War and tha Blood-Song

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Pencil entry, dated 30/1/2009, it is messy, as if written balanced on a thigh
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Not a real war, more like a border skirmish, folks still die though, no matter what they call it. Tha Pack called an end of peace on tha K.A. Tha K.A. seemed ta launch a preemtive strike on tha Pack. As we had been expectin, it was revolvin around tha two sets of "cures" we been hearin about. Tha very idea that someone was makin "cures" ta both tha fanger HVV or tha lycan genes creeps tha fuck outta me.

I get that some folks don’t wanna take tha Embrace, or tha Gift. I get that folks on either side wanna have tha ability ta take out tha other, its a weapon whether ya think it if or not. Unmaking someones race by injectin them is a bio-weapon, especially in an evironment where lead flys as much as it does in Tox. I sure as fuck don’t want anyone un-makin ME. Cause bein a lycan lets me talk and walk in two legs. That's assumin that’s how it works. I guess it would be even worse if it took away tha canine in me. Bad enough three of four days a moon.

So it was war. Not the pissy street scuffles where one heavy faces off against another where all can see, but proper war. Ambushes, sniper coverage, wave assaults and bombardments. Tha Pack put a satchel charge up at the K.A. HQ and set it off, takin out a whole wall, their theumaturgical library, and generally upsettin tha aesthetic. At least this time none of them wanted ta come after me fer my pelt. Seemed it was fairly clear that it was a Faction War, rather than a race one, Tha Continuum signed up with tha Pack and I think tha Ryders might have signed on with tha K.A. but that’s just a rumour. Tha Righteous and Shadows stayed out of it, this time.

Whether it was just tha smell of blood and cordite, or maybe tha spray of “cured” blood in tha air, but I felt my hackles raising all week, building up. I could hear the blood song, tha Hunt, and tha drums of War beatin in my head and chest. Always building, building. My temper got shorter and tha length of reactions got longer. Tha others in tha Institute couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it, it was just something affectin tha Shifters. Pensive felt it, but didn’t know what it was, but I did, and I knew what was comin. It was always building, building. Tha thing that cut me deepest, was Spirit Gal. She has been starving, starving herself and lookin to tha needs of others, Nareth Realmwalker mostly.

Starvin herself like tha Maker does. And here was me, brimming with power, brimming with life and tha blood-song singin in my head. I was so full, I thought I’d burst. I needed to let it out, or I’d explode. So I channelled it at her, givin up my all, or at least opening tha door so she would take, and use, and grow, and feed. She is Family, She is Sister-Lover. I will not see my Family starve when game is abundant, and tha plentiful game fer her, right now, is me. Except it ain’t. She spurned it, and me, I think I scared her, so I ran, I ran and raged and ran some more.

I came back to tha Library, and tried ta keep control, I stayed away from folks, and tried not to break anything. Quillis found me, and Spirit Gal did too, and they backed me into a corner, up against tha window, I could see tha marks I put in tha wall of tha Library, tha marks I inscribed with my own blood, imbued with Dimentox’s power, to offer my respects to tha Library, and return its protection with my own. They came, and they started fightin over who got to deal with me. Quillis grabbed me just as I was boltin fer tha Great Forest. So she came too. She’d never been. Figures, it’s a scared place, and she’s, well, old but hardly what I’d call devout, or even a believer.

Tha very purity of tha place repelled her, and she started pukin up black muck, and leakin. Purgin. We couldn’t stay long, too much, too soon. But I took tha time to show it to her, from tha Clearin, and went, and found my sword, which was still there, in the leaf litter, where I dropped it, slowly getting buried and removed from tha place, it was marin its purity, bein a thing made by hands and not by wind and water, rock and fire. I took it, and Quillis, and returned. Spirit Gal looked at me with burnin hatred, so I cleared out. As Featherpants says “let them hate, as long as they fear”. I will not abandon my Family, I will not see them starve.

Not that I needed to worry. Nareth came, and Spirit Gal went to her. Went to her and later, after, when they both smelt of each other, of sex and blood, Spirit Gal had fed, as had Nareth. My Family would not starve. I was not needed for that. Not what she wanted, tha Crystal Coyote, too delicate ta touch, too fragile ta use or drink from, better to leave on display, and look at from afar. Tha useless vessel, too brittle, too wild, too jagged ta drink from. But I could still guard, and Watch. So guard and Watch I will do. I tracked Spirit Gal to tha place of dead and stone, and Watch. This I can do, at least.

Tha Hunt, Tha Sacred Rite

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Pencil note, dated 13/1/2009
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Full moon last night.

I Hunted along with tha Pack.
I shared my kills with tha other Packless.
I returned, and found one of my mates.

The Moon will be pleased, and so would Coyote.

i think Spirit Gal was too, eventually, heh.

Quick and the Dead

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Pencil note, blood smeared
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We had some troubles with my Pack kin recently. Territory troubles. Seems they got up enough strength to think they needed ta expand. Idiots. Their command structure couldn't cope last time, it can't this time neither. It shows when they start randomly attackin other factions, shows that they have ta lash out cause if they don't they'll come apart inside. I've seen it happen. Here and in tha field.

So here's what happed. One of their hot-heads, Lei, who was bustin fer a transfer from Scout ta Hunter decided that tha gutter-kit that was crushin on her somethin fierce needed some 9mm deterence. Harsh, but not my problem. She had her fight streetside, no fur off my muzzle. Tha drama came when some more of her Packmates rocked up and a simple strong Lycan with guns verses pathetic unarmed defenseless Kit slayin turned inta a torture tha meat session. Cause they gotta look big in front of each other.

