Darkness in New Orleans

Forward without Fire

Praise be to the Loa. They guide and lead around obstacles.

I felt safer than I thought while we worked on this hunter in the city. Nothing direct but now we deal with vampires and one asking for resurrection. If not to her formed Mage self, at least no longer seeking blood every night. What a horrible thought, trapped in a skin you can't escape and let your greater loa emerge. From what she said, it was done like a stupid tattoo; for love.

What was interesting to find out is that some mages had found a way to reverse the vampire back into a human. I could not find a way to return an avatar. Most legends and myths have a grain of truth. I beleive it possible to return to being a human but I doubt there is a way to return her avatar. Our bargain with her had properly ended but the situation escalated. I don't like dealing with vampires.

The vampires in the city appear to be at war with each of the factions. So much so that they attacked the hunter's adopted home and killed the family. Well. They changed them into vampires. One of them, of the new vampires, is running free. My great raven is tracking her now.

Praise be to the Loa.

The Hunt, The Howl, The Hump

As much as I like running around, I like hunting better.  The feeling of taking down prey is so much that words can't describe it. Then again, sometimes I just jump on things to take them down.

Poachers, that's what Colin called them when he first took care of me back to the sept. Poachers. A word that makes me think of the first time I smelled gunpowder. First time I saw a pack mate die without anyone or anything near. I hate them. Every last one. I will hunt them. Thankfully Russ understands. I laugh now but I was trying to help one be good prey for Russ. His arrow was perfect to hobble the poacher. Like all poachers they are weak prey.

The same I think can be said of the two leggers. They dislike different kind of poachers. The kind that target women. If poaching something that at least have tooth and claw, poaching something doesn't makes me think of gunpowder again. The desire to chase them down and rip them to pieces even more. Jeremy and Kurt let them live, so very lucky.

Owl and hunting

I really like to howl. At the moon, at my pack, at the sept. If it weren't for the litany I would walk the street in wolf form which is so much better and howl at weird smelling two leggers. They would end up with more than one story to tell about the big bad wolf.

Sometimes we howl with purpose as well. We howl for the spirits, letting them join with us. Owl is the first though I am sure Stag would have chosen us easily. Colin told me he was the tribe's totem. Dressed as a bird, something I would catch and eat if it wasn't fast enough was odd enough. But then mimic its voice, that was crazy. Howled and screeched, Owl came. He flew into me and I feel its power; so much so I not have spirit wings. I'll still walk.

Why would anyone have a room dedicated to marking if you aren't allowed to mark in it? A spirit owl flying into me, I can understand that. Put on more clothes to look "proper" is another thing that two leggers do that is just plain weird.

Don't sniff the air all the time Derry. Don't growl at small animals, Derry. Don't shift and chase the squirrels through the suburbs, Derry. Don't drop your shorts to present to a woman in heat, Derry. So many wierd rules.

The First Hunt

He looked at his new pack. He would have to work with the two born as two leggers. They seemed about as comfortable as he was in the two legged form. They seemed to understand what they were supposed to do. They were the distractions. The other wolf born would push the deer closer to himself. self…. weird word. He smelled the deer. He saw how everyone else smelled it too. He flicked his ears at the Russ.

The trap sprang. The other stood up and the deer moved  towards himself. The deer was about ready to make a sprint for it. The deer looked and saw three wolves and predictable away from all three in the quickest path. It was directly towards himself. Russ would have known he was situated but the two leggers might not. In a moment the deer walked in front of him but it was too late. 250 lbs of beastly fury slammed into the deer and bite hard into its throat.  There was a sickening crunch as Red Face broke the deer's neck with a quick jerk. It was dead quick.

He signaled the others to join. He howled in victory.

Old matters, so does tradition

Praise to the Loa, they help keep tradition.

When the spirits guide you, you must be willing it see it. When you move forward, its not always what you expect. We are helping another chantry locate a book after one of its leaders went through extreme mind induced quiet. Handing over a book that could teach a child how to use magic. Not so much awaken their avatars but merely able to dabble in the arts. We will see if they awaken.

The school, the church. It was hidden there by two children. From what we were told, they had even cast a spell or two. That place, the school; its well protected by many things but true faith protects it well. The evil spirit don't even go there. As any mage knows, faith and belief means power and those there have a lot of faith.

