Blackwater Wilderness

Don't Text and Drive
Saving Booker

Martin Keller:
This was gonna be a little tough to prove. Booker West, found at the scene of the crime. MMA fighter loses his cool and beats some poor shmoe to death with his bare hands and then throws the sob into his own trunk. We got Johnny Long Arm claiming Mr. West was in a rage, throwing punches and acting wild from the second they responded. From the outside it looks like a pretty open and shut case. Good thing I’m not on the outside.
For starters I checked out these Cops, Davis and McNamera. Did my research on Booker, if he was in a rage throwing punches those guys would be in a body bag. And, there’s that. I also checked out the scene of the “murder”. It’s a shit hole dump dive just like every other corner in Gary. Easy to drop off a car and leave it there. No eye witnesses and no cameras. Who called the cops? John Doe here’s last call was a day ago. Wasn’t him. It’s not a residential location. So, outside to the existential question who are they and why are they here, we still have yet to hear from our would be whistle blower on Mr. West’s rage out. Mr. West’s account aside it doesn’t add up. No cause except for Mr. West’s affidavit.
Of course that’s not enough to convince a jury, so I take a look at the car, a real good look. I got to the scene hours after I got the call. Yeah, I probably should have headed down to the precinct first, but Mr. West is a big boy. I told him to shut his mouth and sit tight until I got there. I got to the scene 38 minutes after I got the call. Almost crashed twice. Don’t text and drive kids. That was 3 hours after the so-called "murder”. The car was cold. All the way cold, so what was this guy doing, just hanging out in front of his car the whole time. It had rained that day, because you know, Gary… Tires under the chassis were still dry.
I jimmied the trunk open and it’s what I thought. Stunk of the wyrm. I’m not the most knowledgeable about rituals but this was definitely one. There was a bunch of blood splattered inside. Looked like someone shoved a grenade up a cat’s ass and pulled the pin. It got me thinking. I took a taste. It took a second. Badger. Badger blood was used in this ritual. I wanted to look around more but the tow truck just turned the corner so I had to make like some bum fuck native. Something was damn agitating. As the truck pulled away towards the police compound I looked at the empty dry patch of street the car had been resting on. It was the damnedest thing. Ants, hundreds of ants were going at it. Like a little ant war. And then they all stopped and started doing what ants do.
I slammed open the door on the detectives interrogating Mr. West. He had blood caked down his nose and mouth and a busted up eye. He was also handcuffed to the table….not cool. I told them to lose the handcuffs and go jog on or I’d have my buddies at Internal Affairs so far up their ass they’d need a whole ’nother branch of Internal Affairs to get them out. They didn’t get the “internal affairs” humor. To be honest it wasn’t my best work. Didn’t make them move either. Until I cited them for excessive force and threaten to subpoena the footage from the camera. That got them moving.
Booker – that’s right, we’re on a first name basis now – filled me in. It’s what I had pieced together on the way here. Some kind of rage bomb. Tried to flush him out. Lucky for old Booker he has a level head. Otherwise those cops, that were obviously part of a set up, would have been chunks of meat. And then the man hunt would begin. Funny thing is, Booker talked about how angry he was just getting close to the car. I sensed it but compartmentalized it immediately. After this is all done I’m gonna have to go to work on this guy’s mind. Too vulnerable for my liking.

Regimen Argentum
Good things and bad people

Martin Keller:
I’ve seen a lot of shit in the time that I’ve been roaming the city. Good things, good people, bad things, Bad people, incomprehensible things, the wyrm. Us good guys, yeah that’s right, me…don’t stand a chance unless we do two things. First, we have to stick together. The forces of chaos and corruption are everywhere. They outnumber us, they outflank us, and way too often they outsmart us.

That means that not only do we have to be of one mind but that mind has to be ironclad. I have my suspicions about the elder counsel, about the mental influence the vamps used to sway them. And if what I suspect is true then there has never been a stronger case for honing our minds against their power. How can we defeat our enemies when we defeat ourselves.

Second, we play the long game. It’s something we’re not very good at. It’s something that we need to get good at if we’re gonna make a difference – if we’re gonna win the war. Our enemy has just been waiting us out. We build a sandcastle, they wait for the tide to sweep in. Time takes care of most of their problems. It’s not their enemy, it’s ours. That means we need to start working on our own tide. Something that is going to erode the foundations of everything that they have set up. Something that is continuous, that has momentum, that can do our work after any one of us…hell all of us are gone.

But first, back to step one. I’ve always been a tough little shit. I must get it from my folks. But, the body is nothing without the mind. I guess I’ve always known what I have to do – that a war is coming, and because of that, I’ve always push myself. Pain is more mental than physical. Shut it off, redirect it, there are 1000 ways to deal with pain. That’s where my lesson started, before I even realize what I was.

