Everything

The soil of Africa has been bathed in blood for tens of thousands of years. With this Gift, a Swara calls that spilled blood together through the soil and gives it form, creating a pool, a river, a mass of tentacles, or a variety of other things.

BASTET

System: The player spends a Rage point and rolls Manipulation + Primal-Urge (difficulty 7, or 5 for a notable site of bloodshed). It takes a three turns for the blood to coalesce; once it does, it will assume any form the Swara demands. All forms have Strength and health levels equal to twice the successes rolled. This Gift lasts for one scene.

Many Bastet rites mimic those of the Garou in effect, if not in form. As solitary creatures, Bastet are particularly fond of Mystic rites that may be performed alone.

Cat Calls

Level One, Accord The Bastet tend to be solitary, but like to know what other werecats are up to. This rite is one way of keep­ ing each other informed. With it a werecat enciphers his message into the seemingly random movements of nature. Other Bastet who see similar patterns will know the meaning within them. Some Bastet use this rite with non-natural movements, such as the flow of vehicles in heavy traffic or the turning of a ceiling fan.

System: The rite-master meditates, bringing the thoughts he wishes to share clearly to his mind and opens his eyes to the movements around him. For each success when activating the rite, the Bastet may place a message in a type of movement — the swirling of long grass, the swaying of tree leaves, or even the shifting shapes of clouds. The message can be anything that could be imparted in about a minute’s speech.

STEREOTYPES

Jason Shadow-Walker of the Khan takes the opportunity to say:

• Silver Fangs: You claim to rule by right, but too many of you fail to live up to your grand promises.

“They know pride, that’s for sure. But stroke their ego, and offer them some new secret, and you can make a friend for life.” — Moonshine, Queen-Among-the-Heather

• Corax: You do not know the true value of a secret, flapping your beak. That is why I listen to the birds, rather than telling them anything.

“The kittycats say they only want the same thing we do, so why’d they keep vital information to them­ selves? If it’s important, tell us.” — Raina Fader

• Nagah: I’ve heard that they might not be dead. But that? That is not a secret. A real secret would be finding one, and escaping with your life.

“They believe that hoarding secrets is the path to power. Normally, that’s no problem, but when we find any who know the Sacred Secret, they must disappear.” — Ten Steps

Other Bastet around the world who see similar move­ ments can decipher the message by making a Wits + Enigmas roll. The difficulty of the roll is based on how close the watcher is to the rite-master — difficulty 5 for within up to 100 miles, difficulty 6 for 1000 miles, difficulty 7 on the same continent, difficulty 8 for anywhere else in the world.

False Protection

Level Two, Gnosis 6 A Bastet’s Yava are her greatest secret, and her greatest weakness. Only a few werecats dare use these fetishes, for they risk spreading that secret. Most Bastet who know of them consider False Protection to be at least slightly blasphemous, but desperate times call for desperate measures. This Fetish can help protect the werecat from knowledgeable hunters and usually takes the form of jewellery with a symbolic representation of a great cat of a different kind to her tribe.

When activated by the Bastet, the fetish swaps her Yava with those of another tribe for the rest of the scene. The werecat sets her “replacement” tribe when the fetish is made — and must know the Yava of that tribe. An observer who is aware of the Bastet’s Yava can discern the purpose of this fetish by making a successful Intelligence + Occult roll (difficulty 7).

Unknown to all but the canniest Bubasti, this fetish can also be used by the Ajaba.

Whether in the physical or Umbral realm, wereravens keep their eyes and ears open for hidden secrets and mysteri­ ous happenings to share with one another — and sometimes with their shapechanging cousins. Their fleet wings — and quick wits — can turn the tide for those who call the Corax their allies.

Seriously? Who writes this stuff? You’re never going to learn the real story about who you are from that hack. The only way to really understand the Corax is to get it straight from the raven’s beak…

Fortunately — for you at least — I’ve got some time to spare, and I like the cut of your plumage. Grab a limb, and I’ll give you the real story about who we are and what we do.

