Out of the Liminal
The Forsaken, as the Children of Mother Luna call them selves, operate differently than the other monsters that slink between the shadows of the World of Darkness. The most important group a werewolf, ANY werewolf belongs to is her pack. Not her tribe, not her lodge, not even her family.
But unless there’s an opening, a recent death, a young werewolf can often find himself without a pack, a territory to police and to protect. A werewolf without that isn’t a Forsaken, but a hapless Ghost Wolf, forced to wander the roads until they find a place to call home. Your tribe can take you in, teach you what it is to be a Werewolf, to be an Iron Master, or a son of Winter Wolf, but they’re not your pack. They can never be your pack.
On the Blue Moon of the year, the Tribal Elders of New Mexico meet. Mostly they just offer up prayers to the First Born and to Luna, have a nice dinner on the Storm Lords’ expense account, and trade a few favors. This year, they actually had something to discuss. The Five by Five pack had vanished without a trace, and their territory was a mess. Unkept, ungoverned, unpoliced. Ripe for takeover by Pure. Regardless of what happened to the Five by Fives, they couldn’t have the Pure take the territory
At the same time, some minor tribal elders were squabbling amongst themselves. They had four werewolves who had just completed their initiations, each of a difference auspice, and no pack for them to join, no territory to give them. One moon away from a Blessed Pack.
Your tribal elders came to you that night. A place had been found for you. You’ve fought before. Dealt with spirits before. But with the Tribe watching over you, fostered by various packs. But it’s time to leave the nest, and strike out for parts west. With no one but your new friends to watch your back, and until the next Blue Moon to get the territory in shape.
Good luck. May Mother Luna and the First Born watch over all of you.