They all started takin turns beatin, cutting and violatin on tha Kit, right on our doorstep. Strong Gal was in with us, and she don’t cope well with that kinda thing. I tried ta keep her away from it all, but she has a way of slippin past yer guard. I was distracted fer a second and she was out at tha door again, and startin ta draw attention. Pack attention, in a bit of a frenzy they were, like wild dogs on roadkill. This weren’t no feedin display, they were in it fer tha pain. If they had just killed it and taken their turns eatin on it, I wouldn’ta batted an eye. Call of tha Wild, it woulda been.

But they didn’t, they were playin with it, and not outta trainin, but just outta spite, spite fer tha Furf, and spite fer us. Lorne of all folks was there and had a gutful, and after telling them ta piss off, yanked it inside, and that was that. Well, they sure didn’t like him doin that, but, once he was, I saw ta his wounds. Riddled with bullets, mostly through and throughs, (seems Lei was a better shot than I thought, but maybe not fer tha same reasons), superficial knife wounds and tha predations of bein violated in tha ass with his own tail. They yammered and howled and were generally obnoxious, but didn’t come inside.

Whilst I was givin tha kit a full triage and tendin his wounds, that was when Strong Gal wandered out and started coppin some serious verbal stick from tha ones that had stuck around. TC. He’s got a big mouth on him, and a mean streak. Started suggestin he would have his turn violatin Strong Gal too, that she looked ta him like she was already used ta that kinda thing. That we kept her locked up and used her in shifts. That kinda evil Fleshie crap that turned my guts and made me leave tha Pack in tha first place.

What kinda demented creature would think that sexually abusin yer own Family was a means of keepin them under control, and was a useful was of dominatin yer foes? It aint natural, and it ain’t tha way of wolves. Wolves will mount their subordinates, in a display of dominance, but they don’t do it fer punishment, that’s what fang and claw are fer. They don’t do it ta their prey neither, or any competin predators that they cross territory with. It’s a Fleshie thing. Brought inta my Kin by tha Fleshie side of their selves.

When I realized what was goin down outside, I scarpered out right smart, and got between TC and Strong Gal, but TC discounted me as a potential combatant and let his spittin go at Lorne instead, which earnt him a thrashin, followed by, after spurnin my offer fer aide, Lornes boot crushin his neck inta tha road. Give some, loose some, and this time? Give Strong Gal trouble? Lose yer fuckin spine. I owe Lorne fer that. I don’t think I could face off against my Kin and hope ta win. Not in a straight fight. I ain’t no good at toe to toe. I’m an ambush predator.

They disgust me. They can call me names all they like, but they disgust me, and make me ashamed ta call them Kin. But Kin they are.

Blood, pack, Kin

Old Faces

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Pencil note, dated 31/10/2008
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New Moon, Old faces

I was in tha Library, and in walked Quillis. Quillis tha Elder, Quillis former Pack Omega, Pack Beta, Pack Alpha. Walked right in and cuddled up with Del tha Demon. Just cuddled right up.

Odd.

Turns out that Del and Quillis have known each other fer a long time. a LOOOONG time. Like, thousands of years long. Yep, thats right. Quillis my Kin is four and a fuckin half MILLENIA old.

Now, where's tha problem ya ask. Well. none, really. Except this. How long am i gunna live? Are all Lycan's born equal? Tha files i read on me from tha Army were sayin that they thought Lycans lived about tha same as Fleshies. they been wrong about other stuff to, but hen again, they were RIGHT about a lot as well. How long did tha Goddess give ta Lycans, if we didnt get killed by each other, or by Fleshies in huntin parties, or tha pther beasties that roamed tha world.

Quillis and Del were chattin about tha "old days" before iron and steel, when Fleshie huntin was with wood and bone, stone and bronze. Was she just lucky? Was it cause her sire's sire was tha Great Wolf? Did tha Goddess gift her line with long life because of their glorious start?

Her Ladyship is old too, real old, i dont know exactly how old, but i got a good idea. Was that older than Quillis and Del, older than Featherpants or tha Maker? i dont know. I know a lot of real old beings. Not many young ones. Strong Gal, Cookie, tha Little One (she's a special case though) and maybe Rago.

I been an adult fer 13 years, but was only born three years befor that. I dont got a lot of years under my belt, just a lot of campaigns. Guess that makes me old. Seasoned. I guess. Thirteen years of soldierin. Lot of lives taken, lot of souls sent over tha Wide River, rent, shot, burnt, blown up. Lot of debt. Well. Maybe i dont get that thousands of years life time that Quillis got.

maybe i do.

Coyote said "done" and its done. I'd like ta curl up with my loved ones in tha way distant future, when AC we in tha history books, and lay by tha holo-fire with Spirit Gal, and look up at Her Ladyship, and remember back ta when we all lived in Tox, and wasn't is so bloody dirty and crude. I just dont know. My littermates are all dead of old age already, but i was tha only Shifter in tha litter.

We'll see.

I dont mind bein tha youngest. its hard ta weigh up against tha Ancients i run with at times, though. tha only major world events i been at, have been in Tox, or are classified, and "never happened" cause, they're attrocities.

Song fer tha past

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album cover torn out and pasted into the the journal
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I felt the power
Of death over life
I orphaned his children
I widowed his wife
I begged their forgiveness
I wish I was dead
I hung my head
I hung my head

I hung my head
I hung my head

Early one morning
With time to kill
I see the gallows
Up on a hill
And out in the distance
A trick of the brain
I see a lone rider
Crossing the plain

And he'd come to fetch me
To see what they'd done
And we'd ride together
To kingdom come
I prayed for god's mercy
For soon I'd be dead
I hung my head
I hung my head

Feed tha Fanger, but not tha World

They did it. They didn't think about tha bloody consequences. They just did it. I helped fix it. Maybe. But i thought about it. Long and hard.

