Werewolf the Forsaken - The Rage - Forsaken Player's Guide.pdf - Werewolf the Forsaken - sensei_13

BY AARON DEMBSKI-BOWDEN, JONATHAN MCFARLAND, ADAM TINWORTH,

CHUCK WENDIG AND STEWART WILSON

WORLD OF DARKNESS ® CREATED BY MARK REIN • HAGEN

The bird was dead. That was a problem.

Jason Champlain cradled the dead falcon in his

cupped hands. Feathers rustled in the breeze idling

through the alleyway as he crouched there. The

nearly dry blood clotting on the bird’s back smeared

sticky on his palms. The gore didn’t concern Ja-

son, who still had dark crescents of blood under his

ingernails from last night and hadn’t changed his

clothes in two days. What concerned him was that

the falcon’s wings were rent with distinct claw marks,

like carvings made by tiny talons. Turning the little

corpse this way and that, pressing feathers to the side

and probing for damaged lesh, Jason sucked in air

through his clenched teeth. It was a habit of his when

he was thinking, and he was thinking that these

dead birds were a sight he was sick of seeing.

Alive, this bird would have deserved his respect

and protection. Dead, the bird was just a problem.

He buried the falcon arm-deep in a Dumpster and

walked away. There were no words to honor the

thing’s spirit. That would come later.

• • •

Max was standing by the locus when Jason came

into the ofice. Max looked up from where he stood,

ingertips still trailing the cold, comforting smooth-

ness of the wooden desk. The resonance of a hundred

unbroken promises tingled inside his inger bones for

the space of a heartbeat.

He nodded an “Evening” to Jason, already not-

ing the half-cleaned blood on his packmate’s hand.

“Trouble?” Max Roman believed in cutting to the

point as soon as possible. Jason nodded back in greet-

ing and agreement.

“Trouble. Another bird dead.” Jason held up the

hand he’d briely washed in a rainwater puddle on

the way to the Argentum Building. “Found this one

myself on the way back from visiting my granddad at

the cemetery. I think someone is leaving the bodies

out for me.”

With a creak of expensive leather, Max slid into

his chair. This was the last thing he needed. Worse,

it presented a real problem for his pack, and yet it

was something he cur-

rently had no time to

deal with. Steepling

his ingers and holding

back a sigh, he met

Jason’s eyes.

“I’ve got a meet-

ing with Rachel later

and at least one dip-

lomatic engagement

to handle with

the newest pack

which I promised

to weigh in on

before sunrise.

I’ve also got to

spend tomorrow

night speaking

with the emissary

from Santa Fe about

the Anshega down

south. This is all as-

suming we don’t hear

another squeak out of

BMX for the next few days, and that’s an unreliable

prospect at best. This is the part where you tell me I

can leave this in your hands, because mine are tied.”

Jason frowned as he stood regarding the man in

the multi-thousand dollar suit sat behind the desk.

“It’s your totem, too.” His tone bordered on reproach,

while his eyes showed disappointment.

Max absently toyed with the black driving glove

that lay on the desk next to his newspaper. His eyes

licked back to Jason, irmly meeting his packmate’s

gaze after the moment’s distraction. “Don’t look at

me like that. If I take time away this week, the whole

deal could collapse. Denver is on shaky ground right

now, and that’s the truth.”

“That’s always your excuse.”

“It’s always the truth.”

Jason had no answer to that. He nodded again,

this time in parting, and headed for the door.

All he said before closing the door behind him

was, “I’ll handle it.”

In the silence of the room moments after Jason’s

departure, Max Roman, alpha of the Silver Syndi-

cate, picked up the phone and started hitting but-

tons.

them out of the goddamn window. They could ind

out how important their scufle really was from the

perspective of falling a skyscraper’s height to their

deaths.

These two sides of his nature combined to create

a vague sense of weariness.

“This has degenerated too far. I’ll keep it sim-

ple.” He turned to face the older of the two alphas,

the one with the vicious acne scars on his cheeks.

“There’s plenty of territory for everyone in Denver.

You want the street, but the other pack picked it irst.

If you keep up this campaign against them, then I’ll

withdraw my support from you.”

Twin silences came over the two arguing igures.

One smiled, the other did not.

“You can’t do that.”

