Luna’s watchful eye. The First Change is not only a moment of terrible change, but a brief flicker of communion with the lunar choir attuned to the night’s moon phase. Those born with the souls of warriors and killers reach their full potential under the full moon, while those with the fortitude to face the maddening trials of the spirit world come into their own while the crescent moon shines.



Now the People have the tools to walk the Gauntlet as Father Wolf walked the Border Marches, and the encouragement to do so. Luna’s intercession and blessing has kindled a new hope that the Uratha will not always be Forsaken. Every werewolf of the Tribes of the Moon has an auspice — an affinity for given tasks and a loose social role determined by the phase of the moon during which she underwent the First Change. The Forsaken bear five auspices: the warrior Rahu (full moon), the visionary Cahalith (gibbous moon), the judge Elodoth (half moon), the wise Ithaeur (crescent moon), and the stalker Irraka (new moon). Having rejected Luna’s embrace as a mark of shame and guilt, the Pure Tribes forswear auspices. They focus on acts of vengeance against those Forsaken enough to bear the mark of their Mother.



Some suggest that auspice, as well as birth time, are determined by the moon under which a werewolf is conceived, but there is no real evidence to support that theory. Auspices are social roles, but they are also paths to power. Certain Lunes teach Gifts only to members of particular auspices, so an accomplished Rahu has access to Gifts that an Ithaeur never will.



Luna is fickle and moody. Over the course of the month, her attitudes change just as her face changes. Her mood is infectious, and it imprints itself on the souls of every werewolf at the moment of birth, and again at First Change. Luna is also a Celestine, a spirit above almost all other spirits, so her power touches every First Change — for she watches as it happens. Even as far away as she is, her mood at the moment of First Change draws broad lines across the personalities of the Uratha.



Luckily, Luna’s moods match her face. Around the time of the full moon, Luna is said to wear her mask as

the Destroyer, angry, defiant and strong. When the moon is full, her rage is at a peak, and that rage touches any werewolf whose Change occurs under the warrior’s moon. This not only denotes auspice, but also influences the form of the First Change. During the half moon, Luna hangs in balance — so a First Change under the half moon might relate to crossing boundaries or making decisions between two equally appealing choices. The First Change isn’t a formalized rite of passage, though — it’s an evoluntary transformation that marks a werewolf from that point on.



BONDS OF THE SOUL: TRIBE

This story is true. After the death of Father Wolf, the People had to take his place to keep the things of the spirit world from enforcing their rule on the flesh. But although Father Wolf had lost the strength and wisdom he needed to fulfill his role, the first packs were not yet strong enough to match him in his prime. We needed more strength to hold our own, and we needed to prove ourselves worthy of respect as well as fear.



Our father had sired children on female wolf-spirits only slightly less avidly than he had sired our own ancestors on Mother Luna. So the packs went to the spirit children of Father Wolf. The Firstborn among them had seen Father Wolf’s decline, and though they couldn’t love the Uratha for taking his death upon ourselves, most of them knew our purpose. But they were Incarnae, and proud. They wouldn’t show their bellies to half-flesh wolves, no matter who their race’s mother had been. If they were to give us their patronage, we would have to fight for it.



So we did, pouring out our hearts’ blood. Many valiant children of Mother Luna died in the struggle, but we proved ourselves. Fenris Wolf, the destroyer, was bested in battle. The elusive Black Wolf was tracked to his den. Death Wolf was summoned with the strongest rites. Winter Wolf was brought to heel, and Red Wolf was made to swear an oath even he could not wriggle free of.



With the patronage of our half-brothers and half-sisters, we were now more than ever before. We were tribes. Tribes among the Uratha are not like tribes among primitive humans. They aren’t tied together by blood, although blood ties within tribes are common. A particular tribe doesn’t claim a particular patch of land as a tribal home, nor do its members roam as a group across the steppe in search of fertile resources. Uratha tribes have neither acknowledged chieftains nor strong political structures — they don’t seem to need them. For example, although the Blood Talons were scattered across the world and separated by oceans, their tribal totem watched over each new generation of his children. All the children of Fenris were aware they had cousins even unto the ends of the earth. They didn’t know exactly who or where those cousins were, but they knew they weren’t alone. American werewolves did have lodges unseen in Europe, and vice versa, but otherwise the tribes remained remarkably unified despite their separation.



Two characteristics define werewolf tribes. First, all members of a Forsaken tribe follow the same one of five powerful Incarnae, said to be the spirit children of Father Wolf. These totems, called the Firstborn, look over modern Uratha tribes as elder siblings.



Secondly each tribal totem has a unique ban just as all spirits do. The totem’s ban informs its outlook and way of life, and it’s frequently reflected in the vow that binds it to its tribe, and its tribe members to one another. The tribal totems are all at least half-siblings with one another. They cooperate in the largest things but scuffle with one another over lesser issues. They are frequently rivals for status or particular treasures, but they also form factions. The various points of cooperation and rivalry among the totems are reflected within the Tribes of the Moon, even causing strains within individual packs. It is fair to say, however, that no rivalry among the totems of the Uratha is strong enough to do permanent damage to a

pack’s internal loyalties.



Those strong bonds don’t exist between the Tribes of the Moon and the Pure Tribes. Cooperation occasionally occurs, but no packs exist that include both Forsaken and Pure. If two totem spirits on opposite sides of that divide happen to have a strong interest in common, they might encourage their tribes to cooperate. Any such cooperation is in the short term only, though, and likely to end in betrayal, as the mutual antagonism between the two groups is too great to be overcome even by great affection between totem wolves. The Pure Tribes’ culture of hate is simply too poisonous.



The proper choice of tribe resonates in a werewolf’s heart — sympathy for a particular totem, agreement with its goal, willingness to adhere to its vow and even a certain affinity for the other members of a tribe. The choice of tribe is the choice of how best to live up to the legacy of Father Wolf, and the bond of a tribal totem connects the souls of all those who share that choice.



Tribes teach specific philosophies and specific pacts with specific spirits, and they generally try to follow specific paths to knowledge, wisdom, renown and power. They also exhort their members to follow tribal agendas and their totems’ bans in order to make the world a better place — at least, a better place for the People.



THE PURE TRIBES

Thousands of years ago, according to the teachings of the Forsaken, most of the First Pack of Uratha rose up and slew Father Wolf — but not all. Some of those ancient werewolves feared Father Wolf’s fangs. Others cared nothing for Father Wolf’s growing failure to protect the physical world adequately. (If the spirits enslaved and destroyed humans and animals, what did it matter? The weak give way to the strong.) Still others left Pangaea rather than take either side of the battle, lest they choose the one that lost. The descendants of these werewolves do not consider themselves Forsaken; they levy the guilt of Father Wolf’s murder entirely on the descendants of his killers. They call themselves the Pure Tribes, or simply the Pure. The Tribes of the Moon are only partly familiar with their estranged siblings, though some Forsaken go over to the other side. The Pure are known to follow Firstborn tribal totems, brothers to the Tribes of the Moon’s totem spirits, but over millennia the two groups have split.



