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greywardenisseya · 6 years

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Triton Society and my Triton PC

So when I started to get into DnD I looked at all the possibilities for my first character, and the one that interested me the most was a Triton druid. So off I went googling away finding all the info I could on them. Discovering that there was barely two pages worth of info on them I had no choice but to invent it myself. So here’s that + my Triton

Triton Society

I’m writing this with the assumption that you’ve this. Everything written there also counts in this society. If you REALLY don’t want to it basically says the Triton fought evil elementals in the Plane of Water and traveled to the Material Plane when the elementals did, and have since then lived deep under the sea.

Physiology

Since Triton’s mainly live in the “deep sea trenches” chances are they don’t have many places with sunlight. That has led me to assume they have Dark Vision. (the manual say they “ ignore any of the drawbacks caused by a deep, underwater environment.” but doesn’t specify if that’s general Dark Vision).

Plants are more or less non-existent in the deep sea due to no sunlight so I consider Triton’s obligate carnivores. There are some unique plant life however, as well as plant materials who come down from further up, and therefore decided that they can eat some kelp and other plants with their meat.

Inspired by the amazing artwork from this post I also decided that Triton’s have variations of this, some are shorter other’s longer depending on genes and adaptations.

Male Triton have overall more color variations and patterns in their skin, while female Triton’s are usually bigger.

Reach maturity age 15, body doesn’t start “decaying” until the last 30 years of their life. The only way to tell a 20 year old Triton apart from a |50 year old one is based on the amount of scars racked up after years fighting elementals and other dangerous creatures.

Culture

Triton’s have a semi-diverse culture. Not as diverse as human’s, but with enough difference to cause confusion to other species. Triton societies closer to the surface in outposts or smaller cities have adapted and integrated with the surface world. Deep Sea cultures meanwhile has little touch with races other than themselves. The most alien culture comes from the Triton’s who never left the Plane of Water. Though similar to the Deep Sea cultures, Water Triton’s have never engaged the ecosystem of the Material Plane and therefore no understanding of life in that world. (The rest of this will be about Deep Sea societies since that’s where my PC’s from)

The Triton’s sense of duty in holding of and hunting down the evil elemental’s of the Plane of Water has shaped their culture. Their society is built upon a principle of order, duty and regiment. Being a scholar, adventurous or a non-combatant isn’t necessarily looked down upon, but it’s expected that every Triton aid each other when called upon. (Think the Qun from Dragon Age, just not THAT hardcore)

The Triton’s have different roles and societal classes which can be categorized as

Leader/Royalty: The leaders or royals, depending on what city, guide their people both in war and peace. Leaders are picked from notable heroes who’ve helped their people, either through excellent fighting tactics, inventions or anyone who’ve achieved greatness for their people.

Noble: A noble Triton isn’t the same as a noble human. If you’re a noble Triton either you or your parents (while you’re still living with them/reliant on them) serve as a non-combatant, usually taking care of the running of the city. Due to the nature of this role they gain certain privileges other’s does not. (Something that’s highly disputed among Triton society, but so far has stayed the same).

Guard/Warrior: These Triton’s are the most common: They serve as the law, guardian’s and hunter’s of the Triton society. These Triton’s have the most varied lives. If you’re a personal guard of a noble you might gain privileges a warrior fighting in the ranks of a general might not. They are however heavily appreciated and for most family something to strive to become.

Artisan: Artisan’s are the most diverse class. Teachers, performers, merchants

I have more but I’ll either add that later or save it for another post

My Triton druid

He doesn’t have a name, because that’s usually the last thing I make. It would be a bit posh sounding probably, and harsh since it’s in primordial.

I imagine introducing myself going along the lines of: You see a small humanoid, carrying a spear made of some type fish bone, with a large shark teeth at the end. Wearing brown leather with short fur (it’s from sea lions) clinging to the small man’s frame, ending at the person’s knees leaving his damp, dark blue skin exposed. His medium length green hair pulled back and braided into it, red algae of various types. On his fin-like ear hangs a strange multi-colored sea shell. (I’m not a writer, but y’all get the gist). I also imagine he has some scales or markings but I don’t know what or how it would look. So insert generic mermaid look.

Background: 22 years old. I’m not going to write a lot of it. I’m still working on it, and well if I end up playing him with someone who follows me I don’t want them finding it out. But a quick summary: Grew up in one of the deep sea cities. The fourth child to a noble woman and city guard/warrior father. Was born prematurely due to an attack on his mother while she was pregnant.

