Name: Jake Adams (Thrandr)
Age: 26
Player: Scarlet
Chronicle: Ian's "A Little Grey"
Breed: Homid
Pryio: Twilight
Tribe: Bastet - Bagheera (clouded leopard)
Former Pack Training: Garou Silent Strider
Nature: Caregiver
Demeanor: Penitent
Concept: CIA
ATTRIBUTES
Physical
Strength oo
Dexterity oooo
Stamina ooo
Social
Charisma oo
Manipulation ooo
Appearance o
Mental
Perception oooo
Intelligence ooo
Wits ooo
ABILITIES
Talents
Alertness oo
Awareness o
Brawl ooo
Empathy o
Skills
Drive o
Firearms o
Meditation o
Melee oooo (blades & sticks/staves)
Stealth ooo
Survival oo
Knowledge
Culture o
Investigation oooo
Linguistics oo (2 languages: Spanish & )
Medicine oo
BACKGROUNDS
Trinket ooooo
Den Realm o
Secrets oooo
Rites ooo
GIFTS
Cats Claws
Humbaba's Escape
Lick Wounds
Scholar's Friend
RENOWN
Honor ooo
MERITS
Concentration (1)
Calm Heart (3)
Eidetic Memory (2)
FLAWS
Shy (1)
Nightmares (2)
Enemy (3)
Disfigured (2)
STATS
Gnosis ooo
Willpower oooo
Rage oo
Conscience o
Self-Control oooo
Courage ooo
Humanity ooooo
RITES
Kuasha
- Dedication
Moon
- Warding
- Claiming
CONTACTS
Nathan - Handler/Mentor (DEAD)
Fahr - MI-5 friend/mentor (DEAD)
Patrick - Chicago underground doctor, acquaintance (played by John)
TRINKET / FETISH
Klaive of GorraPawz
- unknown tribe
- unknown who next owner is, though person is in Chicago
- high level spirit fetish that purposely hides information from me (grrr)
- honor-bound to give it away
YAVA
New Moon Sleep
Stupid Salt Trail
Prey is bane if blessed with protective mudra of Aabhaya
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Alien Apocalipse? Seriously?!
Three weeks hospitalization after the disaster was both too long and
not long enough. They kept me drugged hard. I know because I have snippets of
awareness where I am sure I killed someone in this hospital. My terror, my
pain, my… anguish… just too much to bear to be coherent. I know I am too
wounded to be let out, but I feel trapped. I know I must have shifted form or
at the very least, something showed up in my bloodwork that told them I was not
human. I have been here too long. My secrets leak from me with every passing
day. Just moving is painful.
Then no one showed up. I mean really, no one. No one came to check
me. No one arrived to change my bandages that really needed changing last
night. No one added drugs to the fluids dripping into me. No one even changed
my fluids bag which is empty. I woke with a scream ripped right from my gut as
I became aware of how much I hurt. I could shift form and lick myself healed,
can’t I? No… I was in a hospital. I had to keep some of my secrets. Where were
people? I breathed slowly, ramming my pain and panic somewhere deep inside,
allowing training to resurface and refocus me. I might as well consider myself
in enemy territory. Instinct told me to run. Orders told me to stay put and
heal and then report. Instinct won out.
I ripped the tubes from my body and lurched from the hospital bed
mentally cursing about the icy floor, chilly room air and total indecency of
the hospital gown that wasn’t even tied up in the back. With effort I searched
for cameras in my room. Yes, of course there was one. I needed to leave. I
flipped the finger at the camera for good measure for leaving me like this and
headed into the hall looking for my clothes and belongings. From previous
missions, I remember what the procedure was and headed to a supply room. Every
nerve on edge since the whole floor seemed devoid of personnel. I found the
room, but my own clothing was uselessly destroyed by the explosions and
chemicals that have damaged my body. I blacked out. I know I did since I woke sprawled
embarrassingly on the supply room floor. I needed a doctor. I needed help.
Where the hell were they? I needed to get my medical file and erase evidence of
myself. I dressed in whatever clothing would fit me here and smiled to find my
weapons gear and the klaive in a box. I checked the gun and holstered it. I
should take it to that guy… what was his name? Jeff… Jeff Schmidt. It might
have been damaged in the blasts I got caught in. Chicago… I would have to go to
Chicago. One thing at a time. My files. I find a satchel, messenger bag, and
dump the contents. I stuff the paper trail of my existence into it from my room
to the reception desk. The computer is still logged in, so I creatively adjust
my files. Erasing would be too conspicuous. My superiors will likely think
worked on training and made a break for it.