So, ya want to know where we came from? Well, that’s a long story — but an interesting one. You see, we were the last Breed Gaia made. She’d wrapped up all the rest, and there was about fifteen minutes of total chaos while they all hissed and growled and postured at each other before She scattered them around the globe. Then she realized what she’d done and decided to make us.

Why? So we could keep an eye on everyone else for Her, of course. You know how the littlest kid is always the one who runs to Mom with every little thing their siblings do wrong? That’s us. We’re the tattletales.

She did us up just right for the job, too. You know why we can’t settle down? Cuz they’re everywhere, so we have to be, too. I mean, I like my cozy nest as well as the next bird, so to keep us from settling in, and tak­ ing the easy way out, She put wanderlust in our veins. Gave us the itchy travelling feathers. We’re built to go everywhere, see everything. No homebodies allowed. If there are secrets going on, you can bet there’s one of us, listening in, poking around, getting a gander — so to speak.

And to make sure the other Changers didn’t strong arm us to keep us quiet about their blunders, She slapped us with a compulsion to talk to anyone who will slow down long enough to listen. We see something going on — we gotta spread the word. That kinda comes in

handy for getting the rest of them to do their jobs, too. We notice something going on, point it out to the bears for cleanup, or the wolves for battle, and then we get to go back to doing what we do best…

And what might that be? So, you know that “series of tubes” that most folks rely on these days for their informational access needs? No, I don’t mean porn — well, not just porn, anyway. The Net’s pretty much replaced newspapers, phone books, libraries — it’s where folks get the stuff they need to know.

Us? We make the Net look like a buncha clay tablets with “Cleo Was Here” scrawled on them. We’re bleeding edge, eyes-in-the-sky, grade A, number one know-it-alls. That’s what we do, and we’re the best at it. We were built to get in, see what’s going on, and get the hell out so we can spread the word. Information’s no good if the messenger can’t deliver it.

That’s one of the reasons we don’t really fight, in case you were wondering. Oh, we’re nasty enough in a scrap, and we’ve got a few tricks up our sleeves, but the truth is we’re not built for going toe-to-toe. That’s okay, though… Fight sneaky, the way we do everything else, and you’re more likely to survive to tell a tale — or pull a prank — another day.

See, that’s the other thing we’re good at… Pulling pranks. Not just to be funny (although that can be fun too). Most of the time, there’s a method to our madness, a lesson in the lemon-meringue. See, some folks just don’t listen the easy way. They think they know it all, or try to second guess why we’re sharing information with them. So, every so often, you need to set one of these bull-headed blow-hards up so he’s in a position to get what you’ve got to give. Then, once he’s wiping the banana cream pie off his face, you can tell him about the Pentex takeover that’s behind his favorite restaurant chain, or the fact that the “Kinfolk” he just boffed is doing double duty for a local Hive. You know, the stuff that hits a little too close for comfort.

Oh, and speaking of close… You should know where your allegiances lie. Unlike most of the other breeds, we’ve got two bosses: Raven and Helios. The Sun took an interest in us after we kinda tricked him into some stuff,

back in the old days… We showed him we were worth his attention, and got all sorts of Gifts as a thank-you. Some say it’s because we bring things into the light, but that’s neither here nor there.

The other guy we work for, big surprise, is Raven. Gaia might have made us, but he gave us our spirit, our attitude, and our good looks. Everything we are, we got from him. So you owe it to yourself — and to him — to obey his laws. Find stuff. Tell people. Laugh, because the world ain’t getting any prettier. And most of all — fly. Why? Well, because you can.

Once you figure that out, the rest is easy.

Now, I appreciate you being all patient while I rambled on. You’re learning already. But, here’s something you gotta know: Once I finish teaching you the basics, you’re on your own. No making packs, or prides, or that kind of thing. It’s every Corax for himself, and that’s the way we like it.

Now, don’t look like that. It’s not that we don’t like other raven-Kin; hell, they’re the best company you can hope for. Every time you meet another one, it’s a chance to swap stories, compare notes, and have one hell of a good time.