At first it was simple exercises, breathing techniques, putting your mind elsewhere. It’s good practice when you get the shit kicked out of you every day in an orphanage. Then I moved up. Self-mutilation. Testing the limits that I could endure. And when you wake up in a puddle of your own drool and piss you do it again. Then you realize you’re a werewolf which means you have to step up your game. Meditation. Taking your second breath. Facing the god awful things you’ve done. Wounding yourself on a spiritual level, and then owning what you’ve done, and getting back on the horse.

Out of everything that I’ve gone through, silver has been the best test. The ritual, that out of everything, has kept me focused. It doesn’t just hurt physically, it bleeds your soul, and for me brings back the memories of what I’ve done, all wrapped up with a pretty little bow.

I think I poked and prodded myself with silver in every way imaginable. Injected it, stabbed myself with it, ingested it, (damn near killed me that time). By now you’re probably thinking I’m some kind of deprivation, masochistic, psychopath, but you’d be wrong. This isn’t a game, it’s not extremism, it’s survival of the species, and if we aren’t ready to completely dedicate ourselves to winning we might as well throw in the towel.

The hard part isn’t going through with this kind or regiment, it’s convincing others of how important it is. Half the soldiers I know can’t even acknowledge the fact that something could influence them, let alone control them. Hubris, how’d that go for the Greeks? Come to think about it does hubris ever go well for anyone?

Anyway, we need more from this generation and the next if we’re to set the tide in the direction we need. I’m suppose to be meeting one of mine own here soon. Ahiga. I recognize the name. Wants me to dig up some info on his father. Suppose to meet him in a Turkish coffee house up on the north side. We’ll see if I can’t start with him.

mysteries and questions

I got the card of this Garou lawyer from my cousin down south and he tell me that guy knows Chicago so good. So as soon as I get a couple of days off I go there. Nobody at the office but after waiting around couple of days finally he came by to pick up his mail.
I told him I got to find my father or at least get some proof of his glorious death: not too many people respect him for his prowess because he choose the Bear to guide him so a bit of an outsider even with his own reclusive people (Probably why he jumped at de chance to fight way up north when the Elder call came for help).
So Martin Keller (that’s good name it’s like German for killer) he doesn’t have a pack and I can feel the spirits moving about our connection..I’m thinking this guy is one of the pack mates I visioned about in the desert.
Anyways he agreed to make some discreet inquiries but finds nothing easy. We discuss things and conclude that we will ask the spirits for help on this one to see if we can cut to the chase as they say but we must collect the only physical connection I have to him: the binoculars my dad gave me on my 10 birthday. So it’s back to my den. The train ride is tense because Martin is tense but he does not explain and that makes me tense. We finally get to my den I grab the binocs and we go out to a quiet area to step sideways and search for the spirits…but as we began to focus and the colors of the world were fading something strange happened: light.jpg
some kind of form appeared, unsummoned, maybe 50 feet away and was blathering in a strange tongue: not Romanesh, not Apache, and definitely not English! My hackles rose and I prepared for battle but first I to call it out and challenged it to face me! In battle intentions are always clear! But it gestured in some way that did not seem even recognition of the challenge! Then it was gone and I stood there alone feeling a little foolish…maybe this was an opportunity not for glorious battle but to see a deeper mystery and I missed it. I looked around and I think Martin went to the Umbra with out me gaddammit! Another thing I missed in my lust for battle! I go to the cafe and counsel with my pack…


They are common and hardy insects, and can tolerate a wide range of environments from arctic cold to tropical heat. Some species have an elaborate social structure involving common shelter, social dependence, information transfer and kin recognition

In the absence of any real opposition, Booker West has been declared pack alpha. Determined to survive in an urban wasteland, the new pack took to the Spirit Realms in order to find a Totem guide, but their quest was interrupted by the taint of the Wyrm seeping into a nearby neighborhood.

Two pack members were severely wounded by a Bane, a spirit creature of corruption.

  • Normally Werewolves heal Bashing and Lethal damage at the rate of 1/turn.
  • In physically stressful situations, werewolves must make a Reflexive Stamina (8) test to heal Lethal damage that turn.
  • Aggravated damage cuts through to the supernatural essence of a creature, weakening its soul. Although werewolves may Soak Aggravated damage, they are unable to employ their supernatural healing against it. They heal Aggravated damage like a mortal heals Lethal.
  • Silver causes Aggravated damage to werewolves and it is unsoakable.

Booker and Travis Weiss searched for the quintessential substance of cockroach, but so far have been unable to glean insight into the Totem.