Morgan Chased-By-Dawn Here-There-Everywhere Sputcher-Of-Homeys Jinxed-By-The-Gods Amok-With-An-O Bumpkin-Uncanny Pandora’s-Toybox Swinger-Of-Squid-and-Flinger-Of-Fish Bright-Eyes Fish-Catcher Windcarver, Strider of places not-so-Silent.

So, the road I just hit was a request. Guess everyone doesn't like me. Ah well, my last sept was kinda full of asses anyway.

At least I have a road to travel.

My name is Morgan "Chased-By-Dawn" Windcarver. Yeah, the deed name fits. At least, some of the Furies at my old sept thought so ESPECIALLY Dawn. I was born under no moon, during a blackout, on Friday the thirteenth. People say I was jinxed by the Gods guess we’re even now.

You know what they say about Striders, though. Nobody knows where they come from... not even themselves. I just kinda grew up... you know, no real past, no history, no nothing. Me and a friend grew up together on the streets, making our living mooching food from the here people and there people. Pisses me off, a lot... I coulda been a star, I coulda been a whip. But no, I'm just beginning my life at the age of sixteen something... when I get picked up by a pack of fuzzy death machines that I'm almost too fast for. But not fast enough... kinda like those dreams everyone has, especially me. You know, you're running from something scary... you can never really see anything but its shadow, looming over you as you're getting chased. You don't wanna look back, because it'll catch you if you do, but you know it's there. And eventually it'll catch you, and you know it. But for now, you're alive, and that's all that matters. That's how I've been... my whole damned life. Kinda sucks, doesn't it?

Of course, I made an easy life, before I was Garou... hanging with the Bone Gnawer types, living to steal, stealing to live. I had a friend, you know, the kind of guy that never let you down, and you never let down yourself. Johnny, he went by. During school hours, we'd hang around in the alleyways and the shadows so we wouldn't get stuck in some kid-pound, or whatever. Then when people got out, we'd hit the comic shops, the all-ages joints, and just be more of the funny-looking kids who you'd see running the streets of Seattle.

I always loved hanging with Johnny... we'd always run the streets and the stores, trying to see what exactly we could get away with swiping. I think one of the trickiest was when we were in Seattle, in the Pike Place Market... we sneaked up behind one of the fish-catchers and snatched the fish right outta the air. Sure, they chased us for a second or two, but we were quick enough. The tricky part was trying to hold onto one of those suckers... it's like nailing Jell-O to a wall. So after dropping the fish quite a few times, we eventually lost it on the street where it was run over by a Mack truck. Flat as a pancake. Shame, too... it was a nice fish. Woulda been tasty.

Kinda sucked when Johnny and I slipped up big, though. You know, we were daring each other to go higher and higher. First it was low, like shoplifting comics and some such little trivialities... we went higher and got fruit and other food from supermarkets... up to shopping carts for fun and sport... but it got a little extreme when we were out one night and decided it would be fun to have a trot into the Gap and see what we could dig up.

So we're sitting in the Gap, getting all sorts of funny looks... a jangle here of Johnny's chain, a clink of a pin or three, and the shuffle of old, torn clothing. Of course, it wasn't like we were bums... there were open houses all over the place for kids like us to hang out. Some of 'em were all dogmatic and some such, but it's not like two eyes, however big, however omnipotent, can see both sides o' the world at once... besides, running from place to place is my life, practically.

Guess I picked the wrong day to evade the Eyes Up There. Johnny walked outta the store, sporting a rather loud hat under his arm. Now when I say loud, I mean it. A couple o' sirens went off on both sides, and we both bolted like a pair of ponies that got shot in the ass with a BB gun. The tricky thing is, no matter how much stuff the rich people get, they're never too quick to make sure nobody else gets it. So soon enough, two big blue guys were running after me, and I was running after Johnny. The tricky thing was, wherever we could fit, whatever we could climb, they could scrunch into or leap over with slightly less ease. I looked back for a second about halfway through the chase, though, and only saw one cop. Uh oh.