I stuffed some medical supplies into the satchel, bandages, ointments
I might need, codine. Then I shoves some other random medical supplies and
drugs in there just in case. Who knows, they might be handy. The hospital is
almost entirely empty. I few occupied beds with patients too ill or wounded to
move. Several of them were dead; the rest would be in a day or so. I still didn’t
know what the hell was going on. The hospital was abandoned. Then I saw it on a
lounge room TV.
EVACUATE
Evacuate? Why? It was a national message. That happens in case of apocalyptic
events or huge natural disasters. I look out a window to get my bearings.
CHICAGO! Someone was kind to me just a little. Chicago at night… I can make a
good escape. My den is not too far and I have contacts here. I pat the klaive
as if it had a hand in making sure I ended up here. Then I blink and look out
the window again.
Lights… flashing lights in the sky.
Does anyone remember that film with Denzel Washington? It was called
Independence Day. It looked like that outside. Alien … spaceships…
So this is an alien apocolypse? Seriously? I wondered if I was just
hallucinating. I purposely poked one of my more wounded parts of myself and
nearly blacked out with a cry of pain. Nope. Not a hallucination. Aliens. The
city evacuated because we are being invaded by aliens. Well shit! And I thought
I would be the strangest discovery the government made this year.
I checked my comm that was with my gear. You know, just in case. It
is habit when on a mission to check it for updates in the mission. Look for the
codes for recall and retreat. There was a coded message. I read the code
without need for any decoding. It is just a knack.
Silent Strider. If you live
and get this, evacuate. You know where to find medical help. Get it. You are
needed back on duty as soon as you are able. Do not get captured by those
aliens.
Seriously? Seriously. For once, orders and Instinct were the same…
for the moment, except for that part about returning to duty. The back of my
mind told me that the last mission was a trap meant just for those of us who
can shift form. And I guess the government knows some of what I am now and
figures I can be a weapon against these aliens. Fuck that! I am done being
their pawn. I need more information. I no longer trust them.
I made my escape into the night. Aliens above me looming like the
end of the world. I would like to think I am badass like Denzel… but I am too
wounded to be cool right now. Glad I stole the medical supplies in excess. I
will use them as black market trade. Time to find Patrick… before I collapse in
some disease infested gutter and die from infection.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
GorraPawz's Klaive
August of 2011
The mission: Take down an American Corporation with the assistance of the MI-5. American Corp has been illegally funding Rwanda Rebels.
I should have suspected something was amiss when Fehr from MI-5 showed up with his whole pack. He said they were along all hush-like because this mission smelled tainted. I had learned to trust his instincts and experience as he had 10 years on me in this line of work. His team consisted of his pack, two men from France, one from Australia, and some woman with a knack for technology. All shifters. I remember him grinning at my discomfort about working with strangers. "They won't bite you." he grinned a wolfish grin at me. "Not unless you want them to."
We all had our roles in this mission. We were to get in, eliminate threats along the way, exterminate the head of the Corporation, and blow the building leaving no traces. We've done this before, but not with so large a team. I am used to quick in and quick out. This had to involve bringing the whole building and system down and covering tracks. More complicated and more "impossible" so to speak.
Someone knew we were coming. Someone knew what we were in advance. Someone fucking knew who we were by code and name. It was a trap... neatly laid for us.
The fight didn't happen till the charges were set and the timers going. As we moved through the complex, shadows stepped from every reflective surface. Fehr had told me about the Wyrm from the Umbra... but I never thought I would see it like this. The stench that I now know as TAINT will never leave me. My feline agility kept me free of the fight and moving to my target. Fehr close behind me as my backup. We were ambushed. He yelled and snarled and fought. We both did, abandoning our human forms for whatever would best keep us alive. "Finish the job!!" he yelled as he sacrificed his safety to buy me enough time to get through. I wasted nothing. the clocks ticked onward below.
The office was surprisingly sparse and quiet when I entered it. Not sure what I had expected. But it wasn't the pristine simplicity of this considering the raging dark demonic mess happen on the other side of the doors. There were no mirrors in here, nothing reflective. If the feel were not so contemporary American, I would have said it was Zen. The huge chair swiveled smoothly to reveal the head of the corporation. A tall dark-skinned woman placed a stunning though large klaive on the empty desk. "Silent Strider, how amusing this code name of yours, a leopard named for a wolf. I think I will call you Jake Adams. Jake Adams, would you like to know a secret?" I saw clearly now on her bare forearm the distinctive mark of those Fehr had warned me about. Black Spiral Dancers. At the mention of a secret, I stilled my hands with the small metal throwing dagger in my right hand.