But we’re no good at form­ ing permanent arrange­ ments. Put five Corax in a room and you’ll get six opinions on what to

see next, and seven about how to get there. Sometimes, you’ll find gangs of Corax flying around together, mostly youngsters, but those groups never last long. Pretty soon, you lose your fledgling feathers and start to realize that you’ll cover more territory if you split up. Besides, kid — think about it. You don’t want anyone looking over your wing and telling you where to fly next, right? Even if they’re doing it with the best of intentions.

Sure, we get together every once in a while to shoot

the shit and exchange stories. I mean, what’s the

good of gathering stories if you don’t get to

tell them in front of a group every now

and then? We call them Gathers — or

Parliaments, for those that are feeling

fancy — and that’s where we shoot

the breeze, clap each other on the

back when we’ve earned it by being especially smart, or

upright, or brave… but mostly smart. (Corax use the same Wisdom, Honor, and Glory Renown as Garou, but especially value Wis­ dom. Renown is awarded — and stripped — at

Parliaments.)

As for specific operations, well, I can’t tell you much beyond “they exist”, because I don’t know. If you’re heading in a way that crosses winds with one of them, they’ll find you and tell you what you need to know about hooking up with them.

What I can tell you, though, is that we’re everywhere. Off in the Umbra? We’re there,

and some of us even like to come back. High

tech, big business, politics? We’re there too.

Japan? Europe? The Middle East? You name it, one of us has an eye on it. That’s another good reason to talk to all the Corax you meet, by the way. You’ll want folks to notice if you go missing, and with the sorts of stuff we poke our beaks into… Well, let’s just say that if you turn over enough stones, you’re eventually going to find more than dirt underneath one. Do your job right, and there’s a good chance you’ll find yourself in a heap of trouble soon or

later.

But that’s okay… we’ve got a lot of tools to help us out, these days.

CyberSpying

It used to be that if you needed to get a piece of information from one place to another, or to keep eyes on something from a distance, or dig up dirt on someone, spirits were the way to go. They can carry messages, listen in on conversations without getting noticed, or watch over an area without needing pit stops or sleep breaks. That made them pretty much the bees’ knees for those of us in the information biz.

Things have changed, though, and technology has pretty much become the go-to tool for the bird-in-the-know. Any Corax is going to find a cell phone to be a near necessity for keeping on contact on the go, and if you can get your hands on one that works in the Umbra, better yet. I’ve heard there are some that go across the Gauntlet — Realm to Umbra and back — but I’ve never seen one first hand. If they do exist, they’re crazy rare and those that have them aren’t likely to give them up without complaint.

Smart phones are super handy too — they’re like a phone, a mini computer, a portable camera, a GPS, a tape recorder, and a music player all rolled up into one. Yes, a music player. Quit thinking so literally! Sure, it’s nice to be able to listen to your favorite tunes wherever you go, but think outside of the box a bit. A recorder app, a playback feed, and you’ve got anything from a white-noise generator or sound effects maker to a blackmail material storage device. The possibilities are, as they say, endless.

And speaking of endless, let’s not forget the web-with-no-end — the Internet! Between Facebook, Twitter, and all that jazz, almost everyone has some sort of internet presence — and online friends — these days. A couple of dummy accounts armed with stock photos and a fake bio, and suddenly I’m “friends” with whatever patsy I’m looking for more info on. If I’m lucky, he’ll keep a running dialogue with his hundred closest buddies about where he’s “checking in” for the meeting I want to listen in on. If I’m really lucky, he’ll jump on instant messaging and try to impress his new “follower” with some handy details that can be used against him. (Of course, if I’m unlucky, I might end up with pictures of his naked junk, but even those can be used for blackmail or sold off to the highest bidder — it’s gross, but hey, them’s the breaks in the info business.)

If you’re not up for the eye-bleach risk, though, there’s still gold to be found on the Net. Government agencies are required to make certain files accessible to the public. So, a lot of that stuff we used to have to wing it down to the archives office to get a gander at is now available on a point-and-click basis through one website or another. Add in handy-dandy search services

like WhitePages.com and you’ve got a one-stop shopping center for info on your target, without ever leaving the comfort of your home.

