The large black wolf padded through the light woods north of Dallas. It was late, after mid of night, the waning moon riding high in the sky. He glanced up at pale Luna, his green eyes reflecting the light. Somewhere nearby, there gathered the Garou. He could sense them, ahead, somewhere. But none had answered his call, and none had come to greet him. With all due caution, the wolf proceeded to move silently through the woods.

Firelight in the distance struck his eyes. Listening intently, he heard the vague murmur of human-talk. After carefully circling the clearing in the woods where the campfire was, he finally caught the scent of the Garou. And other, less easily identified scents as well. And over all of these, was the scent of blood. A low, almost inaudible growl rumbled in his throat. Caution must be exercised here, for although there were certainly wolves here, there were other things here as well. Things that could be dangerous...

Slinking belly to the ground, the black wolf crept up to the edge of the clearing. He saw a scene of chaos. A beautiful black furred female was yiping at the upper branches of a tree at the far end of the clearing, and several other Garou in various forms were skulking about through the brush as well. Near the campfire rested a gaunt man with a drawn and fatigued face. A young man dressed in rags wandered about the clearing as well, speaking man-talk in the distinctive manner of the Lupus born. The person he was talking to was a rat faced man, with a permanent grin attached to his face. There was something about the grinning rat-faced one that the black wolf didn't like. Something in his smell... or in the cunning sneakiness implicit in his black beady eyes. After watching the group for a while, the black wolf realized that the female was talking to someone up in the tree, not the tree itself. Curious, he focused his senses on the tree. What he saw there shocked him to the core of his being. It was a Vampire. A Vampire covered in the blood of a Garou. And more shocking still, the Werewolves in the clearing were not attempting to kill him, they were trying to talk him out of the tree, for his own good!

The Change overcame the wolf, body flowing into the upright form of a man. He stood from the ground, checking his possessions. They were few, clothing for himself mainly. But also the priceless Klaive of Pyotr Thunderstorm. Sensing the awareness of his long dead ancestor, Richard Stormheart grinned. Pyotr, we are going to kill a servant of the Wyrm tonight. I'm glad that you have decided to join me.

The Spirit of Pyotr Thunderstorm chuckled, "Oh yes Richard. I wouldn't want to miss this. You know I wouldn't. Come on, move into the clearing. Let's see what this scraggly Pack has to say."

Ok, Richard thought to his companion, here we go.

Richard stepped into the circle of light provided by the campfire. Instantly one of the strange members of this pack disappeared into the brush. Richard made note of it, and dedicated a portion of his awareness to keeping track of where the sneak was moving to. Meanwhile, the female turned from the tree where the Vampire had taken refuge. She was visibly startled at the arrival of this stranger, as were the gaunt man, the rat faced man, and the young rag-clothed one. "Perhaps they were expecting someone else Richard?" Pyotr whispered.

"I am Richard Stormheart, get of Anya Ironclaw, Galliard of the Shadow Lords. I am new to these lands, and I search for your Pack Leader. Where is he?"

"She is not here, at the moment, stranger," the black female answered. " I am White Wing, what do you want here?" she asked, in the language of the wolf.

 

To be continued…

 

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