Druidism: The Triton’s doesn’t have proper druidic circles or a druidic culture (headcanon). But they have a general respect for sea life. Due to their ability to “talk” to sea animals they keep animals as pets or farm animals. Not used as cows or sheep by the surface races, Triton’s keep the animals and protect them from the danger’s of the deep, and only kill the animals when in need of food or leather. It’s through this he cultivated his cultivated his druidic abilites. He sees nature not as something that should be carefully guarded and remain untouched by “human” touch, but something to be explored and not wasted or abused for no reason, but something to be used fully. Life is a cycle, he is the continuation of that.

Personality: Very curious, especially since he came to the surface, want’s to discover the wonder’s of the surface world. Cares less of politial intrigue and cities, more important to learn how nature works on the surface. Has a journal where he writes and draws stuff he discovers, especially focused on animals. He wants to turn into them after all. Not especially intelligent, though he’s pretty wise and can be charismatic when he really tries. As is common for his people he takes what people say as the truth and can be easily fooled.

This took a lot longer to write than I thought, but here it is. If anyone wants to make their own triton feel free to use anything here (but like link me to it if you make a post I want to see it). Same goes if people want’s do make their own triton society. If other people have ideas how their society would work reblog and add it, or since I’m a bad writer wants to rewrite this and make it better, you can do that as well.

Also @hipsterbrigadier here it is, thanks for giving me an excuse to write all this

#at first I was just gonna write about my character #but I realized a lot of the society would have to be known for that to make sense #dnd #dungeons and dragons #triton #tritons

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schaaadenfreude · 6 years

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beast

The cell phone woke Chris up. It was on vibrate, but the buzz of it against the nightstand still pulled her from her dreamless sleep. She almost ignored it, but long habit had her grabbing for it and tilting the screen to check the caller ID. It told her that Work was calling. She groaned and swiped across the screen to answer it, though she left it flat on the nightstand rather than bringing it to her still-sensitive ears. “H’lo?”

It was Sacha, the intern they’d only recently taken on, whom Chris still considered an exuberant child for her innocence. Sacha sounded, as usual, far too chipper for the ungodly early hour of just after eight-thirty a.m. “Hey, Chris. I know you probably just got back in from your, uh, full moon stuff, but we need you to come in.”

Chris was too sleepy (and cranky) to curb her first impulse, so rather than something more diplomatic, she growled, “Y’don’ wan’ me t’come in right now.” Usually, Chris could enunciate a little better, but she was still moon-dazed and tired.

There was a pause while background noise Chris didn’t care to listen for occurred on the other end of the line. Then, in a more hesitant tone, Sacha continued. “We kinda do. A hit-by-car just came in and we’re pretty sure it’s a werewolf. Your pack isn’t… missing anyone… is it?”

Suddenly, Chris was wide awake. She sat bolt upright and snatched the phone up. “What?”

“I’ve never seen a werewolf – uh, in wolf form, y’know – in person before, but it looks like what you’ve described. Definitely not like a regular wolf. Huge. And this one’s badly hurt. Dr. Floyd is pretty sure if this thing wasn’t a werewolf, it’d be dead.”

Chris put the phone back on the nightstand, but tapped the speaker icon so she could slide off the bed and start throwing clothes on. “I need more detail than that, honey. What, who, when, how.” There was a chance this patient was a wolf she knew, slim though that was. The only werewolves with any business this close to Seattle were her pack, and all five of the others were accounted for, as far as she had known when she’d gone to sleep an hour ago.

Thankfully for Chris’ patience – rather, her notable lack thereof – Sacha got to the point. “Just got it in fifteen minutes ago, or so. I dunno who brought it in, except that they claim they hit it with their truck. Happened on the highway right near the park. They think it was coming back toward town. They loaded it into their truck bed and drove it here, since we’re the nearest wildlife rehab. Dr. Floyd did the exam, but says he doesn’t know how werewolves tick, so he can’t say much besides it’s got a lot broken and lost a lot of blood.”

“What does it look like, Sacha?” Chris managed not to snap, though mostly because she had to concentrate on lacing up her shoes. If she struggled with fine motor control still, she really shouldn’t drive…

“Prooobably 300 pounds? Maybe more, we didn’t weigh it. Colored like one of those red wolves you get back east, gray and brown. Built like everything you’ve ever said about your wolf form. Kinda like a human, but with canine legs and head and arms bigger than a silverback gorilla.”

Red wolf colors, huh? No one Chris knew, then. Which was both good and bad. She scooped the phone up and turned speaker off before tucking it against her ear so she had both hands free to unlock and open the bedroom door. “I’m on my way. Tell Jerry and whoever else is ogling that thing to keep the fuck back if it so much as twitches, okay? You too, hon. I don’t wanna deal with any of you getting tagged.”