And that’s just the “open to the public” info — if you can get a hacker on your side, there’s almost nothing you can’t find out about someone. Debit card transaction records, ISP cookie files, internet site caches, phone and text message logs? Easy breezy, lemon-squeezy, if you know what I mean.

That’s not to say that spirits still aren’t handy as hell; there’s still a lot of things that a vapor jaggling can do that a text message can’t. But these days tech is an important addition to any Corax’s toolbox, and let’s be honest — we can use all the help we can get to get the job done.

Don’t get me wrong. We were made to do what we do — and to do it well. Like any fine piece of equipment, form follows function, and all that jazz. So when Gaia wanted a critter that could fly far, look sharp, and get the word out afterwards, She built us, and She built us right.

First of all, we’re made to fly. Our bones are delicate — but dense for their size. Everyone knows birds have hollow bones, but when you go birdman and Crinos out — I’ll explain that in a minute, let’s stay on track now… Anyway, when you’re walking around, your skeleton is still all skinny but strong. That makes it easier to, say… leap from one rooftop to another… but harder to stay upright if some clumsy mutt shoulder-checks you. [Athlet­ ics rolls in all forms are –1 difficulty; soak rolls for bashing damage in all forms are at +2 difficulty]

Also, since we’re supposed to be spies — sorry, I mean, information gathering specialists — we also have super-sharp senses. Now, not all of them are boosted — beaks weren’t really made for smelling — but we can see like we’ve got a sniper scope in each eye.

Oh, and we’re immune to silver. I thought that might get your attention. It’s one of the perks of being handed off from Luna to Helios back in the day. What? You don’t know that one? I’ll tell you later. But the end result is we can wear all the silver toe rings we want. Now, gold, on the other hand, is verboten, at least in feathered forms. Yeah, it kind of sucks, and we are pretty careful not to share that little tidbit with folks who might start melting down their bling into bullets, but at least anyone coming hunting for us is going to end up going broke before they outfit an arsenal, ya know?

Speaking of things we try not to talk about in public. Outsiders tend to get kinda creeped out over the whole

eye-drinking thing, so… What do you mean, what am I talking about? The thing? Where you drink the stuff from a corpse’s eye, and you see the last thing it saw before it died? Oh, come on now; don’t make that face. You’ll take to it quick enough. It’s one of the things Raven gave us, to do what we do as well as we do it. There’s no better way to get information on what killed some poor schmuck, or why it was done. Just settle down on the dead guy’s forehead and dig in. But, think before you drink, kid — you can only drink one eye from a corpse, and you see different things from each. The left eye shows you all the crappy repercussions of the guy’s death, while the right eye shows you what’s good about him buying the farm. But, like I said, folks get kinda touchy about it, so… you might want to kind of use your own discretion about that one. I mean, if you can. [Eye-drinking requires a successful Perception + Empathy roll (difficulty 7)]

See, that’s another thing about being one of us. That whole discretion thing? Not so much. We can’t shut up. Hey, don’t tell me you noticed: that’s disrespectful. But it’s also true. It’s part of what we do, but sometimes it backfires, so… don’t be surprised if some time you find yourself looking down the blade of some flea-hound’s Grand Klaive because you just let it slip that you saw his Kinfolk doing the nasty with his pack beta. Information wants to be free, and it’s hard as hell for us to hold back when we know a juicy tidbit.

Oh, and while we’re talking about weaknesses… If it sparkles, we’re there. The only thing that draws a Corax more than a secret is a shiny. Just try to keep your wits about you when you come in for a landing, okay? Spar­ klies are bad-guys’ favorite bait for us, so next time you do a power dive to scoop up a dime, take a peek around, even if it’s hard [Willpower roll, difficulty 7] to look away.

You probably have noticed that there’s some dif­ ferences between, say, me and you. I mean, you’re up on that branch, for one thing, and I’m down here on the ground looking up at you and risking having folks think I’m crazy if they drive by and notice me chatting you up. You’re probably more comfortable that way, cuz it’s how you were born… with the feathers and all. I’ve been around long enough to be okay in both forms… I just happen to think this one looks better, what with my fancy lapel pin and rings. Jewelry doesn’t work so much in bird-form. But I digress…

There are two breeds of Corax: homid and corvid. But honestly, it doesn’t matter much to us whether you were born with arms or wings. We don’t discriminate; we all pretty much start out on the same footing, regardless of what form we were born in.