"Please sit, this is a very important tale for you... and for me."
I sat, thinking about the old adage. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought her back.
I really hoped this was not the end for me.
She spun me such a tale. She had been from another tribe, but sought more and when she lost honor from her tribe in Chicago, she had joined the Black Spirals. He name was GorraPawz. She declared her dissatisfaction with her choice. She had tried to leave the Black Spirals, but her tribe would not have her back. She fought hard to reclaim what was hers as she fondled the klaive. But once she had it, she still felt no satisfaction. Now, she sought redemption. She wanted me to take the blade and find it a knew and worthy owner. Then bade me finish what I had come to do, asking only that I be swift. Her sentence was barely finished, breath hanging in the air, as I released my tension and threw my dagger true. I watched as her life ebbed out. It was an honorable death by any Garou standards. And damn me, I am an honorable man.
I picked up the klaive and checked my watch. Almost out of time. SHIT! Not enough to get off the complex premises. I ran. My comms gave no calls and no responses. It had been a blood bath through the whole building. I almost stumbled when I saw Fehr. Not a soul down any corridors. I called again on the comm for any of the team members to respond. Nothing. I ran from one scene of horror to the next. My kills were never messy, never like this. Not even the worst of war-zones look like this. My stomach wanted to eject the meager snack I had before the mission. Fehr... and his whole pack... every last one of them... of us... were gone. The first explosion sounded below and I ran faster. There would be time later to grieve. There should be a chopper waiting.
I am not sure what happened next in my near blind run for an exit. Fire. Exploding walls. Stone. Debris. Bodies. Blood. Lights. Flashing. Alarms. Darkness. Pain. Screaming. A loud thumping that pulled me back to life and deafened me. I think I cried out for Fehr. I wanted to go back. My heart tore inside me to find him and save him as he had so often saved me. But he was dead. They held me down shouting he was gone. I wanted to at least bury him... not leave his body in that hell of taint. I was a screaming hysterical mess.
I never got to tell him so many things. I never got to tell him how much I appreciated his friendship, how honored I was for welcoming me among his pack, how much I valued his friendship above all others. I had wanted to tell him I loved him. Even if he would have laughed and told me he was not interested, I wish I had done it before the mission when I noted the concern in his eyes about the dangers of this mission. None of us should have survived. None of us. Why did I? What did I do wrong? No... I knew. I sat to listen to a secret like a civilized man while he died outside the door. I should have killed her and ran to his aid. That klaive in my hand... I wanted to stab it deep in my own chest. somehow, it would not let me.
The CIA patched me up and gave me leave for a year to heal and sort my shit out. A year. The woulds on my body might heal and did. They left scars. The wounds on my soul forever ache. The nightmares of that mission are with me always, especially on my Yava night as I call it. I have learned to try to stay awake through that night. The nightmares are bad enough at other times.
I swore to Fehr's spirit that I would live on, be strong, and honor his pack's traditions... no matter how much I hurt inside. Logic told me that would all dull and that I must train myself back to form.
However, the world changed while I was healing in my safehouse.
The mission: Take down an American Corporation with the assistance of the MI-5. American Corp has been illegally funding Rwanda Rebels.
I should have suspected something was amiss when Fehr from MI-5 showed up with his whole pack. He said they were along all hush-like because this mission smelled tainted. I had learned to trust his instincts and experience as he had 10 years on me in this line of work. His team consisted of his pack, two men from France, one from Australia, and some woman with a knack for technology. All shifters. I remember him grinning at my discomfort about working with strangers. "They won't bite you." he grinned a wolfish grin at me. "Not unless you want them to."
We all had our roles in this mission. We were to get in, eliminate threats along the way, exterminate the head of the Corporation, and blow the building leaving no traces. We've done this before, but not with so large a team. I am used to quick in and quick out. This had to involve bringing the whole building and system down and covering tracks. More complicated and more "impossible" so to speak.
Someone knew we were coming. Someone knew what we were in advance. Someone fucking knew who we were by code and name. It was a trap... neatly laid for us.