What the Forsaken do know is that the Pure have built a culture of hate. To the Pure Tribes, the world will

not be healed until the Forsaken have been scourged from it. The two factions of werewolves rarely engage in open war, though. When the Pure Tribes go to war against the Forsaken, it is a guerilla war. They strike furiously against specific targets then retreat into the darkness.



The Pure Tribes hold a great deal of territory across the world, just as the Tribes of the Moon do. They can be found at the center of an urban hellhole, or in the stark heart of the wilderness; they seem to have a great contempt for the human race, yet this does not prevent them from living among “the sheep” as need be. Sometimes their territories border the territories of Forsaken packs; sometimes the nearest Pure pack is many miles away. In a few regions, the Forsaken are strong while the Pure are rare and scattered, but in most, the Pure hold the majority of territory and the Forsaken must struggle to hold on. The Pure are said to collectively outnumber the Forsaken, and many a scarred pack has reason to believe this is true.



The Pure Tribes seem to have a different relationship with the spirit world than the Forsaken do — and they seem to have different and stronger allies. When their pack totems manifest, they are terrifying things, often distorted beasts of legend rather than aspects of actual animals. The Pure also are said to practice a great variety of rites, many of which call on spiritual powers unknown to the Forsaken. If the stories are true, the Pure oppose the Forsaken’s tradition of hunting down escapees from the spirit world. Instead, they seek to reestablish the supremacy of the lords of the Shadow Realm, forging a new Pangaea where humanity once more knows its role under the spirit kings. Such a dark mirror to the Oath would no doubt please the spirits greatly.



If the Pure have a weakness, it’s that they don’t possess the favor of Mother Luna. They have no auspices, perhaps because, in their arrogance, they were never offered her blessing. Despite their utter hatred for the Forsaken and apparent willingness to murder their fellow werewolves, the Pure never use silver weapons against their cousins. Indeed, no Pure are ever seen to bear silver in jewelry or any other form. Some Cahalith suggest that Mother Luna’s curse weighs even more heavily on the Pure, but exactly how that might manifest is a secret the Pure Tribes jealously guard.



Recently, the 1990s saw dozens of coordinated attacks by the Pure against Uratha holdings across North America. The implications of these raids were very unsettling, as the Pure were able to overcome werewolf territoriality and work together toward a particular goal. The most coordinated war effort among werewolves in years was driven by hate, which does not bode well for the Forsaken.



FIRE-TOUCHED (IZIDAKH)

The Fire-Touched are the spiritual leaders of the Pure Tribes. Far more so than the other Pure, the Izidakh hold forth that the Forsaken are damned by default. Their fevered sermons claim the Forsaken should be killed — in their sleep if necessary, on the battlefield if the werewolves’ defeat will bring more defectors to the Fire-Touched side. They label the Forsaken heretics who venerate Luna when they should have honored Father Wolf. As long as a single descendant of Father Wolf’s murderers remains alive, they say, the bloodstain on their race will never be forgiven. Only through fire can the taint be burned away, and the ugly brands on the pelts of some Fire-Touched hint at cruel rituals of penance.



The Fire-Touched follow Rabid Wolf, and their Gifts draw on the power of disease and religious conviction. The Fire-Touched are happy to accept converts from among the Uratha, and so is Rabid Wolf. Many of the Fire-Touched are charismatic speakers, and when they choose to address their prey as a preface to a feud, their words are carefully twisted appeals that can strike doubt into the hearts of the Forsaken. When a werewolf turns his back on the Tribes of the Moon to side with the Pure, he most often reappears, branded and fervent, among the ranks of the Fire-Touched. If he reappears at all. Rabid Wolf’s ban is that he may not let a false statement lie. The Izidakh must challenge lies the moment they are uttered, even if doing so forces them to lose face in front of other werewolves.



IVORY CLAWS (TZUUMFIN)

Silver Wolf, the Ivory Claws’ totem wolf, is obsessed with purity. He will not accept a pledge of service and brotherhood from any werewolf who has served “Luna’s weaklings.” Indeed, the Ivory Claws use blood magic of their own to discern a werewolf’s lineage. If the recruit descends from the Forsaken, rather than a Pure werewolf, she is not permitted to join the Ivory Claws. Only the “purest of the pure” are granted Silver Wolf’s Gifts of blood absolution. Some werewolves abandon the Forsaken for the Pure for their own reasons, breaking the Oath and being stripped of Luna’s blessing, but those renegades never join the Ivory Claws.



Where the Fire-Touched rage with passion and fanaticism, the Ivory Claws are almost cold in their fury.

They seem to possess the greatest foresight among the Pure and are frequently the ones who make the farthestreaching plans. They are the Pure most prone to maintain some semblance of a human life, though the humans who fall under their power are said to endure dire fates.



Young Forsaken sometimes wonder if the Ivory Claws might not be able to be reasoned with, perhaps even encouraged to strike a peace agreement, but their hopes are all too easily clawed to ribbons. The Ivory Claws’ hatred of the Forsaken isn’t rabid like that of the Fire-Touched or savage like that of the Predator Kings, but it’s no less intense.



Only those with strong bloodlines rise to positions of power and influence among the Tzuumfin. Power passes hereditarily among them, rather than being based on merit through challenges, as it is with the Forsaken.



PREDATOR KINGS (NINNA FARAKH)

The Predator Kings are primitive monsters. They follow Dire Wolf, oldest of the Firstborn, and they vehemently eschew the soft human lives of modern convenience. The Predator Kings do not hate the Forsaken for the alleged slaying Father Wolf — anything that cannot defend itself has no innate right to live. What the Predator Kings cannot forgive is the loss of the hunter’s paradise that was Pangaea. If Pangaea had been preserved, the Uratha would have been free to hunt openly, to treat humans like the livestock they are. In a way, they respect the Forsaken’s ancestors for the powerful hunters they were, and in a way, they seem to respect those Forsaken strong enough to give them a good fight. But as long as the Forsaken work to preserve the world as it is, the world that was can never return. So the Forsaken must die.



The Predator Kings’ preferred battle form is Urshul, and they scythe down opponents as enormous, ferocious dire wolves. The Ninna Farakh are the most feared warriors of the Pure Tribes, and even their allies give them plenty of room once a fight begins. Their ritual hunts are bloody, wild affairs that often

leave a string of unsolved murders in the files of law enforcement agencies. Generally they seem to

follow the Ivory Claws’ lead, but it’s uncertain as to whether the Ivory Claws could actually truly control the

Predator Kings if it came to it.



Dire Wolf’s ban is that he may not choose to touch anything made by the hand of humans except to destroy it. He cannot walk on roads; he cannot brush up against clothed humans he encounters. Even a sprint across a farmer’s fallow field hurts his paws. Dire Wolf’s children suffer a less stringent ban, but still tend to wear only clothes they have made themselves — often from the skins of prey.



Myths speak of the bloated and nightmarish Spinner-Hag, who scuttled through primeval forests and under great mountains until at last Father Wolf caught her and tore her to bits. Yet during the chase, as she ran on her 12 spiderlike legs, she laid eggs — hundreds, thousands of them, each one the size

of a mouse’s skull. After the Gauntlet came down, the eggs began tohatch.