Right after I looked forward to follow Johnny on the next turn, I saw a cop stand in front of him and give him a sound whack. Right in the kisser. He got a bit of air, landed at my feet... you know the deal, lots of blood, et cetera. So I look up at this cop, and he's smiling like nothing's funnier. That's when the funniest part came... when he comes up, I get grabbed from behind. The thing is, I'm suddenly like eight feet tall. And fuzzy. Claws, teeth, the whole ninety yards. So I'm seeing red, and a little bit of yellow after the cops promptly piss themselves. That's right before I chop them to bits before I know what I'm doing. Shit. Sucked to be me.

So right then, I'm sitting by myself, eight or nine feet tall, and I take a look down. It's a loooong way down. After a few frightful moments, I drop down into my "normal" self. A hear a gasp from a window above, and a bigger fuzzy then I was leaps down into the alleyway and becomes this chick. Looks at me funny and just says, "Follow me." I'm not really feeling like I should object, all bleary-eyed, and I decide that Johnny's seen worse days. So I follow her waaaaay into the woods, right? And sooner than I know it, I'm by this HUGE rock near a cliff side. Guys, gals, wolves, you name it, they're all giving me a look that was either "Who's this kid?" or "Dinner time." I couldn't tell. So I get sat down, I get this really, really long lecture about who I am, what I do, you know, the whole deal. It woulda been boring, but... well... it was sorta hard to be bored.

So I'm kicking back, learning about the Garou. Finally, time comes for my Rite O' Passage. The tricky thing is, they don't tell me what it is. So I'm thinking, "Okay, so I'm supposed to be Cliath, but I don't know how?" Then it hits me. I walk up to the Fury Ragabash who's giving me the Rite and say, "Let me guess. This isn't going to be one of the big, Glorious, violent, Rites, is it?" She shook her head, enjoying the escapade. "Well, let's see. How can I extract this purpose from such a fine specimen?"

The Fury, named Dawn, turned a slight shade of pink. I didn't think it was because of embarrassment, either. She lifted me by the cuff of the shirt and said something to the effect of, "Let's keep 'em INSIDE your pants, boyo."

I just grinned, realizing this was my chance to finally out-Ragabash someone. I lifted a finger, brushing it across her cheek. "But EVERY part of me wants to be near you, my lady." Dawn tossed me into the nearest tree. "One more, hormone-boy, and I’m gonna..."

I just walked forward, looking at her shirt tag.

"What're you doing?" she asked threateningly.

"Just checking if you were made in Heaven."

I woke up about an hour later, under the face of about three Children Of Gaia.

The first thing I did was make sure "They" were still there. I was lucky. I blinked, shaking my head and clearing my vision. "Uhh... what's up, Docs?" One looked down at me and grinned. "Good job, child. Or should I say Cliath?" I was astounded. Turns out I out-Ragabashed my superior. The Fool got such a kick out of it, he gave me the Rite. Too much fun.

Now that I'd had a few near-death encounters with Dawn, getting out during one.

I couldn't stay at that Caern... I'd be castrated by a mob of pissed-off Black Furies! So everyone knows that Striders never hang around for long. At least, not without a reason. Well, here’s the deal. See, Dawn was right pissed when I passed my Rite of Passage. Dawn’s bigger than I am, so I make the profound deduction that I’d better haul ass outta there.

How was I supposed to know it was World War III?

Right as soon as I take off, I run into trouble. The tricky part of things is that I’ve gotta get to a Caern, and do it now. After all, I can’t just whiz around Seattle again. I mean, there’s Black Furies on my tail, and I wanted to get as far away as I can.

Anyway I’ve been to and from the Glasswalker Caern a few times now and then, so I decide "Why not?" and head over that way, hoping I can stay the night or something.

I walk into this city Caern, and BANG! I get twenty guns pointed at me. The Glasswalkers were pissed. I just walked in on their moot.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t charm my way out of this one. I tried the door again, but they locked it.

Bang.

I woke up after a sound thwacking at the hand of a bunch of Glasswalkers, in the middle of Seattle. Instead of smashing the Veil into tiny, irreplaceable bits, I decided to sneak my way through the city.

However, it’s a little tough to sneak around when World War III suddenly hits. Better known to me as the Apocalypse. Now Seattle is practically under martial law, and I’m suddenly fucked. Royally.

It’s hard to sneak past infrared. I didn’t know this until I was caught after dark. I had managed to struggle my way into a nearby alleyway after a day or so in North Seattle. I sneaked my way into the Moore Theatre the show that night had been canceled, of course. That, and all the other shows for the next year or so.