[All Corax begin play with “Raven’s Gifts” — an ad­ ditional dot of Subterfuge, Enigmas and Dodge, representing their bond with Raven. All Corax also begin with the same Traits: Rage 1, Gnosis 6, Willpower 3.]

Okay, so, in the spirit of full disclosure, there’s more than just a sense of fair play in why we don’t tend to pick sides based on whether we had feathers or not at birth. Honestly, it’s kind of a moot point: we’re all “made” Co­ rax more than born one. You’re not one of us because a Mommy Corax loved a Daddy human — or raven — very much, or any of that cabbage patch, summoning the stork nonsense. You’re a Corax because someone — another Corax — saw you and thought you would make a good wereraven yourself. Then they did the rite and awhile later — congratulations, it’s a Corax! Okay, so it’s a little more complicated than that, but… you get the idea.

Oh, one last thing — there’s no such thing as a metis Corax. We can have kids with each other — don’t look at me like that, kid, I don’t mean you and me, specifically, just Corax with other Corax. Anyway, we can inter-breed and all; the kids just can’t become Corax themselves. You can’t tie a fetish egg to the spirit of a Corax-Corax crossbreed, because Raven’s a slippery cuss and he likes us to spread the wealth. Bear that in mind when you’re thinking about nesting. It can be heartbreaking: believe me, I know.

• Corvid: Corvids are born ravens, like you. If someone’s set you up with the Spirit Egg Rite, y’all gener­ ally undergo your First Change when you’re about 8 or 10 months old. The bad news is, that means you don’t tend to know much about a lot of human stuff. You can fly like the dickens, though. [Corvid Corax cannot buy Computer, Law, Linguistics, Medicine, Politics ore Science at character creation, other than with freebie points. They begin play with two free dots in the Hobby Talent: Flight.]

And the other good news is, you’re not going to die of old age at fifteen or twenty. If you keep your beak out of trouble — and good luck with that — you can live as long as a normal human does, rather than as short as a bird.

Let’s see, what else. Y’all are usually pretty cliquish, talkative — even by our standards — and a little fuzzy on the notion of property rights where shiny things are concerned.

[Starting Gifts: Enemy Ways, Raven’s Gleaning, Scent of the True Form, Spirit Speech, Truth of Gaia, Voice of the Mimic and Word Beyond]

• Homid: As for my kind? We tend toward the twitchy loner type. Most of us are tallish, and skinny­ ish, and we’ve to a tendency to have noses that politer folks call “sharp” or “aquiline”. Honestly, we look kind

of like walking can-openers, if you ask me… but folks usually don’t.

We get kind of focused — normal folks call it obsessive-compulsive, but we know it’s just paying at­ tention. And we like to move around a lot. Homids like me get screwed in the flight department but pretty much have the rest of the spectrum to play with. [Homid Corax cannot buy the Hobby Talent: Flight at character creation, other than with freebie points.]

[Starting Gifts: Enemy Ways, Morse, Open Seal, Persua­ sion, Spirit Speech, Voice of the Mimic and Word Beyond]

Technically, we don’t have tribes. We’re generalists, built to survive anywhere, under any circumstances. It just doesn’t make any sense to have one batch of us who can call down Helios and another group that can eat eyeballs to see what a dead man saw, but never the twain shall meet. Gaia needs us all to be able to do what we have to in order to bring back the stories.

And besides, we’re all such blabbermouths that none of us would be able to keep from spilling the beans on our group’s super-secret Gifts or Rites or whatever. Before you know it, we’d all know what the rest knew, anyway.

That being said, though, we went intercontinental back in the days when obsidian arrowheads were high-tech. That means that we’ve got our own little set of subcultures, if you know what I mean. Here are the big breakdowns. There’s a few dozen smaller ones out there, but these are the ones you absolutely need to know if you’re going to stay out of trouble.

