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The Fall of Half-hand * * * Years had passed, many of the, since then to now--Garou had risen and fallen within the Nation, and kingdoms among the apes, some at least, had done the same. Yet the deeds of Rock-Arm-Half-Hand we still remember, and still honor. Rock-Arm-Half-Hand was a Modi to our tribe, a warrior without peer who could enter to hand-to-hand combat with the most vile of the Wyrm's minions and send them to the long-sleep, yet he was best known for his feets with the bow. He carried a bow made of stone, of such might that none but he could string it, in which a spirit had been bound centuries before. As little more than a cub visiting a distant Sept he had found Far-Claw, in the hands of an incompetent Fianna who abused the weapon mightily, mistreatint both bow and spirit while he gained the glory of the spirit's accomplishments. As Rock-Arm watched the fool toss his bow aside at battle's end, expecting Kinfolk to bring it to him within his quarters, Fenris spoke to him and his Rage flared, and he challenged the Fianna for the weapon upon the spot. As Adren, Glorious-Strike had no need to accept the challenge of a Cliath, but his pride was great and he thought more of himself than he should. Seeking to make sport of the young Fenrir, he agreed to the challenge. It was with axes that he demanded they fight, and he struck with a speed that gave life to his name--only to see his blade turned aside. Again he struck, and again his blade met only steel while his Rage grew. Again, and again he threw his might into burying the axehead into the young man's chest, and again and again he found his attacks knocked aside. With a snarl, Glorious-Strike gave into his Rage, and the axe fell to his side forgotten as he charged in the full grip of Frenzy. Rock-arm again stood aside, and finally, he struck--a blow to the back of the head that dropped the fool in less than a heartbeat. When he awoke, Rock-Arm-Half-Hand held the bow Far-Claw. Glorious-Strike tood tall and declared that Rock-Arm had no right to challenge--that he had violated the ways of the Nation and taken the bow that was Glorious-Strike's birthright through trickery. At this even the elders of his own tribe laughed in his face, and told him that he had lost the bow to his own foolishness. To add insult to injury, the questioned his Honor in accepting a challenge from a Cliath. Rock-Arm announced for all to hear why he had challenged--what he had seen before Fenris spoke in his heart--and Glorious-Strike's elders again called the Adren's Honor and Wisdom into question, exposing his wrongs for all to see. Furious now, Glorious-Strike charged the young Cliath. Yet one participant had not spoken--Far-Claw. Rock-Arm nocked an arrow into the bow, and as he drew it back all could see he had no skill with the weapon. Yet Far-Claw had been mistreated and abused, thrown around like a useless thing rather than a spirit-ally for years by the foolish Adren, and despite Rock-Arm's unsteady hand the arrow flew straight and true, the steel-hafted bolt striking the Fianna's chest with such force that he was knocked to the ground and forever after that his right lung would allow no air. Thoroughly defeated, and humiliated again by his Elders as an embarrassment to his Tribe, Glorious-Strike slinked away when he awoke, shamed. Rock-Arm and Far-Claw soon returned to their own Sept in the forests of Germany. There he learned the use of the bow and the ways of his new spirit-friend, becoming so dedicated to the weapon that he one day removed the claws from three of his right fingers with a silver knife, so that they wouldn't interfere with the bowstring. Few laughed, and those few quit when they saw his skill with the weapon, for Rock-Arm-Half-Hand was the stuff of which legends are made, and Far-Claw now had the chance for the glory that was its due. Years passed, years of battle and bloodshed where Rock-Arm-Half-Hand's pack grew, and with the aid of Far-Claw his name was spoken throughout the nation, until one day word reached him of his northern cousins. Bjarni Herjolfsson had wandered astray from the shores of Greenland, and come to a strange new land, filled with deep forests. He couldn't even land there, for his crew came under attack--and when he saw that some were Garou he turned his ships around and came back to Greenland. All this was before the birth of Rock-Arm-Half-Hand, and he was doing other things as another expedition went to the shores of America, the land our people called Vinland. The Uktena we knew--they lived among the Innui of Greenland and later we allowed them to come to Finland and Norway, to live among the nomadic Sami and Finn-folk. Soon we were to meet the Croatan. Lief Ericson, whose mother was a Forsetti of the Fenrir and a Garou of much merit, led the expedition back to these shores--at least, in appearance. Several of the Fenrir came with, in case these Garou who dared to attack our kin decided to show again. We didn't go to war with the peoples of the New World--not at first. The Fenrir will take caerns, if those who hold them are too weak to keep them safe from the advances of Jormangundr, but the Croatan were strong of body and mind and spirit--a noble people whom we got along with well, and when we asked politely they allowed us to establish three colonies upon their shores, where our kinfolk traded among their for years. The Weaver grew more powerful in Iceland and Norway, and the Fenrir left our kinfolk Thorfinn Karlsefni to rule before returning to the battle. As Thorfinn grew old and recieved no word from his Tribe, he wearied of rule, and eventually named another to take his place. When the Fenrir returned to see the colony, they found all three of them gone. It was a different tribe who had attacked them, the Garou easily destroying the settlement of humans and kinfolk; a collection of filthy savages who called themselves Wendigo. Their treachery and our war with them is not tonight's story--but when the warcry arose, Rock-Arm-Half-Hand took his pack across the storm-tossed seas to the New World. Our Tribe hit the Wendigo hard, and it was many years before we left, our revenge-lust slaked. But in that time many packs arrived on the shores of this new land, among them the Thorn-paw pack, followers of Raccoon, and the