The fight didn't happen till the charges were set and the timers going. As we moved through the complex, shadows stepped from every reflective surface. Fehr had told me about the Wyrm from the Umbra... but I never thought I would see it like this. The stench that I now know as TAINT will never leave me. My feline agility kept me free of the fight and moving to my target. Fehr close behind me as my backup. We were ambushed. He yelled and snarled and fought. We both did, abandoning our human forms for whatever would best keep us alive. "Finish the job!!" he yelled as he sacrificed his safety to buy me enough time to get through. I wasted nothing. the clocks ticked onward below.
The office was surprisingly sparse and quiet when I entered it. Not sure what I had expected. But it wasn't the pristine simplicity of this considering the raging dark demonic mess happen on the other side of the doors. There were no mirrors in here, nothing reflective. If the feel were not so contemporary American, I would have said it was Zen. The huge chair swiveled smoothly to reveal the head of the corporation. A tall dark-skinned woman placed a stunning though large klaive on the empty desk. "Silent Strider, how amusing this code name of yours, a leopard named for a wolf. I think I will call you Jake Adams. Jake Adams, would you like to know a secret?" I saw clearly now on her bare forearm the distinctive mark of those Fehr had warned me about. Black Spiral Dancers. At the mention of a secret, I stilled my hands with the small metal throwing dagger in my right hand.
"Please sit, this is a very important tale for you... and for me."
I sat, thinking about the old adage. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought her back.
I really hoped this was not the end for me.
She spun me such a tale. She had been from another tribe, but sought more and when she lost honor from her tribe in Chicago, she had joined the Black Spirals. He name was GorraPawz. She declared her dissatisfaction with her choice. She had tried to leave the Black Spirals, but her tribe would not have her back. She fought hard to reclaim what was hers as she fondled the klaive. But once she had it, she still felt no satisfaction. Now, she sought redemption. She wanted me to take the blade and find it a knew and worthy owner. Then bade me finish what I had come to do, asking only that I be swift. Her sentence was barely finished, breath hanging in the air, as I released my tension and threw my dagger true. I watched as her life ebbed out. It was an honorable death by any Garou standards. And damn me, I am an honorable man.
I picked up the klaive and checked my watch. Almost out of time. SHIT! Not enough to get off the complex premises. I ran. My comms gave no calls and no responses. It had been a blood bath through the whole building. I almost stumbled when I saw Fehr. Not a soul down any corridors. I called again on the comm for any of the team members to respond. Nothing. I ran from one scene of horror to the next. My kills were never messy, never like this. Not even the worst of war-zones look like this. My stomach wanted to eject the meager snack I had before the mission. Fehr... and his whole pack... every last one of them... of us... were gone. The first explosion sounded below and I ran faster. There would be time later to grieve. There should be a chopper waiting.
I am not sure what happened next in my near blind run for an exit. Fire. Exploding walls. Stone. Debris. Bodies. Blood. Lights. Flashing. Alarms. Darkness. Pain. Screaming. A loud thumping that pulled me back to life and deafened me. I think I cried out for Fehr. I wanted to go back. My heart tore inside me to find him and save him as he had so often saved me. But he was dead. They held me down shouting he was gone. I wanted to at least bury him... not leave his body in that hell of taint. I was a screaming hysterical mess.
I never got to tell him so many things. I never got to tell him how much I appreciated his friendship, how honored I was for welcoming me among his pack, how much I valued his friendship above all others. I had wanted to tell him I loved him. Even if he would have laughed and told me he was not interested, I wish I had done it before the mission when I noted the concern in his eyes about the dangers of this mission. None of us should have survived. None of us. Why did I? What did I do wrong? No... I knew. I sat to listen to a secret like a civilized man while he died outside the door. I should have killed her and ran to his aid. That klaive in my hand... I wanted to stab it deep in my own chest. somehow, it would not let me.
The CIA patched me up and gave me leave for a year to heal and sort my shit out. A year. The woulds on my body might heal and did. They left scars. The wounds on my soul forever ache. The nightmares of that mission are with me always, especially on my Yava night as I call it. I have learned to try to stay awake through that night. The nightmares are bad enough at other times.
I swore to Fehr's spirit that I would live on, be strong, and honor his pack's traditions... no matter how much I hurt inside. Logic told me that would all dull and that I must train myself back to form.
However, the world changed while I was healing in my safehouse.
Fahr of Silent Striders
So, Fahr. He was MI-5 and I have known him for a long while. We've worked together on missions before. I count him among those few I trust. He's the one who jokingly nicknamed me Silent Strider. He thought it was intensely funny! I didn't get it. I think he thought that made it even funnier.