Was it tha right thing ta do? hell yes. Will it cause lastin ongoin problems? Probably. Do i think it'll have turned my kind against me? yup. DO i think it'll help keep all tha walkin peoples safer? Hell yes. Am i gunna pay? Who's ta fuckin say i ain't awready.

So here's tha deal. Bunch of my kin blew up tha Blood Fountain. Tha feedin spot fer all tha Fangers of Toxia. Tha thing that let them not have ta feed on People. It was tha common most decent thing in this fuckin town. I dont know who made it, or where it all came from, only that tha blood in it didn't come from huntin. It wasn't taken by force. It was a gift. And it got taken away by force.

Blown up. Commando style. Precision smash and burn op. I came inta Tox from tha mainland as tha ash was settlin. Literally. Saw tha carnage, heard tha word on tha street and fuckin scooted. Missed tha hunt, tha riot, tha retribution and saved my tail. They crucified Quillis.

It was not a good time ta be a Shifter, i'm tellin ya. Over the weeks and moons that followed, i saw tha Fangers starvin and now and then randomly attackin folks ta feed. Not crippled. Not destroyed. Not driven to their knees, driven to tha throats of tha rest of us. Nice one, dumb-asses.

Long time and still nothin like tha effect they may have wanted. just another fuckin shameless act of destruction by my kin. No wonder we're thought of as savages. We are. Cause we do shit like this and think we're fighting tha good fight. Just like i used ta in Timor. Just like we're always done. I've blown up houses, I've blown up wells. Hell i've poisoned wells and seeded fields with mines. I know what it is ta stick it ta yer enemies. Tha Kindred of Tox ain't my enemy. I may not like em. They might be tha same as their kind all over tha fuckin world.

That ain't my problem. i came here ta get away fer this kinda shit. Word came ta us at tha Institute that someone had worked out how ta fix it. That tha Factions were lookin fer tha Bloodstone. Some sorta artifact. Key ta tha whole damn thing. Of course it came ta us. Its what we do. Once we got it? well, we worked out how it worked and how ta use it.

I negotiated with the Scholars in tha KA, its kinda what i do now. Her Ladyship and tha Head Fangers of tha KA were talking. Things were underway. I even helped write tha Ritual ta turn it all back on. Ta give them back their feed trough. Ta ease their sufferin. Ta do my part ta make up fer what my Kin did. Maybe ta show them that we can do more than destroy . Maybe. Kinda. Sorta.



I stood there, speakin fer tha Institute, speakin as a Shifter . Speakin as somebody who's destroyed sacred things and now wants ta make it right. I heard tha callin, and did my part. I also heard tha voices callen out durin tha ritual, callin out what we was doin was al wrong, that we were givin back tha KA tha means ta enslave tha city. Bollocks ta that. I was givin something back. They can't see past their noses if they think tht all it took was helpin rebuild tha Fanger Feedin Trough was all they needed.



As if havin a hunt free food supply was all that was keepin em tough and on tha streets. As if. So even though i thought it all through, even though i tried ta think of all tha tactical consequences, i still worry. Were they right? did i just open tha door ta tha monsters? Am i just as bad as tha ones that blew tha damn thing up? Maybe.



But ya know tha kicker? ya know tha thing that has kept me awake fer three days since? That fuckin dried up, pus suckin puppy kickin, goat fuckin, pork eatin, motherless scum slag skank bush pig slapper backstabber Spirit tha Fanger Matriarch fuckin put a CURSE on Her Ladyship. Right after we finished layin out tha buffett fer em. Got tha stupid fuckin Bloodstone and kept it safe, got it to em, i fuckin WROTE and all but RAN their Goddess damned Ritual ta switch tha damn thing on, and WHAT?

She stabbed Her in tha back with a kiss of doom. Makes me want ta end every last fuckin last one of them. Ash and sackcloth. Except fer one.

Now look at what they did. As if i couldn't sink any lower inta tha morass. Im a fuckin hypocrite too.

Great.

Kin, pack, Blood

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Pencil entry, in the original bad scribble, dated 13/5/08
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Kin, pack, Blood.

Three little words. So much meanin. When I was in tha 7RAR-L tha words were carved by claw inta tha roof beam of tha mess-hall. Some got it tattoo'd along with tha Regiment'i insignia. Fer me it was three words that first struck me as what I was, and what I was fer. Really fer. They told us we were all tagether. A Unit. We lived tagether, faught tagether, from time ta time died tagether. All tagether in tha mud, tha blood and tha tears. That we were Kin ta each other, that we didn't' have no other family but tha Unit. That tagether we were a Pack. A big Pack. A Pack of Packs. They told us that it was in our Blood. That it was all that we were. That it was what made us mighty. That it was our right ta do what they had us do.

By right of Kinship we were mighty.
By right of Pack we were all we were.
By right of Blood we were savage.

And those words stuck. They stuck deep. They stuck so deep they got me ta thinking. They wouldn't have wanted that, but see, most of their thinkin was in order ta train fresh Two-Legs ta be better Lycans, not ta tell a Four-Legs like me that there was a bigger world out there. I guess I was kinda naïve in those early days. What they didn't count on was me wantin ta know more, about all my Kin. About how few we really were. About how tha different Types came ta be. About our furred cousins Tha Felines, and our wild Kin. I learnt about my own past, as best I could. I knew, already I was from a Zoo, when I got taught ta talk. I learnt about where I came from and that they'd taken me from my dam and littermates.

