Rage Against the Dying

You notice the woman with the ripped leather jacket suddenly stand, drain half of her beer, and walk through a door near the bar. The Native man who was with her watches the door swinging back and forth behind her. Daria Lunardon also watches the woman go, and the man winks at Daria as though to let her know that there's nothing to be too worried about. But when Daria turns her attention away, you notice the man take a drink of the abandoned beer with a concerned expression.

Your travelling companion tells you, "You can talk to him if you like. His name is Dubhdara. They say he doesn't bite..." Nevertheless you suspect there's something unnatural about him, and the woman he was talking to as well. You consider following the woman, but her mood seems too dark and you sense you might be getting yourself into trouble if you do. Maybe later... You approach her friend instead, as your companion suggested.

The Native man has thick black hair, calloused hands and a weatherbeaten face, as if accustomed to much labour and travel, though he appears to have not lived long enough to merit it. He wears a forest-green trenchcoat, a black poet's shirt, blue jeans, and hiking boots. A rucksack hangs from one shoulder, and from the pockets of the sack hangs a collection of knives, forks, bottles, small bags, bits of rope, and the bag itself is embroidered with Celtic designs. Prominent among the embroidery is a symbol that looks something like a crescent moon and a spiraling line, designed as if carved into a harder surface with a blade or claw.

He notices that you are examining him, and speaks first. "I designed it myself. I could design one for you, if you like. Have a closer look."

"So you're Duv-darra... is that an Indian name?" you begin, trying to make conversation.

"It's Dubhdara," he responds, betraying a slight Maritime accent. "It's Irish, actually. I'm from down east. I don't look it, do I? Take a seat. What do you think of the place?"

"I've never seen a crowd like this in any other bar," you answer.

"Too many creatures of the night in one place, I think. It's dangerous. Perhaps it is only a matter of time before something happens. Everyone is hiding something, and everyone else will do anything to find out what it is. And when everyone discovers that all the precious little secrets are trivial and meaningless, then they'll want revenge for being cheated. All hell will break loose. But I'll be long out of the city by then...," and with that thought, he reclines in his chair and idly fingers the things hanging from his sack.

You glance about the room again, looking at the shady characters in all the shadows, and shudder a bit, as your imagination sees everything Dubhdara just predicted coming true.

He notices this, leans forward again, and says "You don't believe, do you? Well you don't have to. But I will tell you another secret. This bar is just one place in one city. There are many cities, and many more dark places to be found. And as for my kind, you can't see the animals inside us just by looking, and yet we are not all human within. And one more secret I will tell you: all those childhood bedtime stories your grandmother told you about werewolves are wrong."

"The Garou are a race of our own. We are closer to nature, closer to the Earth, than ordinary people. That closeness gives us many advantages. We can become wolves. We are filled with the life force that flows from the Earth to all living things and back, and we can perform many magical things with that power. But oh, there is a curse. For what takes us closer to nature also takes us away from humanity, and so we all have a savage, untameable rage borne from the beast within. Our rage is the rage of the Earth, which we are honour-bound to defend, because it made us what we are. And as the Earth is dying, under the weight of pollution, neglect, and contempt, so too is our Rage burning."

"So you haven't got up to leave yet," he continues, leaning back again and speaking more casually. "Want to know more? I was at an Internet bar a while ago, and we're on there. What a quaint little toy, the Internet. Finding my kind there was a surprise to me too."

"I found entire web pages dedicated to some of our tribes. There are thirteen tribes in all, but only a few have web sites. There's one called the Black Furies and all the members are women. I guess they think men can't get close enough to the earth to feel Her pain. Is that biased? Maybe. But sometimes it seems like almost all of the other tribes think it's the other way around."

"There's a tribe that likes to stay in the city, and unlike the rest of us backwoods heathens, think that technology is good for the planet and useful for combatting the enemies of the earth. They have a silly name too: the Glass Walkers. I personally think that the spirit world is at its strongest when we live with it instead of over it, like the Walkers do, but the spirit is everywhere, even in the heart of the city. And someone's got to take the battle to the enemy's front doors."

"Anyway, I hate cities."

"We have lots of tribes that are great at doing things, but I think only one is any good at thinking about what we do. That's the Stargazers. If only anybody understood them! We'd be a lot better off if their mystic talk was talked in plain language. But some of us are too burned by our Rage to listen."

"If you wonder what tribe I'm from -- well, if you know something about Garou lore then you can probably guess at it, from the symbols that are painted on my backpack. But I'm not going to tell."

"Take this warning, if you seek to know more about us. Don't bother trying. It's more trouble than it is worth. Our gnosis and our rage is both a blessing and a curse. People get hurt or killed when the two collide. But don't take my word for it. Talk to the spirits, talk to the wind. They are older, and all around us, and they know many things... but not all of them will talk for free."

You ask, "Do you know how to talk to them?" thinking that if the enchantment in the bar can be real, then maybe the spirits he's talking about can be real too.

But Dubhdara just smiles, takes a sip of the beer, and tells you not to ask again.

"Who would you like to talk to now?" asks your travelling companion.

• The young artist
• Daria Lunardon
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