Everything

The events depicted in this story happen after the death of Black Tooth. More information on the tyrant’s fall, and on the Ahadi alliance, can be found in W20: Changing Breeds.

ous other Changing Breeds, the Simba overthrew

Black Tooth. Those allies formed the Ahadi, a cosmopolitan council of Ajaba, Silent Striders, Bagheera, Makunguru, Bubasti, Kucha Ekundu, and whatever Simba stood against the tyrant.

You may have heard of the Ahadi, but even if you have, let that sink in: numerous Breeds banded together, and formed a council to peace­ fully govern and maintain mutual interest. Could you imagine? Here, we can’t even get the Thirteen Tribes to get along most of the time. What if we tried

forming an alliance with the Ratkin, the Corax,

and the Pumonca in Ohio? Well, they succeeded

somehow and the Ahadi stands today. Each

representative breed has a council mem­

ber. It’s not perfect, but what is?

Rehema and I became fast friends. She was born homid. Growing up, she attended the Muhumbili University. She wanted to be a doctor before her change. I don’t know if it’s regular, but she changed much later than most Garou. I had similar aspirations as a teen, but my change kept me from medical science. It didn’t keep me from dabbling.

She and I spent the rest of the night drinking and

sharing tales of our travels. If meeting her was the only take away from my trip, it’d be the best voyage of my life. But it wasn’t. More on that later.

So, I shared my stories with them, they shared their stories with me, and after a night’s sleep, I continued my journey.

You probably know enough about me by now to know that I wasn’t about to leave that story

alone. A collective of different breeds work­

ing together for the common good?

I had to hear more. I sought out

the Ajaba.

Interjection for important lesson time: just because a group is part of a larger group working toward the common good, does not mean that the given group members are inherently peaceful. Some of the Ajaba, apparently, have not gotten over Black Tooth’s reign. They carry grudges, even though they’re part of the Ahadi. So, when Simba travel alone through Ajaba territory, they’re looked at as potential threats.

More importantly to this story, Children of Gaia that smell like Simba thanks to a night of drinking, feasting, and story time are looked at as a potential threat.

In this particular case, they pulled out all the stops. I walked through the Ngorongoro Crater, where I heard they nested. When you picture a crater, you picture a bowl, a dip into the ground. Ngorongoro is too big to see it as a dip. You can look from any direction, from great distances, and not see both edges of the volcanic caldera. So really, it felt more like the biggest valley you’ve ever seen, with wildlife-strewn plains all throughout. I hit a built-up area, with trees, numerous elephant skeletons, and a small pond. The moment I noticed that the wildlife seemed suspiciously vacant, the noonday sky around me turned dark.

Apparently, the Ajaba share an affinity for the day and night, the darkness and the light. They turned clear skies into a soupy, inky darkness I could barely smell through, let alone see through. I should have shifted. I snapped out a statement of peace, of non-confrontation. They didn’t buy it. I don’t know how many attacked, but they struck rapidly, with shallow, harrowing bites. Each time I tried to stop one, another attacked from behind. They weren’t going for the kill, they wanted to tire me out. So I shifted. I stood, and I grabbed one by the snout. I told them I wasn’t there to hurt them, but I would if I needed to.

They stopped. It turns out, they couldn’t tell me apart from the Simba because of the scent I carried. At least, not until I took my Crinos form. I dropped the snout, and they dropped the darkness. By the time my eyes adjusted, only one of the Ajaba remained. He asked my purpose for coming, I explained that I came interested in hearing the story of the Ajaba, Black Tooth, and the Ahadi. More of them appeared from behind trees, and from within bushes. They looked to one other, and yipped and chittered quickly. Either they had a method of blocking my Gifts, or they were simply trying to fool me, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying.

They simultaneously quieted, and the one stood forward again to tell me they would share their story. Right around that time, though, the savannah shook with a Simba roar. It expressed a great danger, and a call to the local Ahadi to gather quickly. Despite their suspicions, the Ajaba broke into a run immediately.

We convened at the pride’s outcropping, along with representatives of all the breeds. Apparently, Tanzania had given the green light to a Pentex-subsidized power plant. Construction was underway near one of the rivers much of the population relies on for water. Because that never goes bad, right?

The plant exploded, probably as part of a nefarious plan. The explosion dumped thousands of gallons of toxic waste into the water supply. First reports suggested radioactivity. Worse still, the place hid a massive nest of banes. At the moment of the explosion, a swarm emerged and circled the ruined plant. They appeared to be guarding something.

The Ahadi debated and argued potential plans. They scrawled maps into the rock floor. Scouts described the enemy. Time passed. Far too much time passed. I lost pa­ tience, and stepped forward. I told them of a time our sept faced a meat packing plant full of nastiness, which had a similar layout and enemy population. It was one of those beautiful, Oscar-winning moments. Impassioned speech. Rallying cries. You know the gist, right?

Long story short, they went with my plan. They figured my experience and fresh perspective was the solution. Sure, there was some grumbling. But once the council decides, grumbling goes by the wayside.