With my heightened senses, I was starting to determine a variety of oddities I never really noticed before, though coupled with the auric awareness... I put the puzzle pieces together and cornered Fahr. I considered him a friend. I trusted him. I took a risk. I am not even sure what inspired me to do it. Maybe on some level I was floundering or mourning the loss of my handler and seeking out a friend.
I summoned all my willpower and overcame my shyness to reveal to him what I was. It was way harder than coming out of the closet about my bisexuality!
Then he revealed to me what he was. Werewolves DO exist!!
I wasn't all that surprised. I mean, if I were a shifter and in the CIA, then why can't a wolf shifter be in the MI-5? It made me wonder if there were more. My subtle searches before did not turn anything up. So in a way, I was greatly relieved. I was even more honored when he quietly took me to a place he called a cairn for a moot. I met more of his tribe and learned then the joke he had made those years ago with my nickname. Silent Strider is his tribe, the kind of werewolf, garou, that his people were. And as much as it was a joke to call me Silent Strider, I also recognize the honor it was for him to do so. He regarded me an an honorary member of his tribe, or at least his pack.... even if I was the token kitty. Cat and dog jokes aside (and believe me there were a great many of them), he was my closest friend. We saved each other's lives on numerous occasions.
I almost considered him more than a close friend, but knew his interests for intimacy would never extend to a cat like me. Funny how the problem was not due to gender but to species. I understand I suppose. There are things about feline anatomy that are absolutely too uncomfortable to discuss. Not that I am a prude... ok, maybe I am a little bit of a prude. Didn't I mention something about being shy?
Throughout the spring season, I met with them at their moots and learn about garou tribes and garou ways.The more I learned, the more I realized how ignorant I was and how much more I had yet to learn, not just about garou in general or even Silent Striders, but also about my own people, the bastet and specifically Bagheeras. It was a whole world of secrets and mysteries. I was grateful for his close friendship and the honor of learning from him in lieu of my own now dead mentor.
I also learned about the Wyrm. The dark dangers of the umbra. Things could be tainted with it. Werewolves tainted or who have given themselves over to its temptations became the dangerous Black Spiral Dancers. I was advised to be especially wary of them. Suddenly I understood what some of those odd auric awarenesses were. I was going to learn more over the year with him and maybe even be initiated into his pack formally by the following year if they agreed and if his elders accepted it.Needless to say, I did lots more traveling to England that spring and summer.
Then in July we were both assigned to a mission. He brought his whole pack along. I wish I had known in advance that it would be the last mission with him. I had a great many things I wanted to say to him that I never did, or was too shy to.
The Shift
It happened between missions of all things. At least the small hints that I was... different. I was working out against a tree trunk in my safehouse. Thank whatever's out there my warehouse loft is soundproof! I went to hit the log with my hand and there were claws. CLAWS! Left gouges in my practice dummy stump. I think I stood there for like twenty minutes just letting that shocking moment sink in before reacting. I needed a stiff drink.
More small things happened here and there on missions throughout the tail end of 2009 and all through 2010.
The drastic event occurred on a mission. I was in a fight to get out of a building unseen. I leapt off the balcony into a river and came up as... a cat. A big cat. A clouded leopard. After some research... it turns out that I am actually fairly small among the big cats. What a let down. Anyways, my first handler was in his expected waiting place waiting for me. I was not sure why or how I changed. How was that even possible?! Somehow, he still spotted me and as if this did not remotely surprise him, told me to get my ass in the dingy.
It was quite the education after that. We retreated to my safehouse after he walked me through how to get back to human... and thankfully giving me replacement clothing. You know those stories about shifters that tear through their clothes? Well, it is all true. And totally humiliating.
I sat and listened for days, even weeks through the winter. This was all fascinating! I used to dream of being something like this as a kid. I learned what he could teach me, though he was slightly different than I. My people are apparently rare... as rare and endangered as the cat I became. He was black... like any other panther. We were distant cousins as far as cat breeds go. Oh wait, my breed is actually homid. Means I was born human. My tribe is Bagheera which include all leopards (black panthers, leopards, clouded leopards, and snow leopards). I learned how to shift form at will, how to use my claws. Pardon while I smile to myself as I note that I have built in blades that cannot be confiscated. And now I have a new-found distaste for people who declaw their cats. Yeah, he described that to me in detail. What a horrible thing to do! Look who just talked, and I kill for a living. I learned how to dislocate any joint to get into or out of hard places or to escape when I must. As long as my head fits, I can fit. Hurts like hell though. I learned how my strange little talents that make me so useful to the CIA are natural to who and what I am. I discovered that I can lick a wound and heal it. He couldn't do that, but described to me that it could be done.