“Yes, I can. Your alliance with the Silver Syndi-

cate is not a mandate to screw over other packs and

come running to me when they ight back. Frankly,

you’re looking like more trouble than you’re worth

right now. You’re a threat to the peace with all

the noise you’re making, so I’ll make you

a deal. If you walk out of this ofice

now, I’ll forget this whole thing

ever happened. If you sit there

and argue, if you even draw

breath to make a comeback,

I’ll pull my support for your

pack.”

The acne-scarred

alpha left with as much

dignity as he could muster.

It wasn’t much, given the

circumstances. The remain-

ing pack leader looked up

at Max from where she sat.

A smile spread across her face,

but Roman’s next words wiped it

from her features like a chalk eraser

over a blackboard.

“Have you ever heard of a concept

called ‘honoring your territory in all things’?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” replied the

other Iron Master, suddenly on edge.

“Do you know why James wanted your territory?”

Max countered, moving to sit behind his desk again.

“Because he wants the locus.”

“Yes, but why? He’s a Bone Shadow. He wanted

your territory because he believed his own pack

could pay greater respect to the spirit of the road that

watches over the locus there. His methods were out

• • •

Jason spent the rest of the night in his orrery,

watching the planets spin around the sun 100 times

and more. As dawn neared, he licked his teeth and

tasted three nights’ of staleness there.

His armpits weren’t all that choice,

either. With these thoughts in mind,

he admitted to himself he’d been hop-

ing Max would deal with this latest

threat and leave him out of it.

Just as Jason was mulling over a

shower and what he would do to

solve the problem ahead, the door

rattled under a familiar knock.

“Come in.”

Richard Canield, scratching at

his receding hairline, did just that.

“I hear you’ve got some is-

sues.” None of the

Silver Syndicate beat

around the bush. “Let’s

go sort them out.”

Jason followed him

out the door, giving

the globe of Mercury

one last push to set it

orbiting in his absence.

• • •

Max Roman was

tired of arguing. The

part of him that he consid-

ered human could do this all

day. The afternoon was bright

outside, but the tinted windows allevi-

ated any discomfort, and the air condition-

ing in the ofice made it the perfect place for three

people to sit around a black marble table and argue

over matters of territory. The tinted windows showed

Denver in all its chaotic urban glory. In this great

big city, with all its avenues and alleys, buildings and

bars, these two werewolves were ighting over a single

street.

The part of himself that he considered his wolf-

ish, primal side wanted nothing more than to subdue

them, cow them into silent surrender, then throw

of line, but at least he was following his heart and

adhering to his tribal oath. You don’t get to make

that claim. If you’re incapable of holding a territory

and end up disrespecting it through incompetence

or inattention, you’re breaking our oath to Sagrim-

Ur. I’d rather not see a conversation like this happen

again. Follow?”

“Is that a threat?”

Max smiled for the irst time in three hours.

“Shape up or ship out. Do what you promised Red

Wolf, or just surrender the territory to someone who

can uphold their own promises. I didn’t bring this up

in front of James because this is tribe business. But

just because there’s no one around watching me chew

you out, don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m not

being serious.”

“Fine.” She said the word while looked anything

but. “However, I asked if you were threatening me.”

Max was still smiling as he glanced at the loor-

to-ceiling windows. “Why, of course not.”

• • •

The

falcon-spirit

shrieked in Jason’s

face, creating a storm of

lapping wings and bird-cries as it

harried him. For one horrible mo-

ment, Jason was worried his pack totem

would actually tear out his eyes.

When the falcon took light and soared above

the dim Shadow-relections of nearby buildings, Rich-

ard touched his packmate on the shoulder.

“That didn’t go so well.”

Jason blinked back tears of shock. “No kidding.

Did you hear what he was saying with those shrieks?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Richard shook his

head. He didn’t speak First Tongue. “He was saying

he won’t talk to me, because I’ve failed him. I don’t

even think he’ll talk to Max or Subtle Storm right

now. He’s freaked out by all these dead birds; I could

make out that much.”

Richard said nothing. He wasn’t blind .

• • •

“You took your time.” Max was tapping a cal-

ligraphy pen on a legal pad before him. Rachel Snow

had left his ofice minutes before, and his smile was

long gone. “I called you nearly thirteen hours ago.”

Subtle Storm blew a stray lock of curly hair from

her face as she stood before the desk. Her usual nest

of dark hair was styled only when she ran a brush

through it. Never dirty, but always a tangle.

Werewolf the Forsaken - The Rage - Forsaken Player's Guide.pdf

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