October: Revel
As the Stories and Songs wind down, an Ahroun of Adren rank -- rare, in this sept, as the moot roles rotate usually among younger Garou seeking to make their name more known -- walks forward. He is carrying a bag over his shoulder. More than a few near him sniff at it, then recoil. Murmurs being to spread about what it smells like.

Those murmurs sound like Wyrm. Wyrm. Wyrm. to the gathered. He looks at the Great Alpha as he takes the center: he nods in respect, and the Great Alpha merely stares, golden eyes steady. This has been arranged.

From the bag, the Ahroun silently draws what looks like some sort of clothing made of vinyl. A black suit of sorts, with long skinny arms and long skinny legs that end in long, skinny


It is not a suit. It is the skin of something awful, the stench of it and its blood wretched. Snarls begin to echo. Werewolves begin to change shape. The Adren turns, looking at all of them.

"Come," he says, voice booming. "Take the scent of your prey. This creature's mate and brood have fled their nest. But they will not get far tonight."

He grins, white teeth slashing through past red lips curling back, black fur blending into the night.
my whole life is thunder.

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