You've always wanted to fight, and now you have a direction: get into Broad Brook, maybe deal with a few Scrags or something, report back to Elton about their numbers and disposition. As the light fades, you keep your eyes open for ambushes, and make sure that you can get out of the woods again. You're happy to fight here, but not die here.
A half hour's traveling through deep, trackless woods, following the map toward Graves Farm, where the Broad Brook Garou made their final stand. These woods are old, untouched except by Garou and spirits. You don't even think the Three Families went this deep. And then…what the hell?
You're on the far side of the woods, staring at the main North-South highway that runs through the Valley, I-91. Trucks rumble down the midnight road. What happened? Were you so focused on your plans that you forgot to scout?
You try again, scanning for evidence of Wyrm activity, moving carefully because it's now dark despite the full moon. You step into—
No, this isn't right. You're out behind Walmart, in a rundown stretch of urban blight. And according to your phone, it's five in the morning. Your feet are freezing, despite your tall boots and double socks. This must be very confusing for you, Matulo, I observe as I hop gracefully onto a rusted dumpster and regard you with my lambent blue eyes, tail puffy with static electricity.
"Good morning, Stormcat." Always pays to be polite to the gods.
"So what's happening here?"
"This is your fault, isn't it?" I'm running out of patience.
"What is this miserable place?" I look around because I've never been to this slum before.
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The Bone Gnawers of Broad Brook once lived here on Rosemary Street. Back then it was, not "nice," but beautiful in its own way. But perhaps the Garou are not as natural as they imagine themselves to be, and the Bone Gnawers don't "live in harmony" with the human world, so much as shape it to their whims. Because the moment they died and their spiritual energy fled, this place became a wretched slum.
"And the rest of the lands around Broad Brook?" you ask.
Similarly diminished, defiled, overwritten. We were slaughtered and cast out, and whatever is there now doesn't want anyone else getting in. Not spirits—except its own, I assume—not Garou, not even regular people. You can't reach the caern, Matulo. But you can start chipping away at whatever is in there. Seek out other Garou, have them restore the lands around Broad Brook. Until then, I am an exile, and the poison in the caern will slowly spread until it consumes the entire Valley.
Before you can ask another question, I slip back into the Umbra, leaving you to answer Elton's increasingly frantic texts while a stray cat runs for shelter.
After a long delay caused by the bad connection, he responds to you.
BridesheadReloaded So that's our answer, then
BridesheadReloaded No one can reach the caern
BridesheadReloaded Unless Stormcat is right and we can start restoring the nearby lands
BridesheadReloaded I fear that's our only chance
BridesheadReloaded Go home, Matulo. You've done what you can. Thank you
There's nowhere to stay around here, but to your surprise, people are queuing up at the bus stop. You join them and get home well before sunrise, then squeeze in a few hours of sleep before you have to go to work.
I scout the deep woods around Broad Brook, edging around the areas where my memory is spotty.
I email Daphne Clear at GRC Media and tell her that Elton and I have work to do.
I find Roscoe's van.
I visit Hobland at his compound.
I visit Lucinda at her studio.
I return to the barrows where I fought the fomor.
I return to the stretch of urban blight where I spilled out after looking for the caern. Maybe I can find something there.
I check my phone.
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