The Rat Hosts were born from fear, and fear drives them. Werewolf legend tells that long ago, one of the most persistent foes of Father Wolf was the Plague King, a great spirit that drew power from illness and disease. But although it could strike down mortals and spirits alike with wasting plagues of supernatural strength, it could not do the same to Father Wolf. Perhaps the Plague King suffered from a ban that forbade it to face Father Wolf or that rendered its powers useless against the great hunter. Perhaps it simply wasn’t strong enough. When Father Wolf caught its scent, all the Plague King could do was flee. And in its fear, it devised a desperate plan. It broke itself into thousands of shards, imbedding each shard into the body of a living rat in the physical world. With its scent and essence so diffused, Father Wolf was unable to find it and mete out his predatory justice.



But when Father Wolf was killed and the Gauntlet arose, the many shards of the Plague King lost their connection to the spirit world. Some withered and died with their hosts. But those that survived gradually became stronger, and eventually became shartha in their own right. When Father Wolf hunted with the Firstborn, Fenris- Ur was always the first to leap into battle and the last to unlock his jaws from his prey’s throat. Some Blood Talons claim that Fenris was the oldest of the Firstborn, and all claim that he was — and is — the strongest. He is called the Destroyer Wolf, the Devourer of Mountains. It is



Totem: Kamduis, the Death Wolf, the most withdrawn and unusual of Father Wolf’s children. She traveled

to strange places in search of the unique perspectives they offered on ordinary situations, and it was often given to her to liaise between Father Wolf and the lesser spirit courts. The first Bone Shadows labored for years to create rituals capable of summoning her and binding her so that they could strike a pact with her.



Bone Shadow legends speak of Kamduis-Ur, the Death Wolf, the quietest of Father Wolf’s pups, and her hunt that encircled the Earth. Seeking to learn from all beasts as prey, she ascended the mountains and witnessed wild goats give birth. She chased the sky and witnessed the wisdom of the eagle in flight. Fascinated, she hunted across every country and ocean, falling in love with all that she encountered.

What she loved she studied and learned more about, ever eager to uncover the secrets hidden in the patterns of life. And when answers eluded her, she asked Father Wolf. He shared some insights with her but held back others and encouraged her to continue her hunt. He showed her the paths to the high spirit courts and helped her find her own way. In time, Kamduis learned and made pacts and helped Father Wolf carry out his own duties. When Father Wolf was killed, she howled in mourning not for loss of him, but for all that he had yet to teach her.



The Firstborn hunted both night and day. But as the Hunters in Darkness tell the tale, Hikaon-Ur, the Black Wolf, was the one who was most at home in the night. When Father Wolf’s pack hunted at night, she was first to find the trail. When the pack rested after a tiring day hunt, Hikaon guarded her brothers’ and sisters’ dens as they slept. When the sun set and the moon rose, there was no hunter more swift and silent than she.



According to tribal lore, the Red Wolf, Sagrim-Ur spent his every waking hour asking Father why the rain fell, why the mountain stood, why the wind blew… For every question, Father Wolf’s answer was the same. “They do, and it is good. Nothing more need be known.” But Sagrim was never satisfied with this answer. He asked because he wanted to change things and watch what would happen if he could undo some of the rigid equilibrium that it was Father Wolf’s duty to maintain. He would never have advocated Father Wolf’s death, but neither did he act to stop it when the fateful attack came.



Even as Father Wolf lay dying and snarling in impotent rage, Red Wolf stared at him in hidden wonder, imagining how things might be if they were allowed to proceed unchecked. But it was Sagrim himself who was changed when Father Wolf caught him and held him down under one weak paw to speak to him. “Things will not be as they ought,” he told his son. “Note well how they go, and remember what I told you was good.”



As the tales go, when Father Wolf was killed and the reality of what that meant for the future sank in, the Firstborn turned to his two eldest for guidance and support. Huzuruth-Ur, the Dire Wolf, the oldest, strongest and cruelest of the litter, snarled bitterly and vowed everlasting revenge on the betrayers who had committed this crime. Skolis-Ur, the Winter Wolf, the second oldest, felt a glimmer of that rage, but it was nothing to the consuming storm of grief within him. Overcome, he threw back his head and gave a piercing, mournful howl the likes of which his brothers and sisters had never heard. They cowered and panicked, not knowing what to do, and whimpered among themselves.



Their distress caught in Winter Wolf’s heart, and he realized how his weakness had hurt his siblings in so tenuous and uncertain a time. He regained control of his emotions and took it upon himself to try to lead his siblings as he felt Father Wolf would do. He gave his loyalty to the werewolves strong enough to command and subjugate him, and he lent all their descendants a portion of his strength. He instilled in them his sense of responsibility and passed on the lesson that a leader must always bear his burden

with strength and dignity, lest his followers suffer. And no matter what occurs or what others might think of him, a leader must always do what is required of him and trust to history to commend his righteousness.



Legend holds that when Luna heard of the death of Father Wolf, she flew into a rage and cursed every one of her wolf-sired children for the deed. Silver, the metal most sacred to Luna, began to burn her werewolf descendants with a touch. Though her Lunes have since brought a message of partial forgiveness to the Forsaken, the great curse spoken long ago cannot be lifted entirely.



Uratha legend holds that the progenitor of all werewolves, Father Wolf, once trod the paths of the Shadow. It was his self-appointed duty to keep the spirit world in order and each spirit in its place. His merciless hunts did much to defend each world against the incursions of the other. Now those who call themselves his descendants do their best to fill his role, but it’s not enough. The spirit world has been gathering new strength, humans have been inadvertently weakening the walls, and the Uratha are too few and too ignorant to turn back the tide. The physical world’s spirit Shadow is clearly touched by this alien anarchy, as fugitive spirits from its depths and shallows vie for supremacy over the places closest to the material world. A few even make the leap across the Gauntlet, anchoring themselves in living beings and creating Hithimu. What hope does a pack of werewolves have against the endless hordes of these creatures?



The Uratha are forsaken, but they aren’t utterly alone. Five choirs of moon-spirits bring aid in the name

of their distant Mother Luna. Bound by pacts of blood, those great wolf-spirits called Firstborn guide the Uratha as tribal totems. The denizens of the Shadow have no choice but to acknowledge the ancient status and power of the werewolves as those who walk between the worlds. These spirits can be persuaded or compelled to grant the children of Wolf and Moon the power they need to bring a semblance of stability to the spirit world. There is hope for the Forsaken, if only they can uncover all the secrets of this spirit realm that were lost in the mists of prehistory





Forsaken

— werewolves who carry on the Sacred Hunt in the name of Father Wolf, the original predator. This book is a complete game, from the core concepts of the werewolves’ existence to descriptions of hunting grounds across the world. It also has complete rules for playing one of the Uratha, the werewolves that stalk the World of Darkness.