We moved into position, and camped that night. We chose to attack in the morning, because the Simba are crea­ tures of Helios, and have certain edges in the daylight, the way we rage under Luna. We surrounded the location in a series of strike teams, positioned to move in and cripple all avenues of escape. The idea was a fierce, heavy, thorough, and final strike to eliminate the threat by surprise. We’d move in from all angles, and guarantee at least some of the strike teams would maintain an advantage. With our Makanguru friends — the white-necked raven Corax of the region — we even had attacks from above.

Come dawn, we moved in for the kill. It was a sight to be seen. Warriors from so many breeds attacking in uni­ son; for the moment, it felt like a full thematic reversal of the War of Rage. We tore through their ranks. The initial assault went without a hitch. The main force pulled back toward the center of the wreckage, toward the heart of the would-be power plant. We pressed forward to keep them on their feet.

Everything looked good for the Ahadi forces. By the time we fought to the center, most of the banes fell. However, when our first warriors found the heart, the battle shifted hands. Our Ajaba advance fighters screamed out a warning, a demand to withdraw. In my rage, I insisted we push on.

This, coupled with the voice of the Simba, kept us moving. Rehema roared to keep our forces fighting, not fleeing.

We should have fled. The whole thing, the power plant, the explosion, the hive, it was all a trap. The banes needed as many of us as possible in that plant when they released their secret weapon — they’d harnessed a Nexus Crawler to anni­ hilate us. Almost all the advance forces fell within seconds, as it warped their bodies into different chemical structures. The Ajaba I only recently met became puddles and splashes. The Simba and Kucha Ekundu warriors stomped over the deceased to charge the fiend. They fought valiantly, but half of them fell to its first attack. I shouted for withdraw, but they were too embroiled to flee. The Makanguru dove to distract the beast, but time shifted and the building returned to its completed state, blocking their advance.

I had no choice but to charge, to help the Ahadi I had endangered. A dozen lions and wolves, alongside the few remaining Ajaba and a Mokole, swarmed and overwhelmed the Nexus Crawler. It dissipated into nothingness. As far as we can tell, we won.

As we regrouped, the Mokole, called Swali, told me that I’d be best served to walk the savannah for a week. I abided her commandment. When the week was up, I returned to the outcropping. The council, featuring new members representing the Simba and Ajaba, convened there. Because I urged them to rash action and cost them a significant part of their population, they ruled I’d be exiled from the region. Because I engaged with best intentions and good will, they would let me live. Head hung low, I couldn’t argue the point.

They didn’t need me. I wasn’t the Great White Hope. I taught them some valuable lessons, but ultimately, they’ve gotten by for thousands of years without me. Apocalypse permitting, they’ll go on for many more. The Ahadi exiled me from their territory, and with good reason.

Rehema died because of my arrogance. Gaia lost an amazing warrior, because I couldn’t get my head out of my ass. Why did I think I could guide them to success in an unfamiliar land, in an unfamiliar situation? I don’t know. Maybe it was racism. At the time, I certainly felt capable. Maybe it’s a Garou thing. What did I think was going to happen? That one werewolf from Ohio was going to lead

a pride of lions into victory? Of course I did, because I was an idiot.

I look back to the War of Rage. I wonder if this sort of benevolent prejudice might be to blame. I wonder if one arrogant Garou thought he was doing best for everyone, and if shit just snowballed from there. I’ve met many of our Changing Breed cousins. I’ve heard all the horror stories. They’ll steal your fetishes. They’ll murder you on sight. They’ll sell your kin to the Wyrm. But in my experience, they’re all just people. They may be suspicious, but mostly they just come from different cultures, so they have differ­ ent expectations and traditions. Remember, the majority of us come from human stock. It’s not like we can shake our upbringings. Others come from wolves. Which I don’t need to labor the point, but wolves aren’t lions, ravens, or bears. They have different backgrounds, and different values. Ironically, our metis seem most able to empathize with other groups, because they’ve always been on the shit end of our cultural stick.

Find beauty and grace in others. I guarantee you, you’ll be better for it. With some of the other Breeds I’ve met over the years, I feel a closer kinship than with some Garou, because we don’t have artificial tribal lines. When I met with the Ice Stalkers, they didn’t assume I was weak and unwilling to fight because I’m a Child of Gaia.

Travel. Please travel. But don’t assume that you’re going to save the world. Let your travels save your world. Learn from other Garou, other shifters, other animals, and other humans. Take those lessons home with you, and apply those tools to the problems that stand before you. Those lessons will make you invaluable to your pack, your sept, and your tribe. If your tribe gives you shit about travel, ignore them. Yes, I said ignore them. This is 2014, and you need to be a global citizen if you want to be useful.

I hope my ramblings helped. I hope you learned a little from my mistakes and my arrogance. If you have any questions, you can find me with my pack around Hound Dog’s. My specialty is finding totems for new packs. So if I mentioned a spirit in my stories, and it sounds interesting, hit me up.

If you find yourself in Tanzania, tell Rehema’s pride that I’ll never stop being sorry.