“It looks in bad shape, Chris. I’m surprised it’s still alive at all.”

“We’re hard to kill,” Chris replied in a wry drawl. “Be there in a few.” She ended the phone call without another word and took the stairs two at a time. Thankfully, her pack-and-housemate Neil didn’t stir from her tromping around the house and letting the old door slam shut behind her.

Hauling herself into the doorless and topless Wrangler’s cab shouldn’t have taken as much effort as it did. Still, she trusted herself a lot more driving the battered old Jeep than her motorcycle, in the shape she was in. She’d fill it up with gas on the way back to apologize to Neil for borrowing his car without permission. Not that he’d mind; the Jeep had been hers, and she’d given it to him when he joined the pack so he’d have transportation.

The morning sunlight was harsh, making Chris grateful for her dark, polarized sunglasses. They made her look like a Matrix extra, but they worked. And she hadn’t bothered to put on her eyepatch before she left, so this would also stop passersby from staring. She was not in the mood to deal with that right now. It was difficult enough to check her temper in normal weekday morning traffic.

She pulled up to the clinic’s employee parking around back and wasted no time hopping out of the Jeep. Sacha was there opening the back door for her before she even reached it. The lanky intern looked down at Chris with concern drawing her shapely eyebrows together. “You look rough, Chris.”

“If you’d spent all night hunting and were subsequently called in to work, you’d look like this, too,” Chris retorted as she brushed past Sacha. The intern flattened against the wall to let her pass, then fell in step behind.

“They’re in exam room–”

“Five, yeah, I smell it. We need to get it out of an exam room, though. Too close to the public.” She adopted a quick stride that even the taller Sacha had a little trouble matching. For only being about five feet tall, Chris was pretty leggy. It helped that most of her weight was muscle and bone; she had little else, and only escaped looking malnourished by being more muscular than an Olympic athlete. That tended to happen with werewolves, though most looked better fed than Chris.

She paused at the door to the exam room to listen in, and heard only the shuffling of Dr. Jerry Floyd’s feet on the tile floor. She opened the door and had to pause again when the scents of blood and pain and fear washed over her and made her mouth water. She swayed a little on her feet, eye unfocused to bask in the prey-smells, until Jerry spoke in a worried tone. “Chris? Are you all right?”

The old veterinarian’s pack-a-day rasp made Chris pull her attention away from the hunk of bleeding meat on the exam table with a physical effort. “Nope. What can you tell me about that one?” She gestured to the exam table with a jerk of her chin without moving any closer.

Jerry stepped away from the meat while he stripped blood-coated gloves off his knobby hands. He loomed about the room like a scarecrow; overly tall, he looked like someone had taken a man with normal size and proportions and stretched him out end to end. “Without x-rays, I couldn’t tell you anything specific, but there’s a lot broken. Ribs, a hind leg, probably some fractures in the cranium, too. Given the ribs, there’s bound to be a lot of internal bleeding as well. If this was anything but a werewolf, it would’ve bled to death by now.” He gave her another concerned look. “How am I supposed to handle a werewolf this badly hurt? You heal fast, I know, but how fast? I cleaned out as many wounds as I could, but I think some of the skin closed over before I got there.”

“Secondary infection isn’t a problem you need to worry about,” Chris told him. “If its immune system is that badly compromised, it’s next to dead. Just set the big bones, and whenever it changes back, that’ll take care of the rest. Providing it makes it that far.”

“So it is a werewolf?” Sacha asked from behind Chris. She was peering over Chris’ head into the exam room with ill-restrained curiosity.

“Yep. Sacha, do you know if the kennels in back are occupied?”

“Not right now, I don’t think.”

“Go check, and if there’s anyone home, move them all to the front end. Open up the furthest kennel and set it up. We’ll stick the cub in there for now.”

Sacha scurried off to her assignment, and once the intern was gone, Jerry Floyd’s frown deepened. “I’m sorry for calling you in today, Chris. I know it’s not a good time.”

Chris flapped one hand dismissively. “No choice, I get it. M’glad you called me. This cub’s too dangerous to let y’all handle it without me.” She was even too tired to stop herself from letting that “y’all” slip.

“’Cub?’ How can you tell it’s a young one?” Jerry inquired.

Chris paused and blinked. “Good question.” She took another deep breath, mostly out of habit. Cubs smelled no different than older weres. All she smelled was blood, anyway. Well, that was the only smell she could pay much attention to; the others weren’t half so appetizing. And, after spending most of yesterday in beastform, her senses in this one seemed dull. So she gave Jerry’s interested gaze a shrug. “Context. Most of us who know what we’re doing aren’t stupid enough to run into the road when a car’s nearby. It takes a dumb, ignorant cub to pull a stunt like that.”