This book also includes the Idigam Chronicle. The idigam are spirits of concepts that vanished from the world in prehistory. Rather than passing into nothingness they became warping, shifting masses. Father Wolf could not kill them, so he did the next best thing: He convinced Mother Luna to lock them away on the moon. There they stayed for thousands of years, until the moon landing. The hunt gives us purpose. The rush and glory of the Siskur-Dah gives meaning to our existence — the feeling of meat and bone under our claws, the taste of blood in our mouths, ephemera and gore soaking into our fur. That is what we live for. According to legend, Father Wolf’s children saw that he had grown weak and murdered their parent. While some slunk away from the scene in shame at what they had done, five instead saw what had to be done. Each took up part of His duty. The Uratha, followers of Father Wolf, looked to the Firstborn to teach them to hunt.



We had to prove ourselves worthy of their patronage. Those werewolves who wanted to learn the teachings of Sagrim-Ur — the Red Wolf — had to impress her with their cunning and guile. In return, she taught them the secrets of hunting humanity, not just people but their organizations and institutions. By contrast, Skolis-Ur — the Winter Wolf — had no need for cunning; his children instead had to demonstrate incredible fortitude and self-reliance. He lends them the knowledge needed to hunt those creatures in the Flesh that are urged or possessed by things from the world of Spirit. Some werewolves turn their back on the duty of Father Wolf. Some remove the marks of Mother Luna upon their spirit, following those Firstborn who ignore their duties, calling themselves the Pure. Others try to ignore the call of the hunt entirely, turning their back not just on Mother Luna and Father Wolf

but on their need to hunt. These Ghost Wolves try to ignore what they are, embracing a life that has can never be the same.



The need for the hunt burns within us all. You need to chase prey, feel its life end by your teeth and your claws. The

prey that you favor helps determine which tribe you will join. The Blood Talons, children of Fenris-Ur, hunt other werewolves — both Forsaken and Pure alike. The Bone Shadows, pledged to Kamduis-Ur, hunt the denizens of the Shadow and the knowledge needed to kill them. The Hunters in Darkness, chosen by Hikaon-Ur, who hunt the shartha, twisted mockeries that ape Father Wolf. The Iron Masters, who follow Sagrim-Ur, hunt the organizations and structures of humanity. The Storm Lords, who impress Skolis-Ur with their tenacity, and hunt the blasphemous blends of flesh and spirit.By joining into tribes we can inherit Father Wolf’s duty and continue His hunt.



The Blood Talons pay homage to Fenris-Ur, the Destroyer Wolf. Neither eldest nor wisest of Father Wolf’s children, the Destroyer led his brothers and sisters in the hunt by virtue of his terrible strength. The Destroyer doesn’t just kill, he tears his prey limb from limb, scatters their blood and Essence across the landscape and revels in the carnage. But the Destroyer is more than just the destruction of the flesh: Before his terrible fury, all barriers must fall.



• This story is true. In the time before time, when Father Wolf led his children in the hunt, Fenris-Ur had a twin.

Danu-Ur, she was called, the Creator Wolf. She alone could calm her brother’s rages and convince him to quit the field. He alone could drive off the chattering spirits that swarmed around her and threatened to drive her mad. They were in balance then, but the Father’s death tore them asunder. Now the Destroyer rages without end, and the Creator gibbers rabidly and spreads her madness like a plague.



• This story is true. After the murder of Father Wolf, when the Forsaken were scattered like grains across the earth and hunted by flesh and spirit alike, a great leader called Red Claw sought out Fenris-Ur and demanded the Firstborn’s patronage as totem to his people. “I will bind myself to you,” the Destroyer said, “if you bare your throat to me and surrender to my might.” Red Claw refused. They fought for days, and each time the Destroyer demanded surrender, Red Claw refused. When at last the battle was done and Red Claw lay, broken but unbowed, before Fenris-Ur, he offered her her life if she would yield to him. Red Claw refused. In dying, she bound the Destroyer to us, blood to blood and bone to bone. It is from this story that we take our oath: “Offer no surrender that you would not accept.”



• This story is true. Ever heard of a town called Paris, Vermont? Yeah, nobody has, it doesn’t exist anymore. Seems

a pack of Talons around those parts had started supplementing their diets, if you get me. People, jackass, they were eating people. So anyways, this p a c k was building themselves a nice, tidy little empire, even had some kind of cannibal cult bringing ‘em fresh meat. Then one night this big storm brews up over the mountains and wipes the whole town off the map. A buddy of mine in Montpelier swears he saw a wolf the size of a mountain moving inside that storm. Moral? Fuck, I dunno, eat your vegetables or something Why other werewolves? They’re the only prey who stand a chance against a Blood Talon’s rage. Lesser prey barely offers a challenge; the kill is over almost before it begins. Only Father Wolf’s wayward children offer the opportunity for real battle and the Glory that comes from it. For some Talons, especially Rahu, Siskur-Dah has a spiritual element as well — hunting werewolves who defy the Oath of the Moon is an expression of Purity. For others it’s a chance to match t h e i r Cunni n g against the

greatest hunters the world has known since Father Wolf fell.



The Bone Shadows are keepers of secret wisdom, explorers plumbing the depths of the Shadow and of otherworlds

even stranger. They understand the laws that govern those worlds, and they know the rites that allow them to punish the things that would violate them. The world has slewed out of balance since Father Wolf was slain, and the Bone Shadows constantly dance back and forth upon the scales, holding the line between the physical and the ephemeral. Other tribes confront the symptoms, but the Hirfathra Hissu strike at the The Bone Shadows follow Kamduis-Ur, the Death Wolf. The most curious of Father Wolf’s children, she ranged deeper into the Shadow than any of her siblings. She sought out ancient spirits there, and questioned them about their doings and the ways of the hidden world. When the first Bone Shadows bound themselves to her, Death Wolf passed that secret knowledge on to them.



• This story is true. In the time before time, Kamduis-Ur was called Kig-Ur, Seeking Wolf, for she was ever searching for more knowledge. One day, as she explored the Shadow, Seeking Wolf found a cave that led deep into the earth. Curious, she went inside, and she died. This was quite alarming, of course, and so she hurried back out again. All the spirits that dwelt by the cave marveled at this, for never before had someone come out of the cave. “It is no great thing,” she said, “to return from that place. One only need not be afraid of changing.” So it was that Kamduis-Ur gained wisdom.



• This story is true. After the murder of Father Wolf, when the Forsaken were scattered like grains across the earth and hunted by flesh and spirit alike, a great host out of the Shadow stalked our ancestors without mercy. They crawled out of mirrors to kill us, they drove the men of the cities and the beasts of the field against us, and we could do nothing to stop them. In despair, our ancestors sought Kamduis-Ur, from the depths of the Hisil to the forgotten places where the dead do not sleep, to places stranger still. At last they found her and begged her aid. Death Wolf told them that theirs would be a hard and thankless road, but that all debts would be honored and all accounts balanced at the end of all things. It is from this story that we take our oath: “Pay each spirit in kind.”