So I’m hiding out backstage, getting in a little sleep, licking my wounds, and I hear this weird hissing noise come from behind me. I turn around, and some fanged bastard is about to pounce on my jugular! So I clock him one, and he comes back for more. That’s when I decide I gotta bust outta there, and I mean fast. So I zoom outta there, but this leech is quick on my heels. I can’t very well go outside in the streets after all, there’s a war going on, and some kid being chased by a vampire is gonna raise some questions.

I duck into this tiny alleyway, and I’m about to be gnawed to bits by this vampire. Right as he snakes his fangs under my shirt, I fire into the Umbra, using my Gnosis.

So my right arm is kinda dead right now, but there was something I kinda wasn’t expecting. Seattle is a Hellhole, and with that leech sucking on me, I wasn’t at my best.

The Gauntlet is not the place to be during the Apocalypse.

Right suddenly then, a huge spider just comes running up to me like the next meal. So I shift upward, with much difficulty, and kick him right in the jaw. It comes back for more, so I decided to rip off its head with my claws. Unfortunately for me, I was bitten on my arm. So now I had two bites and a couple o’ bullet holes in me, though they had almost healed. Claws, too. Glasswalkers tend to be unfriendly to intruders, especially on the 23rd of each month and I can’t forget the Black Furies.

Here I am now, stuck in the Gauntlet. I can see halfway in, halfway out, sort of and only if I try really hard. I could almost see my reflection in a window across the street, but it didn’t quite work. So I’m screwed. That’s just it.

Day comes. I’m hungry. I’m tired. I’m beaten. I’m seeing horrid visions of the Apocalypse enough to make anyone more squeamish do something unpleasant in his shorts. And I’m rescued by the one of the same punks that shot me the night before. He’s walking around in the Umbra like nobody’s business, practically petting the Pattern Spiders as he walks by.

So this crusty old Glasswalker Theurge drops in and laughs at me for a second, then yanks me out of the Gauntlet by the torn-up scruff of my shirt. He laughs for a second, then passes me a vial.

"Drink up, kid, it’ll save your life."

I decided that trusting this guy was better than dying. I was dead either way. So I drank up, and whatever nasty venom was in my system kinda receded, then dissolved. However, now my veins and lungs were on fire.

I screamed once, then heard a voice that wasn’t the Glasswalker’s.

It was a little girl. She was dressed in her nice fineries, with too much lipstick and overly exquisite braids. She had two one-dollar bills in her pocket. Her hair was gray, and her eyes were a chilling white. The rouge on her cheeks was stained by streaming tears. I could also see through her.

"P-P-Please help me," she wept. "You’re the only one I’ve seen."

"What?!" I said. I must’ve been having delusions or something.

"I said drink up, kid," the Glasswalker replied.

"No," I said, pointing over to the little girl and sitting up.

"The fuck?!" yelled the older man. "Who?"

So this girl sniffles at me sadly and goes, "He can’t hear m-m-me. That’s why I’m talking to you. You’ve g-g-g-got to help me."

I’m confused. I tear away from the Glasswalker and start following this girl.

"What’re you doing, kid?!" screamed the Theurge. "You’re not done."

"Uh" I stumbled. "Pressing business."

He yelled something else, but I couldn’t hear. I was already struggling to keep up with the girl, who must have only been two. She was fast, though. At least, fast enough to keep up with me.

"So," I say, "who’s this who needs my help?"

"It’s my m-mom," she says. "And my brother."

"What?"

"Someone has to save them. They’re t-t-t-trapped in their house, it broke!"

"That’s terrible," I sympathize.

"Yes, and y-you have to help them! Y-You’re the only one who c-can hear me!"

"How old is your brother?"

"He’s sixteen."

Sixteen? My age? "Where are they?"

"B-B-B-Belly-ham."

"Bellingham! That’s almost a hundred miles away!"

The girl began to cry. "P-Please, please! Y-You’ve got to h-help me, Morgan!"

Morgan?! "Hey," I yelled but she was already fading away.

I had to get to Bellingham, fast. Something big was there. I didn’t know who this little girl was, but she knew me.