“That makes sense,” Jerry agreed. “Are you sure it’s safe to move this one to the kennels?”

“I’ll make sure it can’t escape. Most of the damage that’s not healed already will heal once it shifts, anyway.” Something occurred to Chris. She stepped out of the exam room to hunt down paper, and ended up with a pad of prescription forms. She scribbled a short list on the back of the sheet she tore out of it.

“You know Maddie will have my hide if she catches us wasting those,” Jerry warned. But his voice held more amusement than concern. Maddie ruled the front end of the clinic and had also taken over their account books like a domestic force of nature; Chris adored her even though Maddie annoyed the piss out of her most of the time. Especially on days like today, when she was cranky and tired and this close to taste-testing the patient in exam room 5.

“Maddie can bite me. If she didn’t want me to use these as a notepad, she’d buy us some real damn notepads.” Chris eyed the list, then added another line.

Sacha swept up to them shortly thereafter. “The kennels are empty, so I just opened the one of the far end. Got the gurney, too.”

The child was a little scattered, but a good worker. Chris handed Sacha the list. “No need, I can carry it. I just need you to run to Target and get that stuff for me.”

The list received a dubious once-over. “Wwwwwwhy?”

“If that cub survives, it’ll shift back to human and wake up hungry. Needs clothes and food. I need food too, because if I have to stand near that bleeder for too much longer without eating, it’s not gonna be pretty.” When she had a better rein on her tongue, Chris would regret the alarm that flashed across not only Sacha’s face, but Jerry’s as well. They knew she was a werewolf, but she’d done a reasonable job so far of hiding what that really meant. Hopefully, the damage she’d just done to their trust wasn’t irreparable. She couldn’t find it in herself to care so much, not when she had limited energy to expend and better things to use it on than diplomacy. She shooed Sacha out to run the errands and stalked back over to the exam room.

Jerry caught her shoulder before she could enter, and it took more effort than it should’ve for Chris to keep still. Jerry apparently noticed, because he removed his hand swiftly, though not with a jerk as though he was frightened. “Sorry. Chris, are you sure you’re okay to do this?”

“The more often I’m asked that, the less ‘okay’ I get,” she replied through clenched teeth. “I know my limits. If it gets to be a problem, I’ll step back. But you need me here to handle this. That’s why you called me in. Don’t waste my time second-guessing your very correct decision.”

Jerry relented without another protest, and Chris entered the exam room. It was still filled with the smell of blood, but the air felt different now. And the cub’s aura, which had been a dim glow of pain-color (her brain called it red) interspersed with flares and sparks of sharper distress, was lit up with a brightness that tasted of metal and turned earth. It sparked and flanged with incandescent agony that made its injuries look dull by comparison. Chris sympathized. Shifting shape was painful at the best of times. This was uncontrolled and done while injured. If the cub had been anywhere near conscious, he would’ve probably screamed.

“Shifting back already. Fucker must be pretty resilient. Jerry, could you get the doors for me?” Without turning to look at her coworker, Chris approached the exam table and slid her arms underneath the heap of twitching werewolf. The cub was scrawny for his size, but still several hundred pounds, and probably seven feet long tip to tail. Jerry hovered by the door, though, and watched Chris juggle the load without a word. He’d seen her hold down a Rottweiler not much smaller than this werewolf (and certainly more active) without breaking a sweat. She might have been five-nothing and barely one hundred pounds, but she could deadlift more than this cub with little trouble.

Dr. Laura Nesbitt was approaching another exam room as Chris waded out of five with her burden, and the middle aged woman’s eyes widened. “Need any help?” she asked warily.

“Under control,” Jerry reassured her. The dry tone to his voice indicated that he wasn’t going to forgive Chris her temper any time soon. “But if you could get someone in to clean up behind us, I’d appreciate it.”

Chris ignored them and trudged through the clinic. It would probably take the cub half an hour to shift fully, all things considered, but having her arms full of something bleeding and quivering helplessly was not improving her control at all. She needed to put the cub down and get away before she took a chunk out of the poor schmuck. Thankfully for her impatience, Jerry was at hand to open doors for Chris without her having to wait.

Once she’d dumped the cub on the dog bed in the back of the furthest kennel and closed the chain link gate behind her, Jerry spoke. “How do you propose to restrain that cub if it wakes up… violent?”