• This story is true. Down in the storm drains under New York, I found a door to nowhere. It wouldn’t open for me, but a dead man I know taught me the trick of it, and on the other side I found a place of darkness, of caves and rivers and strange, angry shades. I wandered there for many lightless days, but when I made to return I found I could not cross the rivers. A woman stitched together from the parts of other women offered to take me across, but only if I gave her my right leg, as hers had gone gamy. Not wanting to pay such a bargain, I sang out a call to Death Wolf, asking for her aid. It seemed then that a vast shadow passed over me, and when it was gone, I was back in the storm drain — and my right leg was gone, neatly severed at the hip. Do not forget, brothers and sisters, that Kamduis-Ur is a spirit as well, and our oath yet holds.



Bone Shadows hunt spirits as much for the knowledge they can impart as for the threats they pose. The denizens of the Shadow are old beyond measure, and many have, or claim to have, knowledge of the time before, when Father Wolf stalked the Border Marches and the two worlds were one. Ghosts and other ephemeral beings know things about the world that the Uratha can only guess at. It’s a rare hunt where a Bone Shadow goes straight for the killing blow without at least trying to bind the prey and learn its secrets. Sometimes that means the hunt ends with the prey being released or bound into a fetish rather than destroyed or banished, and that rankles members of other tribes — but the Bone Shadows The Hunters in Darkness revere Hikaon-Ur, Black Wolf, whom they also name the Silent Mother or Mother Wolf — a fact that doesn’t always sit well with the other tribes, who hold that title as one of Urfarah’s. The most withdrawn of Father Wolf’s children, she was nonetheless accounted as the finest hunter among the Firstborn. Her children praise her with every silent kill, with every carefully laid trap, and with every glimpse of the hunter that drives the prey to the killing ground.



• This story is true. In the time before time, when Father Wolf hunted the blasphemous spawn of the Plague King and the Spinner-Hag, the great hunter found himself stymied. Each time his jaws closed upon a furred throat, each time his claws slashed through a chitinous shell, the prey simply burst into a swarm of vermin that skittered away and vanished into the dark. Father Wolf could not kill them, and his howls of rage shook the sky. It was Black Wolf, quiet, clever Black Wolf, whose run crossed the world to map all of the hidden burrows and crevices where the shartha might hide. She taught her Father not to kill but to harry, to drive the swarms into dead ends and empty places where fire and falling rock could do the work of killing them. And the eldest of the Uratha saw this weakness on the Father’s part and wondered. Silently.



• This story is true. After the murder of Father Wolf, when the Forsaken were scattered like grains across the earth and hunted by flesh and spirit alike, the land was plagued by rats and spiders, crows and locusts. The People did not yet understand the Gauntlet, and so the Hosts made the world an unclean place. In despair, a young hunter whose name is lost to time howled out a prayer to the greatest hunter among the Firstborn, and Hikaon-Ur answered. She showed the young hunter the same tricks she taught her Father. The hunter and her pack, with Black Wolf’s aid, drove back the shartha. It is from this story that we take our oath: “Let No Sacred Place in Your Territory Be Violated.”



This story is true. War is hell on the landscape. If it’s not the spirits of violence and fear that spring up like weeds, it’s artillery barrages churning the earth into a broken hellscape or the hungry ghosts trapped on the battlefield. Lots of our brothers and sisters have gone mad trying to uphold the oath in a war zone. Others pack up and move on, or retreat deeper into the wilds, abandoning urban territory to the humans. I’ve heard rumors, though, of a secret rite passed down from pack to pack in war-torn parts of the world, a great hunt that draws the eye of Hikaon-Ur herself. They say if it’s performed properly, Black Wolf will scoop up your territory and bring it deep into the Shadow, where it becomes part of her domain. It’s supposed to have happened in Sarajevo in ‘94, and supposedly some patches of forest near Bastogne haven’t properly existed since early 1945. Nobody seems to know what happens to the packs that claim that territory — or what happens to the ones that fuck up the rite.



The Hunters in Darkness hunt anything that violates their territorial boundaries, but they reserve especial ire for the most dangerous prey: the Hosts. Shards of the Essence of ancient Shadow gods, these creatures are blasphemy incarnate: Not quite spirit, not quite flesh, they are a reminder of Father Wolf’s greatest failing. That their infestation fouls the spiritual side of a Hunter’s territory is only further insult.



The shartha are insidious; by the time the signs of their presence are obvious, the swarm is dug in like ticks, almost

impossible to remove. It’s for this reason that the Meninna must be attuned to their territory.



Adapt or die. That’s the key. The world’s changing faster and faster every day, and those changes ripple back into the Shadow. We’re living in a time of spiritual upheaval we haven’t seen since Father Wolf’s death. I’m not saying the old ways should be abandoned, exactly, but for sure we need to take a good hard look at them and see if they can’t be improved. New ways of thinking revitalize us, make sure we stay on top of the food chain. So, you see, you should be thanking me. In the old days, this would have ended with me chasing you through the woods, naked and bleeding, then biting your throat out. Compared to that, a bullet in the back of the head is a vast improvement



Ur, Red Wolf. Youngest and wildest of Father Wolf’s children, Red Wolf was never satisfied with “the way things had always been,” and she constantly questioned the nature of the world. Where Kamduis-Ur delved into the Shadow and stranger places, seeking lost secrets and forgotten knowledge, Sagrim-Ur reveled in discovering the new.



• This story is true. In the time before time, men were little more than clever beasts, and the Firstborn gave little more thought to them than men do to ants. Yet one day while Sagrim-Ur was out hunting, he came across a spirit the like of which he had never seen before. It was a thing of wood and stone and sharp points. Red Wolf, thinking it was some strange new magath, made ready to destroy it. But the spirit cried out to her, begging her to stay her terrible jaws long enough for it to show her whence it came. Intrigued, Red Wolf agreed, and the spirit took him to a strange place that was home to many new kinds of spirit: hollow boxes with fires for hearts, stones that flew like birds, beasts that danced on the walls of caves.



Delighted, Red Wolf asked where these spirits had come from, and his guide showed him the tiny, hairless apes that had made them. From that moment even unto today, Sagrim-Ur was delighted by the humans’ cleverness, and he took special care to look after them.



• This story is true. After the murder of Father Wolf, when the Forsaken were scattered like grains across the earth and hunted by flesh and spirit alike, Sagrim-Ur rejoiced, for nothing would ever be the same again. But as she crisscrossed the world, delighting at all the wonderful newness she saw, a small, piteous howl caught her ear. It was one of Father Wolf’s half-breed children who sat, howling his grief into the night. “Little brother,” Sagrim-Ur said, “why do you mourn?” “ I mourn because my family, and all the families of men I dwelt among, are dead,” said the Uratha. “The spirits of the sky have choked them, the spirits of the water have drowned them, and the spirits of their spears have pierced them.” And Sagrim-Ur understood that change was not always for the better. It is from this story that we take our oath: “Honor Your Territory in All Things.”



