Gifts

There’s a good reason the Garou hate these moth­ erfuckers. For those living so close to the underbelly of the Wyrm, they prove remarkably resistant to walking

the Black Spiral. Perpetually shat upon, and living in a constant state of betrayal, these lowlife subhuman scums aren’t intelligent enough to hate the Garou. Rather they persist in the places many Spirals must occupy: slums, sewers, and places of urban blight, where our folk run across them constantly. The fighting is bitter, but perhaps we should salute them, the motliest of all the Garou, for their tenacity. They aren’t afraid of getting their hands dirty, and they wallow in a state of blissful don’t-give-ashit and that makes them deadly to us.

They readily wallow in the worst of humanity’s filth. The hearty children of Rat know how to get by and make Gaia survive in places where others won’t tread. But that also means they know where to strike to kill Her. They understand cities like no one else, and they have the greatest human relay system, the dispossessed.

The best way to get to the Bone Gnawers? Their Kinfolk. Who gives a shit about Bone Gnawer Kin? Only the Bone Gnawers. The filthy, homeless, good-for-nothing people thieving and struggling just to get a meal — the rest of the Garou Nation, with the possible exception of the Children of Gaia, won’t touch them with a ten-foot pole. Find them, and then kill them. Call the police, claiming one of them has a gun and watch the SWAT team descend. After the justice system locks their Kinfolk away — or just shoots them dead for jaywalking — the Bone Gnawers will find few Garou care. The prisons are well out of their reach out in the wilderness, and the police look after their own. The Gnawers’ Rage will well up against the Nation, and the normally don’t-give-a-fuck Bone Gnawers will be ready to Dance. A deal here, some assistance there and the Gnawer kin can be freed — or avenged — at the cost of the Gnawer’s soul.