“Workin’ on it.” She stood with her feet planted on the cement floor and one hand lightly hooked through the chain links. Eye half-lidded, she took a deep breath; with it, she drew power from the earth under her feet. Most werewolves were not mages, to cast spells, though there was a great deal of magic associated with the beastform and the changes there and back. Earth magic could be difficult to draw upon. There was an endless amount of power to be had, but it did not bestir itself without much coaxing and patience.

Slowly, Chris wove the trickles of power she drew from the ground into the links of the fence and through the mortar between each cinderblock of the walls. To her aura-sight the fence and walls took on a steady glow which spread until the kennel was walled in on all six sides – walls, floor, sloping roof – by a simple shield. It would not stand up to much from the outside; it was the inside of the shield that was as inflexible as bedrock. It would block out sound and smell and even the basic aura-sense most werewolves inherited after the change. The cub would still be able to see whatever there was to see, but that was it. From all else, he would be insulated while he changed and woke.

Jerry gave the kennel a dubious look. Without the ability to sense the shield she’d erected around it, the cinderblocks and chain link didn’t look very adequate to contain a werewolf. Sometimes it was barely adequate to contain a perfectly mundane dog. But then Chris threw her fist against the fencing, and it barely rattled. Jerry’s mouth turned up and he nodded.

The kennels were outside, on the opposite end of the building to the employee parking. That didn’t inhibit Chris from hearing Sacha drive up in her tidy little red Beetle and park. “Thank fuck,” Chris growled, and strode back inside. She didn’t run, but close. Jerry trailed after her, and she pretended not to notice the flutterings of wary concern at the edges of the old man’s aura. He had good reason to be concerned. She hadn’t ever come to work like this, barely holding on to the façade of humanity she was usually able to wear.

A couple of plastic tee-shirt bags dangled from Sacha’s hands, and she immediately held them out to Chris. It took almost more self control than Chris had to bring them into the breakroom and deposit the bags on the counter, then take the time to wash her hands and arms of the cub’s blood, before opening one of the bags of roast beef. When Jerry offered her a clean coat, she managed to shrug into it without acting too much like she objected to the delay. It was a good thing there was already bread in the breakroom, because Chris figured that shoveling slices of meat into her face would probably not inspire confidence in Jerry or Sacha.

“How is the, uh, patient?” Sacha asked once Chris had demolished one of the one-pound bags of thick-sliced beef and most of the loaf of sliced bread. The bread was an afterthought; she needed the carbs, of course, but the beast in her soul craved protein. Flesh.

“He’d started to change by the time I got him into the kennel. Given the shape he’s in, it’ll probably be a while yet before he’s done. I shielded the kennel he’s in, so no sound or smells will go in or out,” Chris told the intern. It was a lot easier to hold civilized conversation now that her belly was full of meat. She hooked a finger into one strap of the second bag and pulled it over to peer inside. As ordered, generic, one-size-fits-most sweats and a pullover in nondescript gray and navy blue, as well as a pack of cotton boxers. She didn’t know what that cub looked like in human form, but her instincts said he wasn’t extraordinarily big or small.

“How do you know it’s a ‘he?’” Sacha, again, sounding curious. “I didn’t get a good look at him when he came in to tell what, uh, bits he’s got.”

Chris tapped her aquiline nose right along the old break she’d gotten before turning. That was explanation enough for Sacha, though Jerry raised a wiry eyebrow. “You could smell that under all the blood and everything else?”

“I’m used to parsing scents underneath blood and more pungent things,” she told him wryly. “If I hadn’t been trying not to sniff too hard, I might’ve been able to tell you where he’d been. At least, what kind of place he’d been in last, besides under a car’s tires.” As it was, besides the cub’s scent (which had, in fact, been masculine but not overwhelmingly so) she had gotten a whiff of pine sap and dirt, so he’d been in wilderness. The tang of motor oil had been there, too, but since he’d been intimately acquainted with a truck’s undercarriage, that went without saying.

“Now what?” Jerry inquired. He sat at the breakroom table with his hands laced together, observing her steadily. “What’s the procedure for finding a badly injured werewolf cub?”

Chris couldn’t stop herself from rubbing one hand across her face, eye burning faintly from sleep deprivation, and pinching the bridge of her nose. “I need to figure out where and how he was turned. Dunno how much I’ve emphasized this to you, but turnings are A Big Deal, capital letters included. I need to track down whoever turned him and left him to run amok.” That was all she would say in front of these people, friends though they were. They were mortals, and didn’t need to be any more involved than they already were.

“And what will happen to the cub?” That was Sacha, who sounded sympathetic.