• This story is true. The other tribes hear us talk about change and adaptation and they think we’re all magic cell phones and plastic knives and shit. They don’t get it. Modern technology, sure, that’s one thing that changes — but as neat as people are, they’re not the only force for change. We were there after Krakatoa, after Katrina and Fukushima, studying how the ecosystem adapts to unexpected catastrophe. It’s all really interesting and worth knowing, especially after that dream I had the other night where Red Wolf showed me this big asteroid that’s hanging out near Jupiter right now.



The Iminir hold self-reliance and personal strength as the highest virtues. They expect every Uratha to push himself to the breaking point and beyond, because only in enduring unimaginable hardships can the People truly approach the glory of Father Wolf. They hold themselves to even higher standards, because Skolis-Ur tolerates nothing less than perfection from his children. Secret rites performed within the tribe hint at the idea that the Uratha are more than just the descendants of Father Wolf — they are his heirs, and a werewolf who faces the crucible of the hunt and emerges stronger for it can raise herself up beyond flesh. They call this process Abni-Gur, the crucible of becoming. They say that a Storm Lord (and it’s always a Storm Lord in the stories) who masters her Harmony and makes herself one with her Primal Urge will one day ascend to take Father Wolf’s place as Lord of the Boundary.



Among the other tribes, Storm Lords have something of a reputation for claiming the mantle of leadership for themselves and stubbornly refusing any offer of help, no matter how small. If that’s true, it’s a product of individual ego rather than the tribe’s own ethos. A Storm Lord expects every werewolf — including herself — to know her place and do her job. If that puts her in the leadership role, so be it.



THE FIRST BORN

The Storm Lords revere Skolis-Ur, the Winter Wolf. The oldest of the Firstborn who bound themselves to the Tribes of the Moon, Skolis-Ur sees himself and his children as the ones who must live up to Father Wolf’s legacy. That they are so far from that goal is not a failure, but a challenge — and the Storm Lords have never been ones to ignore a challenge.



• This story is true. In the time before time, the world was forever green and sunny, and the bounty of the hunt was without end. Father Wolf and his children hunted then, for sustenance, to keep the Marches, and for the sheer joy of it. Then Skolis-Ur was born. As his mother labored, the world grew cold, and the Firstborn marveled to see their breath escaping like a steaming cloud. When the pup opened his eyes, snow began to fall in great flurries. At his birthing howl, a great wind tore through the world, and flesh and spirit alike knew the bite of winter.



“This cold will destroy the world,” said Fenris-Ur. “It is the chill of death,” said Kamduis-Ur. “The prey will leave a trail even a child could follow,” said Hikaon-Ur. “The prey will adapt,” said Sagrim-Ur. And Father Wolf looked upon his child and was pleased.



This story is true. After the murder of Father Wolf, when the Forsaken were scattered like grains across the earth and hunted by flesh and spirit alike, a clever hunter chased a monster. The monster was stronger than the hunter, but the hunter endured its blows, though they tore her flesh and spilled her blood. The monster was faster than the hunter, but when the monster stopped to rest the hunter pressed on, though her muscles ached and her very bones were weary. At last she chased the monster up a great mountain, where the bitter cold froze it stiff and slowed its pace so that the hunter caught up. After a great battle, the monster lay dead, but the hunter was mortally wounded. It was then that Skolis-Ur emerged from his den, drawn by the noise of battle. He offered to bind the hunter’s wounds, but she refused and packed them with snow to numb the pain. He offered to carry her down the mountain, but she refused and began the torturous climb herself.



When she could walk no farther, he offered to end her pain, but she refused and lingered for a full day and night before dying. As her spirit rose from her body, Skolis-Ur bowed his head in respect and said, “here is a true scion

of Urfarah.” It is from this tale that we take our oath: “Allow No One to Witness or to Tend Your Weakness.”



• This story is true. Everybody knows the Firstborn can’t come to the physical world anymore. They’re just too big, too mighty — any one of them would suck the world dry of Essence in a heartbeat. Skolis-Ur is no different, but sometimes, when the winter storms rage or the snow falls silent and chills to the bone, he’s able to reach into the world, just a little. Sometimes he appears as a Storm Lord with a coat of pure white fur, other times as a wolf make of ice and bright, painful light. I’ve even heard that sometimes he chooses a Wolf-Blooded to ride for as long as the storm endures…but what does that say about the hunt?



The Storm Lords hunt the most dangerous prey: the Ridden and the Spirit-Claimed. For a spirit to cross the Gauntlet is trespass enough, but to steal human flesh, to twist the physical into a mockery of ephemera? That is an insult to Father Wolf’s memory — not to mention hitting a little close to home for Urfarah’s half-breed children. The Claimed are dangerous, because more than any other prey, they can be anyone, and at any time. Even those you thought were friends and allies, lovers and packmates, can become Ridden. No one wants to look into her sister’s eyes and see some alien thing looking back out. When a Storm Lord loses kin to Spirit-Claiming, she’s expected to conduct the hunt herself. Her tribe-mates will mourn with her, but they will not hunt with her. It’s a matter of

respect, a tacit acknowledgement that, where our loved ones are concerned, we’re all a little weak. If no one is there to see the end of the hunt, no one is there to see a moment of weakness.



Off the Hunt: A Storm Lord sitting idle is a Storm Lord failing her tribe. If the Iron Masters’ motto is “adapt or die,” the Iminir’s would be “improve or perish.” They need to be better to be worthy of Father Wolf’s legacy and of Skolis-Ur’s patronage. This need to improve can take many forms, from developing the skills of the hunt to throwing themselves into dangerous situations just to see if they can survive. Of all the tribes, Storm Lords are the most likely to go off without their packs in pursuit of a hunt. If they survive, they’ve proved themselves worthy of Winter Wolf. If not, maybe the next Storm Lord will be worthy.



Ghost Wolves aren’t accorded much respect among the Forsaken. If you’ve got Mother Luna’s blessing, you don’t get the luxury of turning your back on your duty to Father Wolf. You want to go back to your husband and your kids? Too bad. Your old life’s gone. The few who do get a small measure of respect among the tribes are those who acknowledge their part in Father Wolf’s legacy but don’t feel they fit in with one of the extant tribes. These Ghost Wolves tend to join multi-tribe packs or gather like-minded Ghost Wolves around them into their own packs. Lacking the support structure of tribe membership, Ghost Wolf packs have a harder time making inter-pack alliances, but most consider that a fair trade for freedom. Ghost Wolves are rare in otherwise single-tribe packs — if a werewolf is comfortable enough with a tribe’s ethos to surround herself with members, chances are she’ll join that tribe herself in short order It goes deeper than that, though. A werewolf hunts because she must, because it’s a sacred task that reinforces the werewolf’s place. What would she have been given a nose to track with, if not to follow her prey’s trail? What would she have been given claws to rend with, and teeth to tear with, if not to pull the quarry down at the end of a hunt? By conducting the Sacred Hunt, a werewolf also continues in Father Wolf’s footsteps, marking her place as the Great Hunter’s descendent.