Guards of all eras love to help. Give the right offering and they will guard things wonderfully. They told me we were being watch not from our world. I wonder what that means.


Praise be to the loa.

Run, but you can not hide

Praise be to the Loa, they test us to help us grow.

Not all the loa are benevolent. Some seek to harm and cause misery. In times of great need, I am able to call upon them to do my bidding. I find it distasteful. Not every bit of my magic need a long prayer as least at the moment. Bindings of one's flesh, blindness, your hearing gone an so forth. Easily done. Focus and perform now, I pay later. I always pay later. 

Recently, I found a mule, the mule wanted money and the loa of greed came to it. Not just greed but the misery that comes from greed. Dear child still in school. I'm so sorry things happened to you, but I will get to the bottom of it. The price to be paid will be high for the spirit that gave you a child for whatever purpose it may it have. It seems you may not be the first, nor will you be the last if what that loa said is true. I wish nothing but the best for your child and yourself.

The loa got away; it just seems to want to ride the skin of that poor man feeding off of other's misery. I feel sad for the wife and any kids. I feel sad for the man himself. I am not a pious man, but my community is worth saving. But I know what he looks like. My familiar hunts him. Soon, I will find him and pacify the spirit. I tried to be peaceful and negotiate with it. The loa here know me well, when barter and words fail, I can crush them. If it won't be lulled back into a state of inactivity, I will destroy.

Praise be to the loa, they help us even when they don't know they do.


Damn it, Allison!
Yeah, I'm fucking useless.

Saying I was upset about Allison’s death is putting it lightly. I couldn’t bring myself to go to her funeral. Then, again, it’s not like I ever went to my parents’ funeral anyway. Hell, no one even bothered to tell me where they were buried. I don’t know what the others thought about my absence, but for the most part, I didn’t care.

Allison, you fucking idiot. I know it’s her. I know it’s everything she was, and if given an opportunity, she would do it again. It doesn’t make it any less stupid of her. I even tried telling it to her face as I made weak attempts at punching her lights out. In a dream of course, I’m not…well, I’d say I’m not insane, but that’s debatable at this point. 

It was stupid. There she was, just as excitable as ever. Out of pure rage and frustration at her, I charged and punched her. It was like punching a golem without the pain of punching rock. She just stood their, laughing as I kept landing punch after punch, but would not budge. Then, again, that makes a lot of sense. I fucking suck in a fight, and punching the real Allison, or even Adelaide, would’ve just resulted the same. Them laughing in my face about how fucking weak I was.
That has to change.

My parents, I couldn’t tell them what was going on. How do I explain something like this to them? Lan might have been a willing ear, but she has her own problems. Adelaide, I don’t know if she’d be interested, but the last thing I want is everything I had to say ending with some sick punchline. In the mood I was in, she’s lucky I’m a fucking weakling. Phr34k? Fuck no. He’s as sympathetic as Donald fucking Trump. I have no clue about the newcomers.

I…kinda started doing more physical exercise lately. Kinda? Who am I kidding? My parents think I’m obsessed with it lately. Just basics for the most part. Push ups, Sit ups, jumping jacks, running. Nothing too over the top. Part of it was just needing something else to deal with this shit and to do something about us being one fighter down. 

Adelaide would laugh at my weak ass attempt. She’s probably trained in ways that would destroy me. Or maybe not. Asking her to train me seems like a bad idea. She has too much going on with the Garou. (Yeah, that’s right, I used the proper term…I hope.). 

Lan, if she had any thought to it, she hasn’t shown it. Even when I actually stopped by her shop on a run and actually ordered tea. I figured she might have something to help with the stamina, not that I couldn’t keep up with most of the others on a long distance run. The only thing I have going for me physically. I keep thinking it helps, but it’s probably just a placebo that just quenches my thirst.

I don’t know how long it’s been. The days have run together, even the mission to save Layla was all one big blur to me. I barely register grabbing her…and being grabbed by Hulk-Thornton…and escaping. The hurricane dissipating. Everything just seemed to run together. As messed up as I was, I’m surprised I didn’t die a horrible death. I sure as Hell didn’t care if I did. Maybe I’d get reborn as a rogue or something. I’d at least be more fucking useful.