Chasers

So, first off, we’ve got the Chasers — and I men­ tion this because you kinda got that feel to you. Chasers are loose murders of young brats like yourself who get together to play X-Files. They hang out and dare each other into poking their beaks into places they really can’t handle on their own — and probably shouldn’t as a group either. Sure, it’s fun to go poking after spooky stuff; all kinds of interesting things hiding out in the shadows. Just make sure if you join up with a band of these guys, that at least one of you has the brains to keep an eye on where the exits are. Finding a Nest O’ Banes is all hunky dory; deciding to play “Clean Out the Nest” with your little buddies is a one-way ticket to the Great Deep Fryer in the Sky. Don’t be dumb enough to think stumbling onto something interesting means you’re tough enough to deal with it yourself… That’s what the wolves are for — point-and-click furry missiles of Gaian destruction, and all that.

Anyway, running with a trouble-squad can be fun for a while, but most Chaser murders break up after a year or two. That’s about how long it takes for the members to realize they cramp each other’s styles, and go off their separate ways.

Leshy

Leshy are from Russia and that neck of the woods. When they’re in homid, most of them are bald — not to mention missing one ear — but they do make pretty birds. They’re tricksters as good as any of us: forest-critters who keep to the deep woods when they can. Lots of the Leshy are corvid — maybe three out of four? And they’re more paranoid than the rest of us put together, but that just makes them really good at spying and watching each other’s backs.

Oh, and once they start talking? Pack a lunch. You’re gonna be there a while.

Hermetic Order of Swift Light

So, we’re not all fun and games around here. The Hermetic Order is the business arm of the Breed. Basi­ cally, they do their Gaia’s-gossip thing for the right price. For decades now, they’ve been working out of the Big Apple, where they rent this set of posh offices on Madison Avenue that could keep the rest of us in bird-feed for the rest of our lives.

The sign on the door says “Helios Overnight Ser­ vices”, and if you need to get something important de­ livered — Grand Klaives, corporate blueprints, hostages, you name it — they’re the people to go to. But their big money makers aren’t “things” at all — they’re secrets. Passwords, bleeding-edge code, blackmail fodder, and anything else that someone doesn’t want brought to light? Chances are that HOS has it available — for a price.

By tradition, there’s only one actual Corax in the HOS nest, but that’s just a formality. A bunch of the rest of us are involved, on a freelance basis, running packages, gathering secrets, scouting on potential clientele, and the like. And some of those “freelance” positions have pretty much become full-time, long-term gigs, if the rumors are right. Tradition is tradition, but since communication tech has gone global, things have really picked up for the Hermetic Order of Swift Light. Their CEO is riding the headwinds of technology at this point, and there are big things on the horizon for the “company”. Who knows, maybe a time will come when we’re all working for HOS, in one way or another.

The Gulls of Battle

On the other end of the spectrum, you’ve got the scrappers. A quick heads up, kid: these guys aren’t weir­

does that cross-bred with seagulls or something freaky like that. The Vikings gave the Corax that name, back in the day, and some of us still claim those ties — even if they haven’t ever set foot in Scandanavia.

Gulls are kind of a paradox. On one hand, they have first-hand ties to Hugin and Munin — Odin’s two best birdie buddies, Thought and Memory. Gulls spend a lot of time on the wing looking for epic stories, digging up forgotten tales of old, and that kind of stuff. On the other hand, they like corpses as much as any of us (and more than some). And the one place you can find both story fodder and dead bodies is the battlefield. If you want to find a fight, follow the Gulls. I mean, the Valkyries used to ask these guys directions. Think about that.

The Morrigan

And, speaking of scrappers… The Morrigan are a trio of battle-crow biddies, old and dry and fierce as autumn leaves. They’re from the Old Country… But they can show up anywhere — well, anywhere there’s about to be a hella buncha blood and battle, anyway. These gals don’t show up to have a little chat; if you see them, you can bet there’s death and destruction on the horizon.