They didn't think i'd want ta learn about tha Unit, tha Pack they'd given me. Learn tha secrets I wasn't supposed ta know. They made me a better scout than they knew. Belongin ta a pack is in my bones. Followin tha heirarchy is in my nature. What they didn't figure was that i'd take it personal when they started usin my Pack as expendable ordenance. We ain't expendable. We are Pack. We live, hunt, breed and thrive. They were usin us like an M203. Just a bigger weapon. Most of my Packmates just took it on faith. They had superpowers. They were revelin in bein bulletproof killin machines. Pack means ya keep each other alive, ya live and die ta protect yer Pack. Without Pack ya are nothin, without ya, yer Pack is nothin. There are many Packs, but this one was mine. Is mine. Goddess be praised Her Ladyship took me in, I was walkin towards Tha Wide River again, lookin ta take tha long swim. Tha Boatman doesn't carry my kind. We swim wild.

They didn't think i'd care about tha blood. Tha blood we spilled fer their greed, fer tha sake of blood, fer terror and just ta clear tha path fer them. They didn't count on me carin about tha blood my Kin shed fer them. They didn't think i'd see that those we shed blood alongside, that i'd count as close as Kin or Pack. Like that king said "he who sheds his blood with me today, he shall be my brother" it didn't matta. Fight by me and i'll hold yer six, guard as ya sleep and tend ya if ya fall.

Kin, pack, Blood

I consider all tha furred peoples my kin. I don't care if ya howl, yowl, or yip. Ya got ears on tha top of yer head and a tail? Yer one of mine. Reason is, were too few, too divided and too bloody minded. Somewhere along tha line we crossed a limit, where there ain't enough Wildings, and too much Fleshie blood has mucked up tha Balance. My Kin has started ta slide towards oblivion. I won't sit on my tail and watch it. Not when I can help my cousins, my brothers and sisters.

Tha Institute are my pack. They may not think of it back, but they are. Took me in when I was walkabout, welcomed me by their fire and inta their home. Its more than shelter, they talked ta me. Her Ladyship thought i'd bring somethin ta Her Institute. Took me in fer what I am, fer who I am, in spite of what I am, or who I am. They are my pack. In every way, and i'd swim Tha Wide River fer each of them, or for it as a whole

Blood I got plenty of, blood i'll spill and blood i'll shed. Its in my Nature. Ya can only fight Nature so much, and then ya have ta let it take Its course. Ta know a bein deep enough ta not re supprised at tha way they are is ta know em by blood. Blood is our tie ta Tha Goddess. Its life. Ta spill it or shed it should be with tha respect its due. Ta be true ta ya nature is ta follow tha song of yer Blood, ta Dance Tha Goddess' Dance.

It's why I can call Choi my sister. She's Feline. So what? She's kin, she was in Tha Pack when it was MY pack, we've shed blood tagether fer good causes. Tha down side is even tossers and crazies can be Kin. Ya can't choose yer Kin. Jadienne is a perfect example. She seems ta have got herself "bit" and Changed. This is tha same gal who been bounced from Faction ta Faction, who I pulled outa Tha Wide River and came back as a Angel, with her brains all through my fur, then got knocked up, got inta a vendetta with tha fuckin Slaver, and then shaked up with him. So now she's Kin. What’s a Shifter ta do? Lorne's kit, Tandy, I call her Kin too, fer all her "tee-hee, fuckin meow, purr, scritch". She and My-She couldn't be further apart than say, Wulf and me, but gigglin aside, she's Kin, and's worth my care. She makes Lorne happy and he's pack.

Rob, now and once Beta of Tha Pack tried ta recruit me back. Gave me tha same old speeches "come ta us and get tha fear ya deserve, Hunt, kill and eat who ya like, we won’t be evil like tha others was, this time, when tha strong are in charge, it'll be better." What a load of bollocks. Tha gall of tha bastard ta in tha one breath say I should re-up so I can be part of that which that eats own. They got six Felines on their books he says, Feline meat is tha best he said. Humans are cattle ta be ett he said, and he was proud ta say he'd eaten a wolf er two in his time too. Said it'd be good if I took a Betaship. Hinted he'd be happy ta have me as Alpha. What tha fuck would did he think I was doin now? What tha hell did he think, that I wanted ta leave my Family who lived by respect, pride and love of Her Ladyship ta run with, and lead a cannibalistic "bunch of half insane fugatives, bandits, and rogues." His words. Kin they are. Pack they once were. Blood they ain't. I know where I belong.

Kin, pack, Blood. To each be true.

ta be free

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Pencil entry, dated 6/5/08 written in a significantly neater hand, but still obviously the same.
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I got ta thinkin, about how ta talk about what i am, and why, and how its so important ta me ta be where i am, and with my Family.

I remebered this song from one of tha motivational movies we got ta watch on-base in Timor, and i looked it up in Tha Library. Apart from Dim's paintin bein a smartass, again, tha book i was lookin fer sorta just made itself known. Just kinda fell open fer me. Guess it pays ta have left my firearm burried in tha flowerpot . . .

THE MINSTREL BOY
by Thomas Moore

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone
In the ranks of death you will find him;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;"
Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,
"Tho' all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;
And said "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and brav'ry!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slavery!"