I learned more secretive things. Secrets, what lovely intriguing bits of information that I will never ever forget. He taught me how to perform rituals, or rites rather. The most useful of which was the Rite of Dedication. I will never end up naked again when I shift. And I will always have one or more good blades on me and the gun I have been issued. It is real hard to explain to your superiors in the report session why and how you lost your gun without them thinking you are crazy or sending you to a lab for the abnormal monster they think you are. That was a Kuasha rite that one of dedicating. Naming is another. He performed the rite of naming on me to reaffirm my name to my spirit. I was a bit too caught up in the fascination of the ceremony to actually remember it enough to perform it myself. He then told me to never use that name and forget it if I can. HA! Telling a guy with a photographic memory to forget something! Funny. DICK. He did teach me two other rites he called Moon Rites. One was called Warding where I can protect a space. It seemed very Wiccan to me. Wicca being a modern religion that honors the earth and uses magic. Yes... I am a Wiccan Warrior. If you repeat that, I will kill you. Really. I will. This Warding Rite summons guardian spirits into the four corners of a space, charges the space as sacred and safe, acts as a kind of magical alarm system, blocks minor invasions and warns me of big ones. Handy. Yup, you can be damned sure I warded my safehouse, also called a den. I still can't get used to calling it a den. The other is the Rite of Claiming. I can declare a place as MINE, as in my den, or move my den and all the weird magic that is part of it being a den.
On the subject of dens, I learned how amazing my den is. I learned about the Umbra and the Gauntlet. I can't actually get into that astral place except in my den. There I can step in or simply peek in anytime.I can sense anything in my space. I can find my way to my safehouse from anywhere no matter my state. I can skip from place to place in my den as if I were teleporting. I did that for a whole day like a kid just finding all the places I could land without falling or smacking into a wall. Been there and done that on both accounts. I can also take pride in my pride space as he said. A pride is like a pack or a team or... a family. Taking pride in my pride space means I can seal off the Gauntlet from anyone cross into or from the Umbra within my safehouse. I can also take anyone who I deem part of my pride or group through the Gauntlet into the Umbra from my safehouse.
The last things I learned were the Karoush Litany, the Code of Honor, and my tribe's Yava.
Karoush Litany:
This is the Code of our Ancestors made,
This is the Law of the Moon and the Sun,
This is the Law of the Shapeshifting Secrets,
This is the Law of the Change.
Honor yourself. (stay clean or purify)
Honor your word. (be truthful or pay restitutions)
Honor your kin and kind. (remain just or be outcast)
Honor your Earth. (remain fierce or die)
Honor your silence. (silence or death)
Code of Honor:
I shall be bound by my word,
I shall act with good grace,
I shall govern my tongue,
And defend those like myself.
The tribe's Yava are secrets of the very Tribe itself. Our banes and weaknesses. WOW did they explain a lot! New Moons are the nights we sleep hard and cannot be woken unless there is actual violence to us. We will be like stupid scent dogs and follow a trail of salt from end to end without stopping. Why?! And any hunted prey that has received the Blessing of Aabhaya will be protected from us. That is at least something I have never encountered and doubt I ever will. Who is Aabhaya anyways?
I wanted to learn more, had so many questions. If there are others, where are they? Why didn't anyone tell me about all this before? Why are we like this? What is our full history? Are there other kinds of shapeshifters? Do vampires and werewolves exist too? What about kitsune from Japan? Yes... I read Manga... What other rituals can I learn? Is there something I am supposed to be doing?
I never got those questions answered as he turned up floating in the river with a bullet in his head in the spring of 2011.
I have had different handlers since. None were like him. I have told none of them what I am. The hair keeps raising on my neck warning me to keep silent. So I do. I trusted my other handler. I don't trust these new ones so much.
More small things happened here and there on missions throughout the tail end of 2009 and all through 2010.
The drastic event occurred on a mission. I was in a fight to get out of a building unseen. I leapt off the balcony into a river and came up as... a cat. A big cat. A clouded leopard. After some research... it turns out that I am actually fairly small among the big cats. What a let down. Anyways, my first handler was in his expected waiting place waiting for me. I was not sure why or how I changed. How was that even possible?! Somehow, he still spotted me and as if this did not remotely surprise him, told me to get my ass in the dingy.