“I’ll get as much useful information about his turning as I can, which won’t be much. Then… a lot of stuff will be up to him.” Most other packs would kill a cub not turned by one of their own. There was a good chance she’d have to kill this one, anyway, if he couldn’t gain control over his beast. But that was not something Sacha needed to know.

“So you’re going to take him home with you?” Jerry inquired.

“Only safe place for him. My packmates are civilized, but most of them don’t have the kind of control I do.” One of them did, but Teddy would also take one look at that cub and bite his head off. That lobo was of the old school, and she knew he disapproved of her keeping a pack of rescued strays. That was probably why Teddy only really respected Dominic, the only one of the pack that Chris had turned herself. She wondered if Teddy knew how much like the vampire’s bloodline-guarding that was. He’d resent the comparison.

“Control to stop themselves from what, killing him?”

“Mostly to keep their own heads if or when that cub starts to lose it. It takes a few weeks to get used to the change – to get used to it enough to exert some control. Until then, cubs are at the mercy of the beast’s whims. They can’t change at will, which is good, but if something motivates them enough, they can do it. And when one were in the vicinity starts to go, it compels everyone else to do the same. No one wants to be stuck in fragile human form when a potentially hostile beast is around. I know I can put that cub in his place regardless of which form I’m in, so the compulsion isn’t very strong.” In that way, Teddy was also more than strong enough to school the cub regardless of his current shape. But the old man was touchy around other males, and impatient with stupid cubs. Not the nurturing sort.

Chris didn’t care if this cub lived or died, but she at least needed him to live long enough to give her information about his change. Once that happened… it would be best for her to put the cub out of his misery. The old vampire who kept his personal coven in Seattle hadn’t been pleased when she’d brought Teddy into the pack; but that might have been because Teddy was an old wolf used to killing vampires. Chris was a pup by comparison, though she had a string of vampire fangs almost as long as Teddy’s. Since many of those fangs had been taken from the heads of vampires who had been attempting a coup against the Grand Master, Andrei Markov was more tolerant of her than he was of most other werewolves. That didn’t stop him from disliking having too many so close to his den.

She could tell the old bat that it was only on his insistence that Chris settled with her little band of rescues so close. She had, in fact. More than once. But that didn’t change the fact that Sorin – her mocking nickname for the vampire, which he accepted for reasons she’d never know – could and would continue to disapprove of Chris gathering a larger pack. Tolerate her he might, but Chris was not stupid enough to think that the old vampire’s magnanimity would last if he thought she was growing to be a threat.

Thinking of Sorin as magnanimous made her snort in derision. To Jerry’s raised eyebrow, she said, “There’s no guarantee the cub will have any useful information to give me about how he got turned. Cubs and ferals don’t retain memory across the shifts, and the turning is traumatic enough at the best of times that most people block the memories. So chances are, I’m gonna be taking a ‘vacation’ soon to investigate.

“Is it really that important?” Sacha asked.

“A cub with no control was left to wander. He was heading toward town before he was hit. Care to imagine what might’ve happened if he’d made it?” Chris paused long enough for Sacha’s face to become grave, then continued. “Yeah. Bad news. There are a few things that could’ve happened: either he was turned by a feral, who’ll need to be dealt with before it causes more damage. Or, he was turned by a civilized wolf who either didn’t try, or tried and failed to keep the cub under control. That wolf needs to be shown the error of their ways, regardless of which case it is. We regulate our turnings very strictly, and part of that is regulating new cubs until they get a handle on themselves.” If they got a handle on themselves.

“And is there no one else who can do that investigation? You’ve mentioned a higher level of organization among werewolves before,” said Jerry, still with one eyebrow elevated.

“Yeah, and I’m part of it.” She shrugged. Technically, she was not a proper Conclave representative. But she was as close as an American-turned were was ever going to be, and her Conclave superior Alena trusted Chris to take care of business in the no-man’s land that was the western United States. Certainly, Chris was the only werewolf that Sorin would treat with, and that was valuable in and of itself. “So as the nearest member of that body, it’s my job. Besides, I’d go even if I wasn’t. The next nearest pack of werewolves is far enough into Canada that there’s no way this cub could have run across the border.”

Before they could ask her more questions, questions she shouldn’t answer, Chris stood and scooped up the bags. “Gonna check on the cub. If I need either of you, I’ll holler. Should be safe enough to go about life as usual. Once the cub’s fed and clothed, I’ll take him home.”

As predicted, the cub was still changing when Chris got there. The shield she’d erected blocked sound, smell, and magical signals from exiting as well as entering, so the visual cues were all she had to know how far along the cub was. From the looks of it, he was past the halfway point. Significantly smaller, with less fur. Bones poked up in ways they should not and twisted in front of her eyes, both in the change, and in the cub’s agonized writhing. From the way the cub’s mouth gaped open, he was probably crying out in some way.