Grr's Backstory - OOC (not in the book)

GrrBrool Lykin OOC backstory, some details and likely the whole thing will come out IC, but in dribs and drabs, ask, and he will probably talk . . .
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-Toxian
Arriving on the docks in Toxian in his two legged, Fleshie form GrrBrool was lucky. He quickly came across a couple of other were's, one he came to know as FireStalker. Introducing himself as Grr, he was given a rundown of the city, its groups and history. The Pack's structure and status in the city, its membership and importantly the Den. Not long after, Grr, feeling welcome in his Were form was offered membership to the Pack. There has been a lot of change in the leadership of the Pack but its very wildness makes this natural to GrrBrool. The strong lead, the loyal second the leaders, and the Pack follows. Grr, with his military background was designated as a Pack Hunter. He took to patrolling the streets. Quickly learning that some forces were never going to be understood, he escorted his then-Alpha Maverick to the Pit, lair of the Shadows. They were on a mission to rescue a fallen Packmate, but little did Grr realise how fallen Krazy was. The House of Shadows was not simply claiming the bodies of the Pack, but also their minds and souls. During the confrontation Grr learnt a harsh fact. The Pack for all its strength was not in a position of power in Toxian. He made it his duty to see to the hurts and hearts of not only his Packmates, but to all his Furred kin, Canine, Vulpine or Feline. Not always a popular cause, but a heart felt one. Fleshies, Fallen, Fangers, Freaks or Furred, his neighbors were here to stay and so was he.

-this is the Army Mr. Lykin.
Taken from his zoo home, awakening in the Facility, faced with a strange dominant male wolf GrrBrool was introduced into a strange new world. A world of mystery and amazement. A world of pain and blood. A world of inky darkness and blinding light, and all that lays between. Grr was a shapeshifter, a lycanthrope, a WereCritter. The zoo had been the testbed, knowing of his heritage but not how it might manifest, nor in which of his litter. When it did, he was taken by the Institute, a division of the Australian military.

He was trained, taught, enlightened, awoken to thc world outside the zoo and for this he was grateful, but not the rest. He became a weapon. Literally a Dog-Soldier, a controlled, conditioned member of the 7RAR - Lycanthropy Corps. Sure, he was instilled with plenty of true-blue Aussie values: mateship, ANZAC Digger spirit, a bloody minded stubborn streak, the traditional laconic humor. Yet, underneath it all was the training, the duty, and the work.

Jobs to sensitive to leave to "normal" troops. Jobs too messy for the delicate minds of his Fleshy Digger brothers and sisters. Insurrections to start or quash. Dissidents to vanish, villagers too close to valuable mining resources. Send in the 7RAR-L. 'snarls' the Brass would call them.
Indonesians massacring the East Timourese? Send in the 'snarls'. No prisoners or bodies. Illegal Chinese fishing disrupting supply? A burnt out blood-filled wreck last seen drifting. Normal troops pinned down by snipers or artillery? Send in the 'snarls', they regenerate, and if you do manage to kill one, all you get is a bloody broken wolf corpse, or puma, or fox or coyote. Its not like they are PEOPLE or anything.

Mission after mission saw Grr doing his killing wholesale. Mostly it was indigenous Fleshy militia and supernatural political Black Ops. He took some serious heavy metal in Timor, a 90mm artillery shell that hit a bodies length away, which knocked him into a ditch an almost to the next life. It also almost cost him a leg, both arms and his maleness. Only after the action was resolved and his mates came to scoop up his remains did they realise he was still alive. Regeneration is only so fast and Grr was out of commission for a while.

Always inquisitive he took great notice of his medics, the recovery staff and physios. Learning all the time, he noticed that for all their training most of them knew very little about what it meant to be a Were. Still they tried, and he did have some fun with them, especially the females, Fleshie or otherwise. Whilst he was out of action however, his Unit underwent some drastic changes.

New leaders filled empty slots, new Brass with new ideas and agendas. The structure was changed and there were cullings. 'Redeployment' they called it but you can't lie to a Were who can smell the blood and death of a fellow on you. The missions became darker too. Fewer stand-up fights, more wet-work, 'cleansing' and anti-supernatural actions. The guerrilla fighting appealed to Grr, the massacring of whole villages for a pipeline did not.

In his last assignment with 7RAR-L, that was exactly what he was ordered to do. He tried to reason with the CO. He tried to call off the strike to save the civilians. In the end he couldn't take any more, and before the end, he walked up to his CO to give his report, ' accidentally ' spilt his mug of hot tea in their lap, and when leaning over to quickly mop it up, Grr took the grenade rings on their harness in both sets of 'up-yours' fingers, yanked them and brandished the rings for a moment. "fuck you, sir" he stated to his open-mouthed CO and ducked behind a mostly ruined wall.

Two frag and two incendiary grenades going off on ones hips at once will put a dampener on anyone's day, and the chaos gave Grr a chance to leg-it into the bush. Well trained, well equipped and well motivated there was no way his unit could catch him, even if they had tried. They hadn't. That much firepower makes a big mess, and doesn't leave much in the way of remains, which is why 7RAR-L were issued them.

Making his way to the coast, then on to one of the free-ports, Grr stowed away on a transport junker, laying low until his first port of call, where he jumped ship. He arrived on the docks of Toxian early February 2007. Homeless, alone, renegade.


-beginnings.
GrrBrool was born in Melbourne Zoo's red-wolf enclosure in 1992. His litter also contained his two brothers and two sisters. His mother had been installed there pregnant, as part of a breeding program and good will program between Melbourne and Denver. He grew up happily enough, safe from hunger, predation or sickness, but not free, and under the constant eye of the public, his keepers, the vets and the mysterious "Institute".

Growing larger than normal established him as the leader of the cubs, and his cunning saw many headaches for the keepers, and delight to children and adult patrons alike. The Institute people and the vets were a constant nusciance to him. He would wake groggy and sore, and learned to mistrust tasty treats left out just for him, and hide at the sound of a "safety" being flicked off.

