Everything

Sometimes the city gets too big for its own good, and moving the unmentionables out of sight, out of mind

becomes too much of an effort. In these cases, cities will

sweep their detritus under a proverbial rug. These places

often evolve into Hellholes.

New York City holds one of the most well-known ex­ amples of this phenomenon. On Staten Island, the Fresh

Kills Landfill is one of the largest landfills in the world. At over 2,200 acres, it’s a massive testament to just how much shit humans throw away. Likewise, its correspond­ ing Hellhole is fearsome enough that it’ll be the source of songs and stories for centuries after its demise — if the Garou can destroy it.

In addition to serving as a dumping ground for city waste and having the most unfortunate name for a landfill

in the world, it also acted as a staging area for the remains of the World Trade Center after the September 11th 2001

terrorist attacks. While the grounds already hosted a Hellhole, this emotionally charged addition only bolstered its prominence as one of the worst pockets of terror in the Penumbra.

This particular Hellhole looks like its namesake. The spirits of pain and overindulgence look the parts of

demons, devils, and suffering souls. The dark mirror of the landfill is that of mounds of hot, fleshy corpses and

devices of torture. Crucifixions mark the roads through the pit. Jagged bones jut up through the fleshy pavement. Bat-like horrors shriek across the always-night sky. The grim

joke among the Central Park Sept of the Green is that the Fresh Kills Landfill is one of the least deadly places in New York. The Landfill will never kill something it could just as easily torture for all eternity.

At its center lies an avatar of Lady Aife, the Caliph of Pain. This information comes from the lone Silent Strider scout that both made it in, and made it out of the dread hole. Once word spread of the avatar, rumors flew about a portal to Malfeas beneath her throne.

The Garou couldn’t fight it directly, due to its massive size and power. But through political lobbying, they managed to shut down the landfill, and are now having it repurposed into a city park. Unfortunately, this very positive action will still take decades to fix on the Umbral side, and will end in numerous human deaths and possessions in the mean time.

Trods are places that connect the Penumbra with the places of the fair folk. They’re found in mushroom rings and rock arches, and all the places provincial people tell tourists to avoid. On the surface, Trods look the closest to the world around them of all the various pockets of the Penumbra. This appearance is a trap that’s tempted many a Garou to untimely ends.

Trods look almost like real world paths, clearings, lagoons, or whatever. But the way through is never so simple. Trods don’t often obey natural laws, and they never obey logical laws. One known Trod is a simple, winding road through a forest. Along the side of the trail, every few feet a skull rests on the ground, some growing flowers, some weathered from the rain, some aged to dust. No matter which route a traveler takes, he will always end up where he started after an hour. He’ll be lost forever if he doesn’t know the way. Only by walking backwards can he escape the path, but doing so for an hour will take him to his destination — anywhere in the world. The tale of this path is a case in point that all young Fianna learn. The follow-up lesson is that no two Trods are alike — so unless a young werewolf is at the Loch Laggan Trod, she shouldn’t even bother trying to walk backwards.