MYTHIC HISTORY

Werewolves have an oral history, passing stories and legends through packs, protectorates, and tribes. While that’s a wonderful tool for keeping their culture alive, it does mean that when fact and narrative conflict, fact falls by the wayside. Even so, almost every werewolf hears at least one tale of the time before, and how the Forsaken lost paradise. Just as many cultures and religions have a myth of the flood or the myth of how humans gained forbidden knowledge, werewolf history has a common theme. The worlds of Flesh and Spirit used to be so close that one could touch the other, then the werewolves came and brought ruin upon it. Among the Forsaken, this typically bears a lesson along the lines of “they fucked up so now we have to do better.” The common elements of these stories come together to tell of the Sundering.



THE SUNDERING

Once, the People could run and hunt through thin places and Border Marches, flickering between worlds in an instant. Father Wolf maintained the balance through predation, hunting spirits when they grew too bold in crossing the borders of flesh, thinning the herd of humanity when it threatened to produce too much Essence and warring against other great spirits who would exploit the border for themselves — progenitors of the Hosts his descendants still hunt.



The Forsaken call the vanished world before the Sundering “Pangaea,” and describe it as a universe where spirit and flesh could more freely commingle. Humans could wander into the quiet places of the world and cross the Border Marches into the Shadow, while spirits could freely enter the world of Flesh to gather Essence. The Sundering — the end of Pangaea, and the great crime of the People — began with love.



Luna, Amahan Iduth, was the warding moon, the great Ilusah casting light into the darkness, protecting the earthly Shadow from the chaotic spirits of the void ahead of her army of Lunes. The Wolf, Urfarah, was the spirit of hunting, forever watching over the Border Marches with his brood of lesser wolf spirits and harrying those crossing between worlds. They were the two greatest guardian spirits in the Shadow, each preserving existence in their own way. How could they not fall in love? Cahalith often call Moon “Mother Luna” and Wolf “Father Wolf,” but in truth they were both spirits, beholden to no single gender or shape. The Moon’s ever-changing, protean nature merged with the Wolf’s guardianship of the borders, pack instinct, and predatory urge to create the People. Bound to the earth, unable to rise to the skies, the first werewolves joined Wolf’s pack and received their “mother’s” Gifts by way of Lunes. Cahalith make many claims as to why Wolf began to weaken. Some say the effort of creating the werewolves somehow diminished him, or maintaining such a large brood of spirits and half-spirits reduced his Essence. Only the outcome matters — the god of the Border Marches grew slow and weak, and both worlds suffered for it. Spirits set themselves up as deities among human tribes, and the progenitors of the Hosts escaped total destruction by shattering themselves into too many pieces for Wolf to catch.



As wolves, the Uratha and their wolf spirit cousins knew that strong young hunters must replace a weak pack elder. Like all spirits, Urfarah had a ban and a bane — his ban was to not defend himself against a killing blow if challenged by those who could replace him, and his bane was the teeth of his children. Only a killing blow would do, and so the Uratha — and five of the greatest wolf spirits — went for Urfarah’s throat. His death howl shattered the Border Marches, killing everything inside and raising a Gauntlet between the worlds. Flesh and Spirit were divided. Luna saw what Wolf’s offspring had done, and cursed them with madness and to burn at the touch of silver.



The Sundering still divides the People. Those who believe killing Urfarah was a mistake follow the wolf spirits who did not take part in the murder. They call themselves “Pure” and follow the diktats of their inhuman masters. Those who take up Father Wolf’s role, and have pledged to Luna that they will follow their creator’s duty in guarding the divide between Spirit and Flesh, call themselves “Forsaken.”



When the Uratha slew their Father, his death howl solidified the Border Marches, turning them into a Gauntlet that sundered Spirit from Flesh. Now, open crossings between worlds are vanishingly rare, and most travel across requires a locus: an object or person in the material world with a strong connection to the Shadow. Around a locus, the Gauntlet thins, and spirits flock to the fountain of Essence created on the Shadow side.



URUM DA TAKUS — THE WOLF MUST HUNT

No werewolf can transgress against this tenet, for it is the beating heart of his existence. The People hunt. They revere Siskur-Dah as their most holy purpose. To them, it is not just a way of life; the hunt is life. It is Father Wolf’s greatest legacy.



Only werewolves can hunt like Urfarah once did. Every pack has its own rituals of the hunt, as does every Ghost Wolf. Like any religious law, this tenet is a point of contention among rivals and enemies. A pack’s solemn duty is to hunt, whether things of flesh or spirit or both. Failure to do so causes other packs to doubt the pack’s commitment, using it as an excuse (real or feigned) to move on its territory. Bloody clashes under the moon usually follow, threatening the sanctity of the Oath’s next most important clause.



Ithaeur who’ve dealt with Helions know all too well that Helios hasn’t forgiven the Forsaken as his sister has. Mostly, it’s because it’s not in Helios’ nature to change his mind about anything, but partly, it’s because of the Sundering. Just as Luna gives the Hisil its ever-changing, reactive nature,

Helios provides the impetus for spirits attempting to leave. By his nature, he forces everything away.

Before his death, Father Wolf hunted the spirits fleeing the Shadow, complementing both Luna and her brother. By killing him, the first pack destroyed that harmony, and made Helios the unwitting cause of the material world’s woes.



Primal Urge is the Uratha’s innermost instinct; it’s the fire inside that yearns to overwhelm, kill, and consume. To the wolf inside the Uratha, everything is pack, prey, mate, or territory. It sees everything in shades of meat. Normally, this instinct is a whisper in the back of her mind. When she sees her auspice moon in the sky, it becomes a constant, bellowing voice. As her Primal Urge increases, a werewolf sheds her human upbringing. She becomes closer to the Goddess of the Hunt, the ultimate predator. A few werewolves, those who follow the raging beast within, feel the drive to become something more — akin to the Firstborn, or even to Father Wolf himself.



“This story is true,” he began. “In days long past, Father Wolf strode Pangaea like unto a bloody-handed god, hunting those of the spirit that strayed too near the Flesh, and those of the flesh who strayed too near the Spirit. No spirit had the power to defy Urfarah and those that roamed from the Shadow feared his coming, and feared more his fangs and claws that would rip them asunder.



“Again and again mighty spirits challenged the will of Father Wolf to enforce the boundary, and again and again they were cast down while he stood triumphant, bathed in the light of Mother Luna. Frustrated by the strength and ferocity of Father Wolf, and equally by their desire to travel the physical realm, a few spirits turned to cunning. These spirits split their essence into multiple forms, and moved in packs across the boundary. They became shartha.



“While none of the shartha was mighty on its own, they retained the cunning of their forebearers and scattered whenever Urfarah approached, never giving him the chance to capture or kill all of their numbers. Between battles, the shartha multiplied again and again, always forming new bodies to join to the packs. In this manner they eluded Father Wolf, and though he hunted them relentlessly, he could never lay all of them low.



“When the Gauntlet arose, the shartha were trapped, some in the Shadow, some in

the physical. The Beshilu, rat-like in appearance, sought to open the way for their

squeaking brothers and sisters and began to gnaw at the Gauntlet. The holes they

opened filled with disease and death, and since the beginning, Uratha have hunted

t h e m .”

