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Way of the Wolf
Moon Howl of the Wendigo looked out over those
gathered at the Grand Moot. Nearly 300 Garou were gath-
ered to celebrate at the caern. The matters for consideration
had been presented, and the tribal business discussed at
length by those of a mind to speak of such things. The fate
of the humans had been decided for another year. The spirit
hunt had been performed, and the fire dances danced.
Moon Howl had participated in none of those matters.
He was old, and the ways of the spirit hunt and the fire
dance were not for him. Although the full moon shone
down upon the Grand Moot, the elder lupus was favored by
the gibbous moon. He was the lover of the ways, and the
eldest Galliard among the Wendigo.
Now, his was the task to instruct the pups in what had
been, what was, and what was to come. No one had asked
him to speak: none needed to.
Burning eyes, reflecting the firelight, glowed red in the
darkness. Not all the eyes were those of pups; Moon Howl
was looked upon as a source of great wisdom by many of
the tribe, not just the young.
Moon Howl slowly rose to all four legs. As he did so, he
reached deep within himself, releasing the Beast as he had
done so many times before. His limbs lengthened: his head
and body thickened. Within seconds he stood before the
assemblage in Homid form. For what needed to be said, the
ape form would serve Moon Howl's purposes best.
He looked out over the assembled tribe. He smiled, or
rather, he bared his teeth in a grimace of welcome. Out of
respect, no one howled in response.
Moon Howl had already selected the pups who would
help him portray his story. With a single imperious flick of
his head he summoned them forward. They immediately
bounded to their feet and moved to within ten feet of the
Galliard. They waited eagerly, tails high with excitement,
tongues hanging out. To be chosen to participate in the
ceremony of the Shadows by the Fire's Light, by a Galliard
of Moon Howl's renown, was an honor indeed.
Without further preamble, Moon Howl began to weave
his tale. Reaching deep within himself, to the spirit of Gaia,
he unleashed the Gift that would make the pups actors in his
storytelling.
After a few minutes of concentration, with the entire
Moot shrouded in silence, Moon Howl began to speak in
the Garou tongue. As he spoke, the pups began to move
under the Galliard's control, enacting the story that he told,
speak of the time when the lupus still coexisted with
man. I speak of 10 generations gone by. I speak of
our tribe's human Kinfolk, the Indians, natives of
this continent before the spoilers came. Many among the
Wendigo coexisted with the Indians, advised them, hunted
with them, defended them from their enemies. We bred
with them, and our blood was strong.
Slowly, however, the Wyrm spread its corruption from
the eastern shores, to the western coast and then back again,
reverberating like waves in a lake. Their trains spread
smoke and filth across the land, and the first of their cursed
cars were seen. The Wyrm's allies, the leeches, the vam-
pires, had resolved their war, the war that pitted human
pawn against human pawn. These foul creatures were once
more free to spread their corruption.
The Wyrm saw that the Indians were a threat to its
existence. Here were a people with respect for the Wyld,
and the way of Mother Gaia. In the past, the Indians'
greatest shamans had opposed and defeated the Wyrm's
minions, foiling all of its attempts to gain a foothold on the
continent. The Wyrm remembered when the continent of
North America had been its own, a hellhole on Earth —
until the Indians, kinfolk of the Uktena, Wendigo and
Croatan, came from the north to defeat it. The debt the
Wyrm owed the Indians was great indeed.
Legends of the Garou
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Already the Wyrm had influenced the minds of many of
the humans newly arrived upon the continent. Sacred
mounds were destroyed, treaties were broken, thousands
were killed. From the Umbra, spirits attacked medicine
men. Many Indians were murdered, others joined forces
with the Great Corrupter and not a few gave in to despair as
they were herded onto reservations. The Wendigo were
driven northward out of their territories, back the way they
had come so many centuries ago.
Born during this time were three pups of a single mother,
all sharing the Garou Blood. So many Garou in a single
generation was rare even then, and augured well. All three
passed through their Rite of Passages together, and were
inseparable. Others of the Wendigo traveled with them,
forming a pack.
These three were:
Dark Cavern-Walker, a Theurge, and a powerful master
of spirits. He dared to travel deep within the Umbra, and to
realms beyond. It is said that much of what he has seen has
been witnessed by no Garou then or since.