She dropped into a crouch not far from the shielded chain link gate and began to dig through the contents of the tee shirt bags. She removed the tags and stickers from the clothing and withdrew a pair of boxers from their packaging, but left them on top of the bag and readied the second Ziploc bag of sliced roast beef. One pound of the stuff would not be enough to satiate the cub, but it would take the edge off so that he would be safer to transport. She had food aplenty at home and could feed the cub better there.

The thought of what waited at home reminded her of Neil, so she pulled her cell phone from her pocket. A text from him already waited.

where did you go?

She texted him back, work. cub got hit by a car. i’ll be bringing him back soon. can you behave?

It didn’t take long for Neil to reply. as in a wolf cub? tf?

yep. no clue where, when or why yet. can you handle a new cub in the house?

what do you think i am, feral?

you're manic and the moon is full.

i can handle a cub.

Neil lived with her because, even when he wasn’t manic, his control was iffy. Even Nat and Mako, who’d been turned under the same circumstances and for the same amount of time as Neil, had enough of a handle on themselves that they could live independently. Mako’s was a little more uncertain, but she lived with Dominic, who was far more stable and quite capable of keeping his wife on an even keel. But Chris didn’t have much of a choice about where to take the cub. She just had to believe that Neil was reading himself properly.

When she looked up from the text conversation, the cub was mostly done with his shift. That was impressive, considering how badly hurt he’d been. Intent and motivation also helped the change along, so unwilling ones also took much longer than voluntary shifts. She waited until the cub was completely done, however, before doing anything. She waited until he stirred from the exhausted heap he’d collapsed into.

It took a few minutes more, but the cub uncurled himself enough to look around. He trembled with weakness, but finally managed to turn enough to see her. His face was still bruised and streaked with dried blood, but by the way the whites of his eyes showed all the way around, he was pretty freaked out. Chris wished that she could leave the shield intact when she opened the kennel, but she’d used the kennel’s walls as the framework for the shield, so it was impossible to move anything while the shield was up. And even if she could, she wouldn’t have been able to get anything through it to the cub. So she slowly unraveled the shield.

As sounds and smells trickled into the kennel, the cub flinched. He looked around jerkily. There was little sapience in his face; no doubt he was still mostly beast, even in this form. But he was too injured and weak to do more than huddle against the far cinderblock wall of the kennel as Chris finally undid the shield and began to open the gate. He made a pitiful wheezing sound that was no doubt meant to be a growl.

Chris kept her posture loose and relaxed, and did not look directly at the cub or hold her body directly toward him. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” she told him, keeping her voice high and gentle. Almost a croon. She stayed just inside the gate while she dug the roast beef in one great handful out of the bag. As soon as the cub caught scent of the beef, his wheezing quieted and his eyes locked onto it intently. He pushed himself up from the floor feebly and tried to crawl closer. It would have been quality footage for a horror movie, if she didn’t see from his aura how weak he actually was. She tossed the beef onto the cement floor just in front of him, and he fell upon it ravenously. She squatted on her haunches while the cub ate.

It didn’t take long for the beef to disappear, leaving the cub licking at the leftover juices on the floor somewhat desperately. He’d forgotten all about her until she spoke up. “Are you back with us, Squirt?” He tensed and snapped his eyes to her. The growl this time was more like an actual growl, though still unimpressive.

“My name is Chris. Right now we’re at a veterinarian clinic in Renton, Washington. I’ve got clothes here for you, and if you can put them on, I’ll take you somewhere safe with more food to eat. Then we can talk about why you’re here.” He didn’t respond to the first recitation of her spiel, so she repeated it. She hoped that the cub wasn’t so far gone that he wouldn’t come to his senses. Killing him now would be easier in the short run, but make it a lot more difficult to figure out who was turning cubs and letting them run wild.

Thankfully, during the third repetition, sense began to return to the cub’s face. She didn’t waste her breath after that, just looked at the wall near his head and waited.

“Renton?” he managed.

“Near Seattle.” A lot of people didn’t recognize Renton unless either Boeing airplanes or Seattle were mentioned; Seattle tended to get more immediate recognition.

“Seattle… Washington? United States?” his voice wasn’t much firmer, but besides the physical weakness, there was also a note of disbelief in his voice.

“That’s the place.” His reaction made her think he was pretty far from where he’d started. He looked white, or close enough, and she couldn’t detect enough about his accent to place where it might have come from. But she was fairly certain that his native language was English. It was hard to speak a foreign tongue when you were exhausted and hungry and confused.