Clean Kill pack, followers of Crow. As was common in that day, Bone Gnawers ran with us to war, and some packs were mixed--even the Rotogar in Rock-Arm Half-hand's pack was of the Bone Gnawers, and by bravery in battle and skill in challenge was not the omega for long. Thorn-Paw was made up of three Gnawers and two Fenrir, capable warriors all, who had lived long among the cities and towns of the frozen northlands, helping the people to keep the ancient ways rather than the false promises the Weaver offered. The Clean Kill pack, lead by a Fenrir alpha, was smaller--two Modi, a Rotogar, and a Gnawer Theurge. The three packs travelled often together or with yet more packs, joining in battle with packs of the murderous Wendigo that were sometimes twenty or thirty strong. They ran among their enemies with steel and talon, and suffered few losses among their own--Rock-Arm's beta fell in the first month, and the Modi who had been alpha to the Clean-Kill in the second. Battle after battle passed, the Fenrir and our allies victorious, until they came to a river where the Wendigo called one of the cannibalistic beasts which serve their totem. Huge, the creature was, shaped like a scrawny human, sinew and bone and rib with a distended belly, and an extended chin with razor-sharp teeth between hollow cheeks and beneath a withered nose. Hair, like a mockery of hair, flowed in clots and snarls down its back and more than thirty feet to scrape against the ground, each thread whispering hatred as the creature shook its head and eyes of ice bored into the Garou's hearts. It was the Thorn-Paw pack which found the creature, along with the Clean-Kill, as Rock-Arm's pack remained in an easy battle and sent the other two ahead. With a flick of its arm, the creature speared the Thorn-paw Beta through the shoulder, and he snarled in rage and agony as ice began to flow in his veins. His left arm shattered like glass as the foul creature shook him, and as one the Clean-kill pack fled. Had Rock-Arm not seen them flying past as if all the legions of Hel were on their heels the Thorn-Paw pack would have been slaughtered. Leaving his pack to deal with the last remnants of the battle, he raced as fast as his paws could carry him to the river. Before he reached it Claws-Left-and-Right has lost his left arm, beyond the skills of any Theurge to replace--a scar he carried with pride and with bitterness for many years after. Another had lost an eye, and a third would have died before the arrow Rock-Arm-Half-Hand fast-loosed and the fire spirit bound within it burned their way through the block of ice which served as the creature's heart. It fell, and with one motion two of the Thorn-Paw pack removed the demon-creature's head. They held Traef upon the spot, after finding and bringing back the Clean-kill pack, sitting atop the carcass of their vanquished foe as they decided the pack's fate. The Rotogar to Rock-Arm's pack, a powerful fellow by the name of Drives-the-Nail, wished to see them killed; for their cowardice caused the loss of Claws-Left-and-Right. Decision was reached, and Drives-the-Nail insisted that they should have been killed. He was right, but his words were not heeded, and the next few days changed the cheerful young trickster into a morose and bitter man. A Rite long known to the Fenrir was used to punish the cowards--each member; the two Fenrir and the Bone Gnawer, were annointed with the blood of those who were endangered by their cowardice, and then the Godi to the Thorn-paw pack recited the names of Kinfolk and packmates through the ages who had been endangered or crippled due to the cowardice of another. With the recitation finished and the spirits of Great Fenris called to witness, each was branded, with heated silver, upon the soles of his feet--never again would the pack, now renamed the Show Tails pack by Drives-the-Nail, show their heels to those foolish enough to depend upon them. With punishment complete, the three packs returned--Rock-Arm's pack and the Thorn-Paw pack wished nothing to do with the shamed pack, and both wished to spread the news among their tribes. At night the other two packs strove to stay far ahead of the disgraced ones, and at day the Show Tails pack curled to sleep far from the other two, lest they hear for hours the jests and taunts of their former allies... And to make their own plans. The three packs reached the point at which their ships had brought them to the new world in good time--an assault had been found by the Rotogars of the Fenrir and their allies among the Bone Gnawers who had come with, and the Fenrir had gathered--some to defend, some to travel by ship along the shore and strike the flanks of the approaching horde. The Show-Tails pack probably thought the use of an arrow to be somehow poetic. It was poorly aimed, but they were close, and the second had better effect, biting through the hero's spinal cord and into his vitals; the silver arrowhead forged from the very brand which had marked them spilling his life's-blood over his shocked packmates before the Wendigo and the twisted creatures they had summoned were more than in sight. The Show Tails pack fled, and Rock-Arm's pack had no choice but to do battle with the Wendigo, rather than leave their tribe behind to chase the killers--survival of their allies first, they decided, and vengeance later. But vengeance was not to be. They fought hard, but without Rock-Arm-Half-Hand to hold the pack together, to advance them and keep them firm, the pack was nearly decimated, and only two out of ten survived. It was shortly after that the Fenrir, their bloodlust slaked, left for the battles closer to home, but Drives-the-Nail never forgot, and it is said that his spirit still searches the Umbra, searching for those of the Show Tail pack. Never will their treachery--or any treachery against the Fenrir--be forgotten. And should one travel to the lands of Iceland, there is a marking upon the rocks of the Steam Cliffs Varthi--drawn by Drives-the-Nail himself--an artful piece of unmatchable skill, showing the cowardice and dishonor of the Show Tails pack so that all may remember. * * * Told by Jublain "Hjarta-Villtnur" Wade, Alpha of the Dogs of War, Child of Wolverine, Athro, Galliard, Get of Fenris Back | List of Tales | Next
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