The Pure Tribes reject the creed of the Forsaken and their bonds with Luna. Their reasons are many — some yearn for a return of the hunter’s paradise of Pangaea and blame the Warden Moon and the Forsakens’ forebears for its fall, while others refuse to believe that the Shadow must be kept in balance and see the Hisil as their true heritage. This rift between the Pure and the Forsaken is no mere family squabble — it is a bloody and brutal conflict, a guerrilla war that has been chewing up werewolves and spitting out their broken remains for millennia. The Pure of the Fire-Touched — the Izidakh — are madeyed zealots filled with fervor and faith, the disciples of Rabid Wolf. They are creatures of the Shadow, serving as prophets and priests for that otherworldly realm, and they choose as their sacred prey those who they see as dishonoring and disrespecting it. The Fire-Touched see the Forsaken as deluded betrayers, but believe that some can be saved – if they would only listen to the feverish words of Fire-Touched preachers. Those who would hunt the Fire-Touched must deal with their incredible armory of rites and esoteric Shadow lore — the high priests and templars of the tribe can warp the Shadow and break its laws with ease. They are extremely numerous, and adherents often wield spiritual magics of disease and madness that they will not hesitate to use against the Forsaken and their allies. Worst of all are the insistent promises and persuasive offers of salvation; the Fire-Touched want to talk, and they wield words as adeptly as any weapon.



The Ivory Claws, called Tzuumfin in the First Tongue, are the devotees of Silver Wolf and are obsessed with purity of lineage. They believe that the heritage of Father Wolf lies in the blood, and from that they might build a new Pangaea. Through immaculate records of descent and inheritance, the Ivory Claws track the ebb and flow of all manner of supernatural taint through the human population, and cull and prune where they see fit. Those who do not honor their lineage are the sacred prey of the tribe — which, by most Ivory Claw definitions, includes all of the Forsaken To hunt the Ivory Claws is to hunt a wealthy foe that wields humanity as a weapon, drawing on human resources and organizations to fight the Forsaken by proxy. The tribe aggressively hunts for nuzusul and Wolf-Blooded in Forsaken territory, tearing such prizes away from the grasp of the Urdaga.



Worse, Silver Wolf’s followers are masters of pain and blood, using elaborate rituals to tap into the full potential of the Great Wolf’s inheritance. Some claim that the Ivory Claws practice cannibalism like Hosts, consuming the Essence of other Uratha for power. Their tapestry of bloodlines aims to cultivate a new, superior Uratha species through breeding a messianic figure.



Even amongst the Pure, the Predator Kings — the Ninna Farakh — are a byword for brute force and savagery. The worshippers of Dire Wolf care only for the Hunt, and see the efforts of humanity to tame and master the world as a direct affront to the once-and-future paradise of Pangaea. The Predator Kings choose those who fail to appropriately honor the hunt as their sacred prey; they judge modern humanity as guilty, and the Forsaken too.



How does one hunt a monarch of predators? The Predator Kings practice unrivalled physical brutality but they are canny foes who can surprise would-be hunters on a number of levels. The Predator King message — surrender to the predator within, free yourself from all burdens but the hunt — is an attractive one that has swayed many a Forsaken to the other side. The tribe’s detachment from matters of civilization leaves them unbridled in the savagery of their attacks against human allies and resources that a pack might depend on. Strangest of all are the stories that the Predator Kings just might be right about Pangaea; that their Sacred Hunts can change the relationship between Flesh and Shadow.



The Pure know rites that can tear the very auspice from a Forsaken’s soul. It’s bad enough when they coax converts to their cause, but they’ll happily use torture and madness to twist captives into “willing” subjects too. I’ve heard a rumor, though, that those severed auspices don’t just vanish. No, the Pure lock them away in hidden vaults around the world, whole galleries filled with bottles and jars of dancing moonlight. They’re slowly bleeding Luna dry. One day they’ll bring the moon down.



“Pure,” eh? They claim we’re all sullied by the sins of our forefathers and our veneration of Luna, whereas they’re without guilt. The first Pure weren’t just sitting on their hands when our own ancestors were shouldering the burden of duty and bringing down the Great Wolf, though. Let me tell you, those vultures were off looting the den of their parent. Even today, Pure packs still guard what they stole — reliquaries and shrines filled with ancient trophies. They have their tribal oaths just like we do, and it’s a weakness worth exploiting. The Fire-Touched can never knowingly lie, so trick and mislead them with false information. The Ivory Claws cannot call an “impure” Uratha their brother, so set rumors going that their allies come from Forsaken bloodlines and watch the rifts open up. The Predator Kings can’t use the fruits of human labor, which puts them on the back foot already, but you can tighten the screws further — chase or lure them into human buildings, that sort of thing. Make them choose — break their oath or suffer. The Pure have a number of strengths and weaknesses that differentiate them from Forsaken and Ghost Wolves:



• The Pure reject Luna’s blessing, and do not have an auspice or Moon Gifts.



• The Pure have stronger ties with the Shadow and its denizens through worship and pacts. Pure start with an additional Shadow Gift to replace the Moon Gift they lose, and all Pure gain a bonus dot in the Totem merit.



• Pure werewolves suffer a greater reaction to silver than Forsaken do. Simply touching silver deals one point of bashing damage per turn and, under nights of the full moon, this is increased to one point of lethal damage.

As enemies and prey, Pure packs tend to have powerful totems and unusual spiritual powers at their behest. Forsaken hunters can expect to face spiritual enemies at the side of the Pure; disease spirits crippling human allies, pain spirits unleashing debilitating agony during battles, and spirits of rage trying to goad the Forsaken into Kuruth on their own territory. The addition of rites and fetishes gives the Pure a huge toolbox with which to strike at the Forsaken.



One prey is so dangerous that they are a violation of Father Wolf’s most basic laws — the Ridden. Every single one of them has breached the Gauntlet, defied the Great Wolf and intruded into a world where it does not belong. Faced with a reality that tries to reject it by bleeding out its Essence, it anchors itself in stolen meat and bone. It fuses human and spirit together into something that has all the strengths of both. It is on a path of transformation, becoming something truly monstrous.



This story is true. The Earth-Bound took on the duty of serving as monsters for humanity to hunt and battle. Their changing natures made them the perfect opponents to test the species’ mettle, always returning in a new form when defeated. Perhaps Father Wolf looked fondly on the people amongst whom his Uratha children dwelt, and wanted to give them the only gift he understood — the hunt. Perhaps the idigam were just supposed to be a distraction for humanity from deeper horrors in the darkness, defeated puppets set to an undignified task.



• This story is true. It was humanity that saved the Earth-Bound. Far from being ignorant primitives, humans were

hewing their claim to the world through strength of arm and mind. They saw the hunted idigam and offered the spirits a pact — they would protect and conceal the idigam in return for the Formless Coalescing to help humanity. Humans would need many new concepts to gird themselves against the world, concepts that did not exist yet. The first of the idigam to agree to this pact eventually became the spirit of tamed fire.