So, you wanna know how I came to be where I am, huh? Well, garou either start out either as normal people, or as normal wolves. I was just a normal person. I lived with my dad in a dinky, dirty apartment in a crazy town called Seattle. I didn't know then why I didn't have no mom, but at the time, it didn't seem that important.

One night, three guys in trenchcoats come in. Their faces was pretty much covered in shadows, as they was wearin' hats. Well, they walks in, and they's talkin' to my dad, an' I hears yellin' an' then gunshots. When you're twelve, the silence after the sound o' gunfire is about the most awfulest silence in the world. I couldn't stand it, so I called out my dad's name. The three guys turned an' saw me, but I don' think they saw no twelve year old kid in a night shirt. They saw a corpse with "witness" stamped on it's forehead. So they takes aim an' fires, but I was too quick for 'em, so I ducked outa the window, an' ran down the alley.
I got some clothes outa the dumpster, begged some food outa some old man, an' I went out to find a place to hide. After all, the streets o' Seattle ain't no place fer a twelve year old girl. An' hey, I was still a little shaken up by the violent murder o' my dad. So I hid fer a few days, but I got real dirty an' real hungry pretty fast. I took to doin' anything that meant survival. Too poor to deal drugs, too little to mug tourists, My income was derived mainly from a combination of begging, stealin' and prostitution.

The stealin' was the easiest part. The beggin' wore on my dignity. Every middle class male what told me to go get a job can kiss my butt right now...I wish I coulda. It woulda been alot easier than what I was goin through. The sex was sex, loveless and meaningless. Whether it was me slippin off to suck some guy off in an alleyway, checkin' into an hourly motel room, dark, desperate and infested, or bein' a live-in whore. It didn't matter really...whatever it takes to survive, right? Lemme tell ya somethin' right now, anyone who tells ya prostitution is the easy way out is a damn liar. Ain't no way to undo the damage five years of street walkin' and three street abortions done me. No bath gonna wash away this dirt.

They get real bored of ya real fast, though. Pretty soon, you're more of a hassle than anyhting else, an' I guess the sex jus ain't worth the bother any more. Then you're out on the street again, an' they moves on to somethin' younger, prettier and stupider. I had to hide the hurt and keep movin', head down and eyes fierce, until I found my next haunt.

The trick to survivn' in these situations is to not look like a victim. You really gotsta cultivate a look, one that says, "life's been tough, but I'm tougher, and twice as mean." That's why I took a razor to my scalp...the long brown hair fell to the ground behind a dumpster the day I knew I was smart enough to not be a kid anymore, and wise enough not to be victimized. Huh. Well, it was a different type o' victimization from then on, really.

I hooked up once with Tony Nunzio. y'know, washed up ol' mafia guy from the East coast? Well, he lost favor with his old crew due to the actions of his son, lil Tony Nunzio. Anyway, Big Tony gave me work. I waitressed, ran drugs and money for the old man, an' kept on stealin'. Ol' Tony thought I was the cutest lil' cat burgular he'd ever saw, an' after a few months, Big Tony started pimpin' me out. It's really the only way I knew how to deal with people. Besides, it didn't have to mean nothin', right? Same thing I been doin'.

A couple weeks later I got all my stuff an' vaulted out Tony's window while he was sleepin'. I didn't never look back there, an' I ain't heard from him since.

One night I hit this house, right? Well, for some reason, maybe I was tired or somethin', but I tripped the alarm. So I'm standin' there like some wet-behind-the-ears rookie, an I hear the cops outside, the sirens, an' they's gettin' closer, so I jumps out the window, an' I run. The cops, though, they's huntin' me down. I guess I hit too many houses in that neighborhood. Well, anyway, they track me down to this dead end alleyway. They was expectin' some criminal mastermind, not a fourteen year old punk in a Dead Milkmen T-Shirt. So, they's thinkin' they can push me around. Big men, huh, pushin' around a little girl. Well, I guess you could say it made me more'n a little angry.

Next thing I know, my clothes is all torn to hell, an' I'm lyin' in a puddle o' blood. Around me is three corpses, all tore up, an shinin' up at me through all the gore, I can see a police badge. I think I'm goin' insane, right? I mean, wouldn't you? But somethin' a little more important came up. I heard more police sirens. If there was a wrong place to be in the city at that moment, I decided this was it. But before I could leave, I got boxed in by four or five big street dogs. One o' the dogs, a big ugly black guy, stretches out an' changes right in front o' me, into a tall guy with long, stringy hair. He holds out his hand to me an' says "c'mon".

Well, if I ever needed a protector, I needed one then, an' I figured he an' I could work out payment later. After all, everythin' comes with a price, or so I thought. So I takes his hand, an' him an' me an' the other dogs, we run.

This guy told me his name was Archie, an he explains Garou to me. I joined his pack, a non-afiliated group o' BoneGnawers. We lived together near a trainyard, with a view o' both the city an' the water. Archie was the alpha o' this pack, an' he taught me about Gaia, an' about what bein' a Gnawer is about, an' about the other tribes o' Garou. He gives me a name, different from the one I used as a human. He called me Ragdoll, on accounta how cute an' little an' scruffy I was.

I accepted the new name with pride. My prostitution days was over. I thought it would help me escape Rachel Stevens, an' it did in alot of ways. But not in the right ways.

