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The Quiet Night of 'Machinegun' Morgan * * * Tonight I want to tell a story about my Grandfather. He was a Gnawer like I am, but unlike many of us, he never knew life among his fellows. He was the runt of his pack, joined under Boar to a band of Fenrir. He was Machinegun Morgan, Fostern Ahroun of the Bone Gnawers, and he died a hero to Gaia. It was September of 1942, World War II brought siege and terror unto Europe. Morgan's pack were among the many to cross the border into Canada, unwilling to wait for the States to come to their senses and defend Democracy across the seas. They raged across the battlefield, staying separate of the men they once shared a transport with... for they fought like Garou, with blade and claw. Advance of the main force, they took bridges, cleared ambushes and destroyed tanks and artillery in the night before battles. They were a source of frightened tales among the troops guarding the southern front. It was early in the evening when the story began. The moon sat low in the sky, edges of the waxing gibbous penetrating the transparent blue of fading night sky. They walks quietly into the town's borders, only the sound of crickets and crunching gravel riding the cool breeze, set against the rhythmic backwash of the ocean nearby. The city was devastated by artillery already, the bombardment having left entire portions of the buildings around them collapsed into the street like the melted trails of an abandoned ice cream cone. No life or lights touched the city... none other than the footsteps of the wary garou, and the soft beams of luna spreading a white haze over the earth and objects around them. Glistening shards of glass crackle in the distance under swift footsteps. Bluteckzahn, the lupus, emerged from the darkness ahead. The smell of death touched the air as he led them deeper into the city, retracing along his own footprints. Night had settled, and with each footstep the light of the fireflies flashed on and off... He brought them to the clearing, the lobby of a hotel whose walls had fallen away to the point that it sat under open sky. Bodies collected together in the center, others scattered about the floor.. blood sprayed across the floor as though spilt from thrown paint cans. Some of it was fresher than the rest.. the other curdled with day's age. "The villagers must have gathered here when the shelling began..." growled Erdezundet, the alpha of the pack. His broad-shouldered body stood firmly alongside the doorway, gazing out into the dim gray of the city streets as the others paced the scene inside. "Militarisch..." grunted Morgan, his foot prodding one of the corpses that lay scattered about the pile of fallen villagers... blood bubbling out from underneath at the disturbance. The stench of the rotten corpses made the salty, ocean air heavy in their lungs, each breath woefully unfulfilling. Geistmordernin, the theurge, spoke softly as she knelt over the freshly killed soldier. "They aren't tainted by the wyrm... nor are their wounds.... but look at this, Erde... his abdomen is crushed inward." In silence the pack turned inward to see her words as the body was overturned. Bone splintered outward, small strips of lung and muscle clinging to the rough shards. His head slumped to the side as the body came to a rest, his twisted visage slumping onto them, face mangled in an expression of agony and horror. Even the ocean seemed to grow silent as the hollowed eyes of the corpse set themselves upon the pack, a lone firefly wandered in from the cool night, green light reflecting wickedly against the pale whites as it flickered past his head... but the calm was too soon violated by the light sprinkle of loose mortar dusting down from above. With a growl, four war forms stood in the center of the lobby, eyes scanning the ruin above them... Time crept to a still as dirt and silt trickled through the air to the polished marble floor... the body of a young man falling limply among the grains. The light of the fireflies flickered on, and then off again. The youth twisted in the air, fist striking the stone with a spider webbing impact, flakes chipping away in each direction. The first specks of dust touched that ground. The light of the fireflies flickered on, and the youth crossed to Geistmordernin... and with a single blow, sent her into the stonework of the ruined wall, jaw and fangs torn free of her flesh and into the air behind her... Rage flowed with the horror of her mates, and they came upon the boy with claws outstretched. The boy stood like any other boy, save for his right arm, which raised to meet the first groping claw... his arm, clad in crimson armor like some twisted knight of hell, slammed broadly against Erdezundet's own, cracking bone and bursting flesh with the impact... the arm rested on his body, lopsided in it's length, reaching down to his knee as it waited anxiously at his side... his fingers curled into a fist, the sounds of his own bones cracking as the hand shook with intensity. The light of the fireflies flickered off, and they pursued again. Flesh tore and bones broke. Bluteckzahn fell silently to the earth amid the bodies of his peers, a sleeping wolf for all eyes beyond them. The voice of an agonized youth cried out into the night, his own body unsuited to stop the claws of the trueborn, tearing and parting with each passing strike, though still his hand lashed out, snapping limps and wrenching ligaments as he twisted Morgan's arm free with a wet popping of cartilage... From claw to shoulder, it drifted with him onto the ground, dropping free of his grip with the cold thud of impact. Covering the hand of the dead boy was a simply gauntlet, not raising past his forearm let alone his shoulder as it were a moment ago. His arms with thin and his body malnourished, but the mystery was left be as the pack drew themselves away, bodies caked in blood and permeated with pain and soreness. Lifting the bodies of their comrades, they walked away to safety and rest elsewhere. The green light of the fireflies reflected softly off the boy's gauntlet, hanging at Erdezundet's belt. And they slept that night, under the soft caress of a salty ocean breeze alongside the cliff shore... Perhaps if they had known what lay ahead of them, they would have savored that peaceful night more... * * * Told by Edward Morgan, Adren, Philodox, Bone Gnawer Back | List of Tales | Next
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