It was quite the education after that. We retreated to my safehouse after he walked me through how to get back to human... and thankfully giving me replacement clothing. You know those stories about shifters that tear through their clothes? Well, it is all true. And totally humiliating.
I sat and listened for days, even weeks through the winter. This was all fascinating! I used to dream of being something like this as a kid. I learned what he could teach me, though he was slightly different than I. My people are apparently rare... as rare and endangered as the cat I became. He was black... like any other panther. We were distant cousins as far as cat breeds go. Oh wait, my breed is actually homid. Means I was born human. My tribe is Bagheera which include all leopards (black panthers, leopards, clouded leopards, and snow leopards). I learned how to shift form at will, how to use my claws. Pardon while I smile to myself as I note that I have built in blades that cannot be confiscated. And now I have a new-found distaste for people who declaw their cats. Yeah, he described that to me in detail. What a horrible thing to do! Look who just talked, and I kill for a living. I learned how to dislocate any joint to get into or out of hard places or to escape when I must. As long as my head fits, I can fit. Hurts like hell though. I learned how my strange little talents that make me so useful to the CIA are natural to who and what I am. I discovered that I can lick a wound and heal it. He couldn't do that, but described to me that it could be done.
I learned more secretive things. Secrets, what lovely intriguing bits of information that I will never ever forget. He taught me how to perform rituals, or rites rather. The most useful of which was the Rite of Dedication. I will never end up naked again when I shift. And I will always have one or more good blades on me and the gun I have been issued. It is real hard to explain to your superiors in the report session why and how you lost your gun without them thinking you are crazy or sending you to a lab for the abnormal monster they think you are. That was a Kuasha rite that one of dedicating. Naming is another. He performed the rite of naming on me to reaffirm my name to my spirit. I was a bit too caught up in the fascination of the ceremony to actually remember it enough to perform it myself. He then told me to never use that name and forget it if I can. HA! Telling a guy with a photographic memory to forget something! Funny. DICK. He did teach me two other rites he called Moon Rites. One was called Warding where I can protect a space. It seemed very Wiccan to me. Wicca being a modern religion that honors the earth and uses magic. Yes... I am a Wiccan Warrior. If you repeat that, I will kill you. Really. I will. This Warding Rite summons guardian spirits into the four corners of a space, charges the space as sacred and safe, acts as a kind of magical alarm system, blocks minor invasions and warns me of big ones. Handy. Yup, you can be damned sure I warded my safehouse, also called a den. I still can't get used to calling it a den. The other is the Rite of Claiming. I can declare a place as MINE, as in my den, or move my den and all the weird magic that is part of it being a den.
On the subject of dens, I learned how amazing my den is. I learned about the Umbra and the Gauntlet. I can't actually get into that astral place except in my den. There I can step in or simply peek in anytime.I can sense anything in my space. I can find my way to my safehouse from anywhere no matter my state. I can skip from place to place in my den as if I were teleporting. I did that for a whole day like a kid just finding all the places I could land without falling or smacking into a wall. Been there and done that on both accounts. I can also take pride in my pride space as he said. A pride is like a pack or a team or... a family. Taking pride in my pride space means I can seal off the Gauntlet from anyone cross into or from the Umbra within my safehouse. I can also take anyone who I deem part of my pride or group through the Gauntlet into the Umbra from my safehouse.
The last things I learned were the Karoush Litany, the Code of Honor, and my tribe's Yava.
Karoush Litany:
This is the Code of our Ancestors made,
This is the Law of the Moon and the Sun,
This is the Law of the Shapeshifting Secrets,
This is the Law of the Change.
Honor yourself. (stay clean or purify)
Honor your word. (be truthful or pay restitutions)
Honor your kin and kind. (remain just or be outcast)
Honor your Earth. (remain fierce or die)
Honor your silence. (silence or death)
Code of Honor:
I shall be bound by my word,
I shall act with good grace,
I shall govern my tongue,
And defend those like myself.
The tribe's Yava are secrets of the very Tribe itself. Our banes and weaknesses. WOW did they explain a lot! New Moons are the nights we sleep hard and cannot be woken unless there is actual violence to us. We will be like stupid scent dogs and follow a trail of salt from end to end without stopping. Why?! And any hunted prey that has received the Blessing of Aabhaya will be protected from us. That is at least something I have never encountered and doubt I ever will. Who is Aabhaya anyways?