There are always only three members of the Morrigan, and they serve Raven’s… less pleasant… aspect. They’re all about endings — usually the permanent kind. In fact, whenever a Corax joins the Morrigan, she loses her old name and takes up a new one. And it’s always one of the faces of the Morrigan from legend. Bebd, Nemain and Morrigu — always the same names, ever since they started writing legends down. It doesn’t matter if it’s your lover of 50 years who gets picked; the woman she was dies the second they settle that new name on her, and her old life is gone. All she lives for, from then on, is battle.

The legends say that Morrigan and Dagda were married once, then something happened and she all turned cold and bloody. That was, as you can imagine, the end of that happy union. The same thing happens with her namesakes. You can see the story all over again every time a new raven joins the Morrigan. One light dies in her eyes and a new, cold one starts burning. It’s creepy as hell.

Word is that all three of them have the Sight, that the wind tells them when the next big battle is going to be. I’m not saying it’s not true — they’re always there every time the wolves take up serious arms, and goodness knows the Garou are about the biggest battle-slingers around. The Morrigan always bring eagles with them, too. Big, sharp-beaked buggers that feed on the corpses after the Morrigan drinks their eyes. You see three of our kind — all female — and a bunch of eagles showing up somewhere? You either high-tail it out of there, or

prepare to be a part of the fighting, cuz things are about to get crazy.

Murder’s Daughters

Now, the Morrigan are scary because they’re genu­ inely nasty, and because Raven’s put his blessing of murder down on them. Murder’s Daughters, on the other hand, are scary ’cause they’re wannabes. Each and every one of them wants to be part of the Morrigan someday, and they’ve got this crazy notion that the way to one of the three spots is to out-nasty the rest of the gang.

It’s stupid, ’cause I ain’t yet seen one of the Daughters get picked for promotion, but they keep trying to prove they’re the baddest of the bad, in hopes of catching someone on the nomination committee’s eye. They’re always picking fights, causing trouble, and generally being the biggest bitches they can get away with. A lot of the time, they end up in over their heads; they spend a lot of time after dark in the sorts of clubs where the vampires go, trying to prove they’re more bad-ass than they really are.

Trying to be bad, yep, yep, yep. Pulling it off? Some­ times. But more often than not, they end up stirring up trouble for themselves and everyone around them, or worse yet — proving how rough-and-tumble they are by turning on anyone who doesn’t take them as seriously as they think they deserve to be taken.

A murder of pissed-off sisters will pluck out your eyes and use ’em for marbles — and they’re always looking for excuses to be pissed off.

Oh, and it’s a girls’ club only. No boys allowed. It’s a time-honored tradition dating back all the way to at least 1952, which is the first time anyone was gutsy enough to use the name in public.

On the other hand, I’m smart enough not to argue. I like my eyes right where they are, and I never was any good at marbles.

The Sun-Lost

These guys are stuff you should know about, even though they aren’t technically a group. Sun-Lost is what we call those who’ve turned their back on Helios and wandered off into the Umbra full time. It’s crazy, I know, to cut yourself off from what amounts to half your soul, but some folks do. They just lay down their responsibili­ ties, their messages… even their eggs in some cases… and go wandering off into the Deep Umbra to see what might be seen.

Most of the time, they’re never heard from again. We figure they just see something shiny out there and… keep going. But sometimes they come back into the shallows — the Near Umbra, or even out into the “normal” world.

If you meet up with one, prepare to hear some fascinating stuff — just don’t let it give you any ideas about heading out to the Great Black Beyond yourself, fluffy-feathers. There’s stuff out there that would eat a little-bit like you without even needing to spit out the bones.

Most of the time, though, even if a Sun-Lost comes back, we don’t hear about it first hand. We just get sigil-scratched reports of things they’ve seen. It’s almost always something important — you don’t wing your way back from the Black just to say “Hey, saw a Bane with three extra toes today”. So if you find something like that — you tell folks about it.

No one really knows how many Sun-Lost there are… I mean, time works different out there, and the rules are all wonky. One thing is for sure, though — when one of them dies, we know about it. A single black feather shows up at the spot where the lost one’s spirit egg hatched. No one knows how it gets there. Wind-spirits, I’m guessing, or some sort of supernatural woodgie that makes at least a part of them come full cycle back to their beginnings. But it happens.

