Tribes & Fera

They are quite possibly our greatest allies, but they do not know it. They do not know they can be tempted. We can give them back the world, the green Earth, the blue planet, free of this plague of humanity, a world in which the towers of the mighty have toppled. The Red Talons need only give into their Rage, and to see how the Garou have held them back and betrayed them, prevented them from getting at man’s neck. It is man, after all, who feeds the Wyrm. Man’s hatred, man’s malice, man’s lies, man’s depredations, man’s greed, man’s fucking hubris. What is so great about man? Only the Wyrm. The Wyrm is man’s sick prize. If man is the universe’s attempt to explain itself, then cancer is an explanation of man. Spiral brothers, tell the wolves: “Kill the man-kind, and your world will be free. The wind will carry your howls across the unsullied plains. Without man, the Wyrm will die.” They will look at

you askance and know that the seed of the Wyrm lives on in you, but they’re too stupid and too haughty to be scared. They’ll like what you’re saying because it’s what they want to hear, and they’ll think to themselves: “When the world is quiet, and man is gone, we’ll hunt the Spirals in the night until the last of the Wyrm’s kin dies. And then the world will be ours, and all will be at peace.” That won’t happen of course, by then, that wonderful stock of lupine Kinfolk will be inextricably ours, members of our global pack.

The Red Talons already know they’re fighting a war they cannot win. They gnash and snap at the heels of humanity, but humanity kicks them back with silver-toed boots. The other Garou try to restrain their Rage. They tell the Talons to keep their anger in check, they tell the Talons to ignore their base instincts, and they expect the Talons to obey. And so the Rage only builds as the wilderness disappears.

Who wouldn’t be fucking angry? Even your own kind, the other Garou, treat you like a dog. Sit. Stay. Behave. Every Red Talon has already started walking the Spiral, they just don’t know it yet. Every time they dream of the sound of human sinew tearing asunder, they take another step. Play to their anger; it’s all they have left. The perfect release for a Red Talon is to let the Beast-of-War run rampant as they unleash the full brunt of their Rage on humanity. And, contrary to popular belief, they aren’t stupid. They know not to lift the veil, so they’ll be careful in where and when they strike. A few dead wolves here and there, and you have a pack of potential new Black Spiral Dancers.