Howls-to-Luna, an Ahroun, and the most formidable
fighter of her generation. None could stand before her, and
many agents of the Wyrm fled before her rage, rather than
risk her flashing teeth and claws.
Grass Roller, a Galliard, but one who fought as well as
he howled. It was he who traveled the Great Plains, spread-
ing news of the Garou and informing any who would hear
his voice.
These three were in their thirtieth year when Grass
Roller brought news to the pack. A tribe of the Indian
humans, the Navajo, were threatened by a strange creature.
The creature, which the Navajo called a Mai-Coh, was
human in form. Some Indians claimed he was a witch,
others a werewolf. He held many villages in terror, de-
manding tribute from all within his evil influence.
Those that spoke out against the Mai-Coh were discov-
ered dead. Some were clawed to death as if by the talons of
some great bird. Others had their throats ripped out, and
there were those who claimed the Mai-Coh was in league
with the Garou. They said that we of the Wendigo betrayed
our sacred trust to the tribes.
The Navajo, and what remained of the other tribes, lived
in fear of the Mai-Coh. The white man struck from without,
and the witch-being struck from within.
Even then, it was clear that the Indians were to share the
fate of those who bore us, the wolves. The white man and
his machines were spreading swiftly. Still, the Wendigo
were sworn to protect the Indians. So as one, the pack,
twelve in number, swore to travel to the Navajo dwellings
and destroy the Mai-Coh. The pack began traveling south-
ward from their territories in the Great Plains. In the lead
ran the three of which I have spoken, Dark Cavern-Walker,
Howls-to-Luna and Grass Roller.
They were but a short distance from the Mai-Coh's
dwelling place when they were set upon. Great black
beasts, resembling our cousins the coyote but several times
larger, raced out to meet them. Although outnumbered four
to one, the Garou met the charge fearlessly. The great
beasts were not mere coyotes, however. Their strength and
stamina were nearly that of the Garou. The beasts were
fomori, coyotes corrupted by the Wyrm. They possessed
many strange powers. Some spat poison, some shot fire
from their eyes, some howled the Dark Litany.
The battle was joined. Howls-to-Luna lashed out, her
claws gleaming silver under Luna's gaze. Her touch was
death to the fomori beasts, and soon a dozen lay strewn
about her. The agony of her silver claws filled her body, but
she disregarded the pain.
Dark Cavern-Walker called upon the power of Gaia
Herself, and the earth rose up against the fomori. He spoke
a Word of power, and the spirits of the air rose up against
the abominations, tossing them about as leaves before a
storm.
The great beasts were unswayed by Grass Roller's
powers of the mind. But, many fell as he summoned the
Moon Bridges that were his to walk. Several he lured into
a nearby canyon, then Traveled elsewhere to a point where
he could start an avalanche and bring the walls down upon
them.
The battle raged for many hours. The fomori fought
fiercely, neither asking nor giving quarter. Luna had passed
her zenith and was descending when the battle finally
ended.
Of the twelve members of the pack, seven had died. They
had taken twice that number with them in death. Howls-to-
Luna had to dig herself out of the pile of corpses formed by
those she had killed.
What remained of the pack traveled onwards. They
knew they had met the least of the Mai-Coh's servants.
However, revenge for those who had fallen, and hatred of
the Wyrm, drove them onwards.
They soon arrived at the village wherein dwelt the Mai-
Coh. The canyon walls rose up about them, but all was
silent. Not a human stirred. Those who had not fled or been
killed remained in silence behind their walls, fearing to
emerge.
It was Grass Roller who strode to one entrance, assum-
ing his Homid guise as he did so. He entered and found a
brave cowering beneath a blanket, shivering as if he were
a child frightened by a nightmare.
"What then do you fear, human?" Grass Roller asked the
warrior.
At first, the man would not speak. However, Grass
Roller was skilled of tongue, and knowledgeable of the
human's ways. Using his own Gifts, he was soon able to
persuade the brave to speak of what he had seen.
The man gibbered and shook as he spoke. He claimed the
Mai-Coh had eyes everywhere, that the crows and the
coyotes were its servants. That its servant, a corrupted
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Way of the Wolf

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