Learning the sounds humans made to one another, GrrBrool began to have an understanding of what was happening. He and his litter-mates were being tested to see if they would show "the Change". Late one night something happened which changed everything. The moon was hidden and Grr was asleep in a hollow of his enclosure, vividly dreaming of walking through the zoo, looking in on the other enclosures and seeing the other inmates he had only heard or smelt. A loud yip startled him, and he woke cold and sore.

The ground was chilled, the rocks sharp and rough, the tussock grass spiky and uncomfortable. Looking across the enclosure as he struggled up to sitting, the view was wrong, and he couldn't smell his family. A weak sounding yip of 'alarm' from one side and looking he saw his youngest sister, backing up in an aspect of fear. Grr looked at her, sat up straight and postured warm curiosity. He tried to walk over to her but his paws wouldn't work. Looking down at them Grr could hardly believe his eyes. His paws were gone, and in their place were the long pink fingers of a human hand. His belly, pink and barely haired. Lanky human legs sprawled onto the dirt beneath him. A startled yelp tried to form, but came out as a yell.

That’s when the alarms went off, the floodlights came on and the men came with the dart guns and the nets. When he woke, there were men in uniforms with clipboards looking at him, as he drifted in and out of dreams. In waking moments he could not move, his limbs were heavy, but he saw his paws, and wagged his tail.

After more sleeping he woke refreshed and able to move. He was in a large, open but high walled pen. He was not alone. A large timber wolf was sitting in the far corner and instead of posturing for dominance or attacking, the wolf spoke to GrrBrool. . .

An old report, a prelude of things to come

===================================================
A Report to the Pack, dated 12/07
===================================================
Alpha, Beta, Leaders, Omega

I can't make tha meetin., time zones and tha like, but i wanted ta let ya all know how i felt, fer better er worse. I've attached some files both of logs i've recorded, bein a Scout, through and through, but also of some of tha key aspects of what being in tha Pack means ta me

we got serious cohesion problems with tha Pack, ya all know that. and i'm bloody relieved that we're finally doin somethin about it.

over tha last few months we've had all kinds of troubles, both with tha Shadows, and with our own. We've had our leaders leavin, gettin possessed, goin crazy, leavin randomly and leadin us all into tha mouth of tha Abyss.

We had brutality and a reign of sullen terror. This wasn't tha way of tha wild, not of nature. This wasn't tha way any pack of wild street dogs would behave, let alone an outfit with a history and tradition like tha Pack that -i- came ta Toxi City ta find.

We lost that nobility fer a long while, and tha respect of our allies and our foes alike.

Havin folks comin and goin from tha Pack as they saw fit, and tha roles of Leaders, and tha Ranked, choppin and changin every which way, well, it weakens us all. Tha damn Shadows got ta laugh at us "your leadership is like a revolving door" i heard one say. That hurt, and i was ashamed.

We've had strange Were's come into tha city, two tight Packs worth, and they saw what a shambles we were in, and they sneered. Fer one, i tried as best i could ta keep us together, keep some unity, and give a little guidance ta both tha rank 'n' file, and ta tha Ranked, and my Leader mates.

I like ta think that tha trust put in me wasn't misplaced, and that what what i done made a difference, and kept tha Pack a little safer than it woulda, otherwise. But.

I'm just a Leader, it's not my place ta make policy, but ta enforce it. Enforce it where my heart lets me, i know tha difference, any of ya who've gotten ta know me may know my history, and why i'm here in Tox, and not back in tha 7RAR-L.

We need ta keep tha Pack together, strong like a Pack should be, we ain't an iron fist, we're Family. We ain't a battle hard fightin force out fer blood and glory, we're a Pack. We fight ta keep what we need, what we deserve. We need ta be able ta trust in our Leadership, and in our Packmates. Trust that we always got each others Six

Trust that no one is gonna stab ya in tha back, or sic their pet on ya if ya disagree with them. Trust that ya ain't gonna be raped. Trust ya ain't gonna get made someone's slave. Trust.

Trust that even if we might come ta blows, might get inta a bloody mess, trust that whilst ya might hate each other, ya'll never TURN on each other. Trust in tha PACK.

Thats all i gotta say. We need that trust, in each other, and in all our leaders.

Without it, we're nothin better than a bunch of rabid dogs runnin fer scraps in this town. Nothin better than tha damn Shadows.

and even THEY look after their own.

Bug-out Note

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A hastily scrawled note, on a Haven drink coaster in red marker pen, left on the wall by the punching bag in the Den. Penciled beside it in the notebook is "2/1/08"
===================================================
"they found me, somehow they tracked me here, and I gotta scram fer a bit. I bet it was that poor bastard in Logistics, i knew gettin him ta air-drop me extra booze might get him in trouble, but i expected him ta have a bit more backbone. i think i caught tha scent of tha 7-RAR-L tracker MP's, by tha docks, so i gotta go walkabout fer a while, lay low till they buzz through.

if ya hear any Aussies with bad haircuts, sunglasses and big canines askin fer me, ya never knew me. I'll be back as soon as i think tha coast is clear.

one of yer Scout Leaders . . ."

Postcard

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A bent and folded postcard, showing farmland, cows and fields of plants with the title "
Koo Wee Rup: Australia's largest asparagus growing district" On the back in a cramped, messy hand is written . . . Postmarked 17 January 2008. It looks like it has been rescued from the rubbish.
===================================================
Pack-Mates,

I hope this bloody message gets to ya, its had ta come through a few paws ta get here. still hidin out, trying ta shake tha bloodhounds from tha 7RAR-L. Bloody SNARL's, they trained us not ta get caught, now they're payin fer it. Might be another week er so till its safe ta show my muzzle in tha old haunts. Same as before, if any 'yessir, nosir" Aussie types show up lookin fer me, ya ain't seen me, they'll get theirs . . .