It was a good life, with the other BoneGnawers, an' they never asked fer nuthin' in exchange. But like all good things, it was bound to come to an end. We got called up to Alaska.

My pack was one o' the first sent in on the attack. After all, BoneGnawers is just cannon fodder anyways, right? Well, my entire pack was slaughtered, an' I was left, badly hurt, lyin' amongst the corpses o' my comerades.

There was a ShadowLord stalkin' the battlefield after it was all said an' done, an' he sees that I'm still alive. This Lord, name o' Storms-Over-Gaia, thinks it would be pretty funny to have a pet BoneGnawer wandrin' around the Vancouver caern, so he takes me up there, an' heals me up.

Well, anyone who's lived on a ShadowLord caern knows what I'm talkin' about when I say I don' really want to talk about it. ShadowLords do stuff on that caern o' theirs that I ain't never seen before or since. They're cruel bastards, ShadowLords, an' I reckon I'm one o' the only Gnawers cute an' ingratiatin' enough to survive for as long as I did on that caern. This ain't to say I didn't get kicked around. I got scars from that time, more scars than I ever got in legitimate battle.

Well, I listened alot while I lived there, an' I overheard a secret what was gonna change my life forever. I heard ol' Storms-Over-Gaia chattin' with another, younger Lord named Lord Prometheus Fang-Puller. What I overheard was that ol' Anna Kliminsky wasn't dead at all. She was just lyin' low. But the Lords o' the Summit didn't want anyone else knowing that.

Well, I was stupid, an' I got caught eavesdropping. Ol' Storms-Over-Gaia, he was angry, an' I thought he was gonna kill me right then an' there. But, an' I still haven't figured this one out, fer some reason, the ol' man takes pity on me, an; remands me to the care o' Lord Fangpuller. Lord Fangpuller, he ain't happy to be babysittin' my sorry ass, but he ain't about to bitch in front o' his elders. So he takes me out to this caern in Bellingham, an' I escaped the ShadowLord caern alive.

At this new caern, I was under the "protection" o' Lord Fangpuller. Ol' Prometheus wouldn't let me off the caern, he had to keep an eye on me at all times, make sure I didn't leak my little secret. When it wouldn't have been seemly fer a ShadowLord to be followed around by a scruffy little BoneGnawer, he had Stormcrows watchin' me. Do you know what it's like to be watched fer twenty-four hours a day? well, it ain't a warm, fuzzy feelin'. Played hell with my sex life, an' put a kink in my source o' income, as there weren't nothin' to steal on the caern, an' if there was, who would I sell it to afterwards? I belonged to Lord Fangpuller's pack, called "The High Council", but it didn't mean nuthin', 'cause Lord Fangpuller an' Jester Six-blades did all the fightin'. I was pretty much a little High' Council cheerleader. Lord Fangpuller would take me out to kill Pentex CEOs occasionally, 'cause I'm an Ahroun, after all, an' I get a little pissy if I don't get to tear it up on a somewhat regular basis.

Well, life was pretty quiet on that caern, when in walks a little party calls themselves Luna's Court. Here's the scoop on Luna's Court as I heard it. ShadowLords, more specifically Judges O' Doom. If you know anythin' about Judges O' Doom, you know they're scary. Well, the Judges was here to try Lord Fangpuller. Apparently, Thunder attacked the caern at some point, an' everyone blames Lord Fangpuller. But somethin' wierd. Among these Judges O' Doom is a Get O' Fenris. The guy only spoke German, so I didn't get to talk to him at all, though I don' think I woulda approached him even if I had had the opportunity. He was big an' spooky, an' he didn't smile at all. His name was Jotun-Shakes-the -Earth. All of this together was enough to scare the hell outa me, even without the ShadowLords hangin' around, so I spent a good deal of time slinkin' around the caern tryin' to be invisible. They kept lookin' at me funny. I don' know why, I'm just a BoneGnawer.

So Luna's Court is at the caern, an' in walks this ShadowLord pair, one lady, one fella. Everyone says the guy is supposed to be dead, an' I can't seem to get no information at all on the lady. So the place is crawlin' with ShadowLords, an Stormcrows is everywhere. To make a long story short, by the end o' the night, the lady stabs some poor ol' Lord named Roar-of-Storms with her Klaive, an flings off her cloak, an there stands ol' Anna Kliminsky, proud as anythin'.

Well, next thing I knew, Lord Fangpuller was gettin' renown stripped from him by Luna's Court. I didn't know what it was for, an' I assumed it was because o' me. After all, how honorable is it to let a ratty little BoneGnawer in on ShadowLord secrets? So I run. At this point, I'm sure Lord Fangpuller's gonna kill me, right? He was close to makin' elder, so I knew he was gonna be pissed. But he didn't kill me, he didn't bother me at all. He left the caern, reportedly headed for the ShadowLord homeland, an' I ain't seen him since. Don't get me wrong, I ain't complainin'.

So there I am at the Bellingham caern, an' things is gettin' pretty quiet, an ' I'm about to take advantage o' my new-found freedom an' leave. Maybe back down to Seattle, maybe eastways, over the mountains. But just when I'm finalizin my departure plans, this big guy walks onto the caern, stereo in one hand. Chases-Parked-Cars. Chase was the biggest, hansomest, kindest guy I ever met. I woulda jumped into bed with him about ten minutes after meeting him. He shoulda used that damn favor fer somethin' useful. Ah, but the bet is a different story, now, ain't it?