That’s why we’re pretty sure that Huginn and Munin are still alive, by the way. No one’s ever seen a feather for them. And yes, we know their hatching places. Stupid question. Of course, we know. We’re Corax, ain’t we?

Tulugaq

The Tulugaq are found in the Pure Lands — that’s like Canada and the US… (Don’t look at me like that. They were pure, once upon a time. That’s another story, kid; can we get back to the one I was telling?)

Anyway, the word Tulugaq is actually Inuit, and some of the folk who claim it are actually from up north. But they’re just as likely to be related to the Cherokee or the Miwok or the Paiute as the Inuit themselves. None of the rest seem to mind that their name is co-opted though, so who am I to raise a fuss?

The Tulugaq (you pronounce it just like it’s spelled, honest) are cool customers; at least that’s the impression they’ll give you right before you realize they’ve stolen your shorts. They’re the trickster’s tricksters, and they take the job damn seriously, which means they’re always practicing — and pissing people off.

Raven and Coyote are both big players in a lot of Amerind myths, so it’s no surprise that the Tulugaq hang with the Nuwisha more than most. What is surprising is that they’re still speaking to one another after all the jokes they’ve pulled, but I guess you get pretty forgiving when you know it’s going to be your turn up to bat next, so to speak.

As for the rest of us? It takes a while for a Tulugaq to open up to outsiders, but once you establish some trust, they’re as chatty as anyone else. Spend a few weeks or months following one around and learning the way they think — then zap them with a prank they can respect. One of the kind that teaches something, points out a weakness, or is just too clever to stay mad about. If you can pull that off, you’ll be all right with the Tulugaq and the werecoyotes both.

Speaking of the werecoyotes… There’s a whole schmear of other shifters out there, and we’ve got some similarities, and some differences, from all of them. Most of them have four or five forms they can change into. We only need three: Corvid, Homid, and Crinos. And, truth be told, we don’t like going into Crinos much. It looks kind of goofy, and you walk funny while you’re in it.

• Homid: Black hair, black eyes, black clothes. Most of us are thin and don’t tan well, which makes us kinda look like underfed Goths. But if you want to spot a Corax in a crowd of wanna-be ghoulies, look at the fingers. No, not the jewelry — although we do have a soft spot for that as well. Check out the hands… Our ring fingers tend to be longer than our middle ones, for some reason. It’s not a sure-fire giveaway, but it can be a clue.

• Corvid: Corvid’s gonna come natural to you, cuz it’s what you were born to: big freakin’ raven. Hold your head high. We’re not talking wimpy crow here; we’re ravens, not some wussy short-tailed, blunt-winged, flat-billed corn-eater. We’re big, we’re smart, we’re fast, we’re beautiful: what’s not to love?

Oh, and by the way, if you get in a fight when you’re in Corvid, go for the eyes, then fly like hell. Trust me on this one. It’s good advice.

• Crinos: Like I said, Crinos form just plain looks weird, there’s no two ways about it. While we’re in it, we’ve got feathers — sort of. And a beak — sort of. Human body and legs, but we’ve got wings, rather than arms, and our fingers are claws. And the feet? I don’t even want to talk about the feet.

The only reason to go into Crinos form is to fight; the claws — on both hands and feet — are nasty busi­ ness. [Corax in Crinos can claw for aggravated damage]. But unless it’s life or death? Most of us don’t pop Big Bird. It’s hard to talk (at least to anyone who isn’t one of us) and hard to walk without flapping your wings around to keep your balance. It’s just… humiliating.

Form Statistics

Crinos Corvid

Str: +1 Str: –1 Dex: +1 Dex: +1 Sta: +1 App: 0 Man: –2 Man: –3 Per: +3 Per: +4

Corax possess no breed, auspice or tribe Gifts — they have only a unified Corax list. Homids may begin with three Gifts selected from among Enemy Ways, Morse, Open Seal, Persuasion, Spirit Speech, Voice of the Mimic and Word Beyond. Corvids may begin with three Gifts selected from among Enemy Ways, Raven’s Gleaning, Scent of the True Form, Spirit Speech, Truth of Gaia, Voice of the Mimic and Word Beyond.