What was the quickest way to Bellingham? First, I hitched a car to Bellevue. Nobody questions the hitchhiker, they just hope they go away soon or try to strike up conversation.

I finally get a ride (after about a day) with this grizzled guy in a rusted-out shitbox of a pickup truck. The guy’s huge, like he could easily rip the thing in half, and he talks like a Romanian, or something east of here. Way east.

"Where’re you going, son?" he asks.

"Uh, Bellingham."

"Bellingham, long way. No parents?"

"Dunno."

The guy looked over for a second, but not with concern. He took one look at my clothes and my scars and went, "Uh, those look like claw marks, boy."

"Uh" I fumbled. "It’s nothing. Those are old, from the streets, you know? Uh, too many punks out there, now that we’re at war or something."

The old guy suddenly swerved onto the highway median, and zipped across the opposite side of the freeway into the woods. We got out, he grabbed me by the collar, and we started walking. Actually, he started walking. He was carrying me by one arm.

We go way up this hill after a while, for about half an hour, before we come to a peak that’s windy as anything. Up there are a bunch of folks. Get. Long hair or no hair, blonde or white hair, blue eyes. White skin. Always white skin.

The old guy dropped me in front of someone big. Before I knew it, I’d been smacked backward about five feet. That was gonna leave a shiner.

"Idiot boy! Do you know how close you were to breaking the Veil? Those are claw marks."

"Fool," I growled, already shifting. "The Apocalypse is here. The Get are fighters, not famed for their Philodoxes."

There, I got smacked upside the head wi th the hilt of what I guessed was a klaive. I dropped out cold.

When I woke up again, it was dark. The Caern was empty. I had no mirror, so I couldn’t get it into the Umbra, and I had no Gnosis. I tried to shift, but the Beast Within was not with me.

My only choice was to hoof it. I made my way down the hill with my numerous claw marks, bruises, black eye, bite marks from Garou, leeches, and Pattern Spiders, bullet holes, and more. I couldn’t very well walk on the freeway. I’d be picked up by the "Bad Parent Police" and shipped off to some pound- I mean, foster home.

Eventually, I made it up to Whidbey Island. I was hungry. I raided a couple of campsites and found me some wondrous sandwiches. I was sitting there eating, when out of nowhere blips this little girl again.

"P-Please, Morgan!" And that was it.

I stood and moved down to the waterside. Lots of boats.

The word "stowaway" came to mind.

A week and a couple days later, war was still raging everywhere, and not one sign of Garou. I didn’t even want to try the Umbra right now. I hooked up with a ferry off of Whidbey Island after getting off the boat, and I guess I must have been land-ways of the island. Which was great. My cuts and bruises had healed a little bit since then, and I was able to hitchhike back up to Bellingham.

Once I got there, the little girl popped back out of nowhere.

"M-M-Morgan! F-follow me!"

I had no time to talk. I gimped after her the best I could and passed various scenes of carnage. Crashed cars, dead pets, roadkill, you name it. The toddler led me to a house which had caved in. Looked like a bomb, or a bulldozer, fell from the sky. Either way, the girl was pointing.

"Help!"

I ran toward the house carefully, and shouted "Hey!"

A cry came from within. "W-who’s there?"

"My friends call me Chased. I’m gonna get ya outta there."

I ran toward the wreckage where the voice kept speaking. I made my way from wrecked room to wrecked room where I came across a closet smashed into little bits and a hand poking out.

I yanked off board after board, but I knew the person beneath was dead.

It was the little girl.

I whirled around to see her incorporeal form speaking to me. "See? F-find my brother!"

I spun around and ran through the house. "Hello?"

A creak came from the shattered kitchen. I walked in to find a woman’s body, dressed in her cookware. A very slight hiss was erupting from the stove.

"Hello?"

A voice came from the shadows. "H-help."

The voice was familiar, but I didn’t care. I ran to the voice and began tearing debris away. I exposed a grubby hand that was pointing off the wrist the wrong way, then a good bunch of Ramen packets, which this kid must have survived on. I found an arm, then a shoulder, then I found a head.

Johnny.

I fled as fast as I could, which wasn’t very fast. I went into the nearest woods I could find.

Now I'm in Bellingham, exhausted and half starved with a good twenty holes in me, with a thought running through my head over and over. "What now?"