Hope ya all takin care, lookin out fer each others tails, we're tha only Family we got. Stay Safe, Happy Huntin, and Good Scoutin to ya all.

Pack Resignation Letter

===================================================
A rumpled, then carefully re-flattened page, written in pencil in a painfully careful childlike hand. The page looks like it has been written on top of many times, erased in many spots. A canine paw-print in ink marks the bottom of the letter. The page is dated Feb 2008.
===================================================

Alphas, Betas, Leaders, Omega.
I regretfully hereby resign my commission as a Scout Leader of The Pack, effective immediately. I can no longer in good conscience hold office in a group who’s aims and objectives differ so from what I am trying to be. I fled the military who were my family for all of my Changed life, 13 years out of 15, for that same reason. Some of you know the details.

I have been on the run from them since then and thought I would find security, peace and family in The Pack. Now I know I can not. I will not be a monster again. I will not be a beast of carnage again. I will not be a horror of war again. I will live free and wild and if necessary, alone.

Kin, Pack, Blood. My credo, but I can no longer call you my pack. May the Spirits look fairly on you.

GrrBrool
Specimen 071239 "Gabriel"
Royal Melbourne Zoo

Platoon Sgt
7th Royal Australian Regiment - Lycanthropy Corps.

Scout Leader
The Pack

(canine paw-print)
********

Walkabout

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Musings of the life of Grr.
===================================================

Its been almost a full turn of the moon since The Pack changed its colours. Almost a full turn of the moon since a devoted member laid down his markings and broke ranks. Its been almost a full turn of the moon, so short a time, and yet to one, an eternity. This is no melodramatic posturing, but a struggle between instinct and belief for a being to whom time is measured by the day, the moon and by season. To a being born to two legs or spawed in the heavens, the below or the beyond, this might seem trite, primitive or pitiful, but to one born and bred of four-legs, belonging to family can be a driving need.

Even amongst his own kind, the Lycans of Toxian City, GrrBrool felt the need to remind his cousins in The Pack that they had a sacred bond to each other and all their Kin. Love them or hate them, they were Kin, all the Furred Peoples. He knew it was natural for fighting to occur, it kept the Order of the Pack, those of high station were to be followed or overthrown. He knew that outsiders were to be challenged and driven off. He knew of the Hunt, and the need and rightness of it. To one born to four-legs this was natural and instinctive. Moreover he took the Role of Leader, when it was offered him very seriously, and used it to instruct and guide those under him. Acting as teacher, healer, councilor and guard to those beneath him, and adviser when needed to those above him.

The life and training that governed his past from the time he underwent his First Change influenced his perceptions of all that went on in Toxian City since his arrival so long ago now to him: days, moons, seasons ago. The Pack had been strong, but the House Of Shadows, for as long as he had known was stronger and always at the throats of The Pack. His Family, as they became almost as soon as he arrived, needed marshaling, and due in no small part to their very nature, his cousins and Kin were all too easy to goad into bloody and brutal combat which more often than not left The Pack's position weaker than when it started. Two bloodbaths at The Pit brought back horrific memories to GrrBrool of his years of service in the 7RAR-L and he knew he needed to safeguard his Kin from annihilation.

He had always been an infiltrator and mediator, and put his Scout Leadership to good use in this, forming good relations with the other Factions, the watchers and the leaders. He kept watch in the dark, the very Hours of the Wolf, looked in the hidden places and started loitering in Haven, listening, learning and befriending the Others. Always however, the wellbeing of his Kin and The Pack was foremost in his mind. His credo, from his Army years "Kin, Pack, Blood" was as true in Tox as in the jungles of Timor as in the mountains of Tarjikistan.

Always Family was on his mind and in his heart, from the time he was born in the Zoo, where all he knew was his Dam, his litter mates, the keepers and the public, to the years in the 7RAR-L where it meant the difference between life and death under a hail of artillery shells and opposing claws, to the many moons in the Pack where his Kin were often feral and directionless, Alphaship changing with the phase of the moon at times, GrrBrool always strove to better The Pack, to keep it safe and strong, but above all, true. True to the Wild, true to essence of Natures cycles and true to their beings as creatures blessed as Skin Changers.

He weathered the fighting, from rival Factions, marauding monsters, from within as his Kin succomed to their baser, brutal sides driven by lusts for pain and suffering, and from the scorn of the general populous for his Race as a whole. "Animal", "beast", "mutt", "dog", "wolf", "Lycan", words all, some true and proud, regardless how they were offered, but all hurtful to a thinking being who knows the short distance from word to blood. He defended his Kin, his Pack from these thoughts, setting himself as the example, noble predator, spiritual and thinking, (though few might call him wise) at one and at peace. For a while, it was true. Then one New Moon came, bringing with it the winds of Spring, and change, and all that came crashing down.

His particular Lunar cycle brings with it not the forced change into his between-form, the one he wears almost always in Toxian City, but his Fleshy body. The change is never a comfortable one, shrapnel lodged in his body from the life changing assault he was nearly killed in, in-operable and resistant to his regeneration, and each change rolls muscles over the pieces, and bones shift and flex against them. Each change brings pain, so he never looks forwards to the New Moon, even though it makes for easier travel through regular human society, for the few times he ever needs to, without fear of an accidental change. It is a harsh measure of time, but life can be harsh, and never asks either way.