The cub’s attention drifted, turned inward. His face had the blank quality that shock tended to impart; only the roiling of his aura told Chris the state of the cub’s thoughts. Before he could get too caught up, she stood. Slowly, so as not to startle the cub. She reached behind herself to grab the clothing, and then tossed them lightly over to him so they landed within arm’s reach. “Get yourself dressed, if you can. Then we’ll go back to my place. I’ll feed you again, and then we can talk about why you’re all the way in Renton.” Another repetition of her spiel from before, but now he was in a better state to listen to it all the way through.

Chris turned around and went back through the gate; closing it, but not locking. She listened to the cub wheeze and pant as he struggled into the clothes. Poor thing was still on the verge of collapse. While the beef had replenished some of the protein his body needed – flesh to replace flesh – it wasn’t enough calories to replenish the energy used to heal so much, so fast. She needed to get a more balanced meal down him before he would be up to much.

Once the shuffling had ceased, leaving only his labored breath and heartbeat, she turned around again. He was still on the floor, looking boneless and pitiful. But before she did more than step back through the gate, she said, “Need a hand getting up?”

“Yeah,” he said, more in a sigh than actual speech.

It was better not to touch a werewolf who didn’t know you without their consent. The beast would bite first and ask questions later. Or never. He was no threat, but if he reacted on instinct, he was bound to lose any voluntary control he had for a while, and she didn’t want that hassle on her hands. So she moved slowly and held a hand down to the cub, waiting for him to reach up and grab it before doing anything more. Once she shifted her grip from his hand to his wrist, she pulled up until he was draped halfway over her shoulders. Then she stood, but rather than trying to help him walk, she just slung him across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

His hands clutched her arm convulsively for a moment, and she paused. “Anything hurt?”

“Lots,” he hissed.

“Sorry, Squirt. Would you rather walk?”

“No.” and he eased his grip.

She had to do an awkward side-step to get out of the kennel, but after that, the doors were wide enough to pass through normally. And the cub could keep himself in place while she freed a hand to open the doors. The fact that he was being so cooperative was a good sign. It might have been as much exhaustion as anything else, but there were many other ways he could be handling this little transition.

Thankfully, she only passed by Jerry on her way back through the clinic, and he just gave them a grave look before continuing on his way. She made it to the Jeep and managed to deposit the cub into the passenger seat without much more trouble than she’d taken to pick him up. He didn’t even object when she pulled the seatbelt across his chest and buckled him in. With no doors or roof, and as weak as he was, it wouldn’t take much to sling the poor cub right out of the vehicle otherwise.

It was only when Chris had buckled herself in and cranked the geriatric old Wrangler to life that she decided she needed a better designation for the cub than just “cub.”

“What should I call you, Squirt?”

“Squirt,” he retorted. She glanced sideways and saw the faint smile tug at his mouth. “Or Dane. Or Dan. Or Danny.”

He’d be all right if he could make smartass comments under these conditions. Chris found herself grinning. “Squirt it is.” She hadn’t purposefully started calling him that. It was her pet-name for her son, Jamie, and it tended to stick itself to the people who came into her care.

“You’re Chris, right?” he asked. His voice was still so weak that it was difficult to hear over the sounds of traffic and the wind.

“Yep.”

Silence reigned for a while longer, until Chris turned off the main road into the housing development where the pack lived. They weren’t the only ones, of course, but the development was run by Dominic’s company, and he offered his packmates much lower pricing on the ranch houses than he did anyone else. Chris knew she wouldn’t have cared to pay for the house she had without that discount. She also would not have wanted to live in that big four-bedroom, even with Neil for a permanent roommate. But that house was also the pack’s headquarters, and though the others had their own homes, it wasn’t unusual for someone to crash there for a while.

“So, we’re… going to your place?”

Chris glanced at the cub again, but his face was still inscrutable. “Yeah. Might as well give you a heads up now. Got a roommate; he’s one of us, too. Probably gonna have a touchy temper. Neither of us have had much sleep.”

Dane shot her a raised eyebrow. Chris returned it for a moment before focusing on the road. “Not like that. We’re stuck in beastform all night during the full moon, and it’s impossible to sleep, so we hunt.” Neil was also the gayest human being Chris had ever met; it didn’t stop him from flirting with anyone and everyone, though.

“Right.” Dane hunched down in the seat a little.

#not arcana #just some urban fantasy bullshit i farted out last year #it rambles and goes nowhere but i like it #can yall tell i have a recurring OC trope #werewolves are my weakness okay

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