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Taking Back Glory

Last week was good. Your pack, your family rather, was gathered close. After running hard from what you had become, they had taken you in. You learned about Mother Luna, about the Shadow lurking just on the other side of this world and its weird denizens. Graymane, the hulking, silent Rahu watched over you, a mighty alpha, like an immovable rock. Kendra, pretty, fast and funny, walked with the humans you felt so close to, sly Ithaeur. And Brass, the moody prophet, who was never friendly but would throw his life on the ground before yours. They were family, closer than anything you had ever felt in your previous life. A brotherhood of warriors, a safe place to run to … PACK.

That was last week. Graymane was the first to die, a sniper’s bullet followed by a rush of fevered, snarling Fire-Touched as he walked home from the pub. The alarm had just gone off when four Fire-Touched jumped Brass. He fought them off with the fury of Destroyer Wolf and died screaming a few hours later as the Essence-laced venom from their fangs seared through his veins. By that time the three strongest packs in Glory, Maine were trophies in the claws of the wave of Pure that had descended on the city in a wave of hatred, blood and fire. Kendra led you from Glory, slinking and sneaking with every ounce of the Dark Moons blessing. You had almost made it out when the Ironbreakers caught you. Champions to the Pure and the ultimate bogeymen to the Forsaken, the Ironbreakers are a pack of monstrous Predator Kings. They had never lost a fight, never lost a member and had taken the heads of some of the mightiest Forsaken. The last you saw of Kendra, she was running the Ironbreakers away from you, bait and sacrifice to buy your freedom.

You have been squatting in some abandoned house in the Covenant, the next town down the road from Glory. Covenant is a big place, but it feels like a ghost town to you – so many unclaimed territories, so much empty space where the Uratha didn’t hold sway … a feral no-man’s-land in the Shadow and an open invitation to its denizens to slip across and cause trouble. The local Forsaken packs have thrown you a curveball – you would have expected territoriality to kick in as the battered survivors of Glory limp into town but the local packs seem almost … grateful … to have you in their turf. Three nights from now they have called ungin – a meeting on neutral territory. Till then you need to find somewhere to sleep that keeps out the wind and a locus to refill your empty reserves. And then, the time will come when you may speak of revenge, of uniting the battered survivors … when you may speak of Taking Back Glory!

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Taking Back Glory Corvys