I wanted to learn more, had so many questions. If there are others, where are they? Why didn't anyone tell me about all this before? Why are we like this? What is our full history? Are there other kinds of shapeshifters? Do vampires and werewolves exist too? What about kitsune from Japan? Yes... I read Manga... What other rituals can I learn? Is there something I am supposed to be doing?
I never got those questions answered as he turned up floating in the river with a bullet in his head in the spring of 2011.
I have had different handlers since. None were like him. I have told none of them what I am. The hair keeps raising on my neck warning me to keep silent. So I do. I trusted my other handler. I don't trust these new ones so much.
Pre-shift History
I had a name. It was a name given to me at birth with some ceremony. Thrandr. I gave it up for Jake Adams. It was a good average name for an average kid, who became an average special forces soldier... maybe a good one actually, and then became a decent CIA agent who did what he was told. My agent code became a joking nickname from a friend in the MI-5 who called me Silent Strider one day. I never got that joke till 2011.
I am not a big guy, small by most standards. I stand no more than 5-foot 9.5 inches tall and weigh about 175lbs of hard whipcord muscle. I am small and fast, but average enough in height to not stand out. My training helped me develop better dexterity and stamina than the average Joe and trained my mind and my eye. The CIA seemed to like my quirks: steady hands and nerves, photographic memory, a knack for picking things up about people (reading auras, but you never tell your officer THAT!), a natural ability to grow accustomed to a culture and surroundings in order to blend in and be forgotten, and this talent I seem to have for understanding anything I read even if I don't know the language. I am average otherwise... brown-black boring hair I wear a bit messily like those hot guys that still look good with messy hair. I can dream, right? My eyes are grey-green-brown-blue... crayola in the blender... I guess that means they are hazel.
Combat-wise, I specialize in melee weapons. Anything can be a weapon in my hands... especially if it is a stick or a blade. I love blades. Everyone these days expects to be killed by a gunman of some sort. You can't move anywhere with a gun on you without being spotted in some way. But a sharpened piece of bamboo is never detected. I am stealthy and more than capable of fighting martially. That is what years of training does to some men.
I do have a code of honor, even if sometimes it does not seem so. Just because my conscience does not interfere with my job, does not mean I am without honor. It just means I can do what needs doing without qualms.
I have a safehouse and a few infrequent contacts, like this underground doc in Chicago who never asks questions. I have lots of blades, like a collector of sorts. Most stay at my safehouse. I don't keep much "stuff", what is the point in my line of work? I need to be able to drop and go at a moment's notice. I might need to be able to totally abandon things if necessary. The safehouse though, is personal and I have taken great care to keep it mine and even outside the CIA radar, or at least I hope.
I am not a big guy, small by most standards. I stand no more than 5-foot 9.5 inches tall and weigh about 175lbs of hard whipcord muscle. I am small and fast, but average enough in height to not stand out. My training helped me develop better dexterity and stamina than the average Joe and trained my mind and my eye. The CIA seemed to like my quirks: steady hands and nerves, photographic memory, a knack for picking things up about people (reading auras, but you never tell your officer THAT!), a natural ability to grow accustomed to a culture and surroundings in order to blend in and be forgotten, and this talent I seem to have for understanding anything I read even if I don't know the language. I am average otherwise... brown-black boring hair I wear a bit messily like those hot guys that still look good with messy hair. I can dream, right? My eyes are grey-green-brown-blue... crayola in the blender... I guess that means they are hazel.
Combat-wise, I specialize in melee weapons. Anything can be a weapon in my hands... especially if it is a stick or a blade. I love blades. Everyone these days expects to be killed by a gunman of some sort. You can't move anywhere with a gun on you without being spotted in some way. But a sharpened piece of bamboo is never detected. I am stealthy and more than capable of fighting martially. That is what years of training does to some men.
I do have a code of honor, even if sometimes it does not seem so. Just because my conscience does not interfere with my job, does not mean I am without honor. It just means I can do what needs doing without qualms.
I have a safehouse and a few infrequent contacts, like this underground doc in Chicago who never asks questions. I have lots of blades, like a collector of sorts. Most stay at my safehouse. I don't keep much "stuff", what is the point in my line of work? I need to be able to drop and go at a moment's notice. I might need to be able to totally abandon things if necessary. The safehouse though, is personal and I have taken great care to keep it mine and even outside the CIA radar, or at least I hope.
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