As far as my exercise, any physical change is negligible. As far as I can tell, I still can’t throw an effective punch to save my life. Adelaide would still laugh in my face if she could. Only thing I noticed is I’m getting a little more sleep. Still waking up in the early morning/overnight hours, but I’ve been exhausting myself out enough that my body is finally overriding my mind. Otherwise, I’ve hit a brick wall. I might have to confront Adelaide, if she has the time. Maybe there’s another option altogether, besides quitting.

At the Crossroads

We give praise to the Loa. They help us as we help them.

A path you are forced to walk is no path at all. One must understand this to help themself. Papa Legba can show you the options you have but he can't make you walk it. Young Layla was at such a crossroad. I know I must say this again, you must walk your own path. Thornton did not give her such an option, instead clouded the crossroads so that she couldn't see her options. So she walked one of the she saw, not the one she wanted. She may not what she wants, but her choice none the less.

I saw the passing of one the cabal's fallen member. From all accounts the lady of the chorus was a powerful mage. Alison what little I knew of her seemed to pass smoothly, she didn't wait and hang around. It is always for the best. Her greater spirit can return and live again, maybe better move on to the other side to begin the part of her life. So much we don't until we cross over and see the next life. Her was a ritual I had studied once, burn away the flesh so that the spirit can't return. It was a good celebration of her death.

The Technocracy probably didn't expect several werewolves and mages to work together. Blinded and barely able to speak, Thornton still wanted Layla. For some reason, I do not think he was interested in what his honeyed words said. He seemed to be interested in taking her body. But this is merely a thought. I expect Thornton to rise again, the Technocracy rarely stays down if turned to a puddle of mush. But that is neither here nor there.

We give praise the Loa. They help us as we help them. Good bye.

The Loa, they guide us

I give thanks to the Loa at the start of every ritual.

I give offerings.

The Loa help guide us in our lives.

They give us visions.

So my Mama came to me and ask, find this girl and help her along the way. You see when we come to a cross roads, we should always have someone guide us. This girl was at such a crossroads. The crossroads is not simple choice between rum or whiskey, it is a major decision. Such a decision is to sell your soul for power, to allow a murder of an innocent, or accept your place amongst the traditions of mages with your voodoo. This is where Papa Legba will greet people.

You see, Papa Legba, he don't just let us talk to the other Loa but to help us at those crossroads as well. He just doesn't tell us what to do, he gives us advice. You don't help people by telling them what to do. You can't walk another person's path, each person has to do it themselves. It is where we all found ourselves. Staring at a man willing to let a child be a used a ward, at least what I understood of the technomage. If it was a choice, she could make it.

No, not what Thornton did. Once his honeyed words didn't work. Once she found out he had killed her parents, she did some mighty magic. Then come the men in black. Last thing I remember, falling into Thornton's blood. He will regret what he had done. My raven loa, my raven spirit. With his blood, he won't hide. All things come with a price. He will soon know that.

I give thanks to the Loa at the end of every ritual.

Calm and Calamity Before the Storm

A storm is coming.

The town prepares itself. Windows shuttered and boarded over. Shelters readied. The stores barely able to keep their shelves stocked as everyone scrambles to fill their own, in case the worst happens.

A storm is coming.

We rush to prepare, ourselves, for something rumbling on the horizon — less the rain, thunder, and gales, more the sense of doom encroaching on our daily lives. Something is on it's way, something that will bring death if it catches us. We know it, in the pit of our guts, but we don't know what brings it. The mages who forsake tradition in favor of denial, the bizarre whims of the fae, or something else? It's hard to prepare for what you don't understand, even if you know it comes.

A storm is coming.

Out on the levies, we see them. Or, I see them. Glistening webs strung protectively at the water's edge. Spiders hurrying to Weave their webs and maintain the carefully built nest that is their city, even as the storm Wyldly tears at it. On the horizon it bears down, and these carefully Patterned webs will be swept away as easily as those built in the material realm.

A storm is coming.

We're given the ultimatum we dread being made. But too late, we realize that it wasn't our choice to make. Too late, we realize that the younger Weaver sister has to make her own choices. Too late, we realize that we may have to give in.

Too late.

The storm is here.


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