Yet with this change brought the winds of Spring, and to GrrBrool, a very real sense of need. Dulled somewhat in his Fleshy form, he still felt its pull, but was unsure at first what it was. Until all the couples started appearing, first one or two, the usual in Toxian City, any given night there might be a canoodling couple, that was nothing new, but again and again, beings around him started Coupling. Words and deeds were exchanged before his eyes, over and over the same story presented itself to him. The pain of his return Change hammered it home, it was Spring, and he was un-Mated. He had felt the touches of this twice before, two denizens he had grown fonder and fonder of, and who then vanished before he could make his feelings properly known. All he had was The Pack, and the friends he had made. He needed, longed for, Family, belonging, and he began to realize, a Mate.

Then The Pack turned. More than just a change of leadership, a new agenda by a new warlord calling themselves "Alpha", as Wulf and others had done, but a turning, from what GrrBrool thought of as a natural and right family of his Kin, into the darker side of that. Not content to exist in relative harmony with their neighbors, but to expand aggressively, to hunt beyond need, to Hunt the weak and the solitary for the thrill of the kill and all the other, darker aspects of their natures, seemingly for the sake of it. This was everything that had driven GrrBrool to the lengths he had to escape the 7RAR-L and come to Toxian City in the first place and it horrified him, that seemingly as a whole, his Family, his Pack, would take such a Path.

He knew what he had to do. Without hesitation, GrrBrool found a quiet spot, the Library, of all places, and wrote, he wrote a letter, painfully, with a clumsy hand and a broken heart, but he wrote, and posted his resignation from The Pack. This was the third time he had lost his Family, once from the Zoo, second escaping the 7RAR-L and now this. Topping his longing for a mate, he was now adrift, in exile, but his own choosing perhaps, but again, instinct took over, he treated The Pack with the fear and hesitation any wild outcast would have, fearing his former family's reprisal on an outsider. He avoided the Den, and any Pack member he came across. He took to wandering the streets, not patrolling, as he once did, but aimlessly, out of habit, stopping to soak up the company of any friendly group he came upon.

The Ryders and Omega Institute offered him the most comfort, after his companions at the Haven bar, where the remainder of his time was spent, drowning his sorrows in service to others, even as bartender. Still he was driven to find a Mate, but this seemed even more hopeless now that his ties to The Pack were cut. The majority of his kind in Toxian City were now potential enemies, and he was in his minds eye, a pariah, deserter and outcast.

He watched and listened as the other goings on of the City washed over his life, new conflicts between The Pack and seemingly everyone filled him with hurt, knowing that once he had had a voice that occasionally soothed over the conflicts between his hot-headed Kin and the rest of the city. He stood back whilst beings came to him demanding answers, the only response he could give was that that was the way they were, what they were, and that he was not part of it or them, for that reason.

Long dark times they have been for GrrBrool, a flash in the pan for some, but a day, a moon, a season, time is flexible to a being like him. In that time his eyes were opened to the natures of some of the other inhabitants of the City, and many a fire-side discussion was had in the Library, or over a damp cloth at the Haven bar. Knowledge can also destroy, not all wisdom brings joy. On more than one instance, he was sent running, for fear of his fur, but always he crept back, needing that feel of Family, unable to abandon all those he called friend, willing to bear harsh words and scorn for that sense of belonging.

Two things happened suddenly, that brought new insights to GrrBrool. A Plague was visited upon the Vampire population, supernatural in nature and cunning. GrrBrool feared it would cross species and be visited upon his own Kin, for a time it seemed to be contained, but soon, news came to his ears, and eyes, that something was also afflicting the Furred Peoples of Toxian City too. At times in this period GrrBrool would have welcomed a visit from Death, had it been offered, but the nature of the disease that was now hitting the Furred Peoples was no simple creeping death, but was driving its victims to slathering rages, blinding them with ravenous hungers and crushing their minds. It was the worst possible contagion he could have been presented with. Yet he could again, not abandon his Kin, and donned his MOPS gear, the anti Nuclear, Biological and Chemical suit issued by the 7RAR-L to protect its troopers from just this very kind of weapon, and several times, went out and about, searching for stricken Kin to tend, as best he could.

The second thing that happened, much to his surprise, was to find out that one of his friends from the bar, herself a loner, without Faction or Family, thought that she might feel more for GrrBrool than just as a friendly bartender. Even as he stripped off and got into his MOPS gear, swearing he hadn't thought he would be wearing camouflage again so soon after putting it all away, well before the current dark times, he was looking into her eyes, feeling perhaps for the first time, that this was not just a fun tumble in the making, but something that might run deeper. A feeling not unlike Family, like that which he was beginning to feel for those he shared the fireside with.

Two darknesses had risen, and also two points of light. GrrBrool is still on his walkabout, but now he feels something more than sorrow, loss and the abandonment of a pack-creature without a pack. He feels he has someone at least, to come back for. Its been almost a full turn of the moon, GrrBrool has something to live for. Its been almost a full turn of the moon, who knows what it will bring.

Postcard

A bent and folded postcard, showing farmland, cows and fields of plants with the title "
======================================
Koo Wee Rup: Australia's largest asparagus growing district" On the back in a cramped, messy hand is written . . . dated 10/1/08
======================================

Pack-Mates,

I hope this bloody message gets to ya, its had ta come through a few paws ta get here. still hidin out, trying ta shake tha bloodhounds from tha 7RAR-L. Bloody SNARL's, they trained us not ta get caught, now they're payin fer it. Might be another week er so till its safe ta show my muzzle in tha old haunts. Same as before, if any 'yessir, nosir" Aussie types show up lookin fer me, ya ain't seen me, they'll get theirs . . .

Hope ya all takin care, lookin out fer each others tails, we're tha only Family we got. Stay Safe, Happy Huntin, and Good Scoutin to ya all.