New Ways Old Grudges Werewolf Caern Specifics

Bawn Landscape

Thriving green grass fills the rolling prairie from horizon to horizon, at least in warmer months. In colder months, which are many up here in the Badlands, the land and its plants of all sizes are hunkering down and saving their strength, growing tough and hard in the face of withering blizzards and snowdrifts deep enough to bury a tall man standing up. In some places there are cracked expanses of crumbling grey concrete - the legacy of a failed project from several decades ago, slowly being reclaimed by the Earth and fading from common memory.

Deceptively high bluffs line the northern and western edges of the bawn, overlooking a long and meandering stream that feeds the distant Yellowstone. Stark and bare apart from a few scrub bushes and thin weeds, the boulders and rocky face of the winding cliff face extend for some distance, chewed out of the landscape by uncountable millennia of harsh winds and bitter cold. The southern and eastern sides of the bawn consist mainly of low, rolling hills, little creeks and brush patches, as well as a couple of old dirt service roads still used by the sept. A ten-foot wire fence surrounds the property that doesn't back up onto the river - old and rusting, but deceptively sturdy and reinforced by hidden spirit wards, as well as large "Property of the State of Montana - No Trespassing" signs hung every hundred feet or so.

Caern Heart, Caern of the Biting Mist

At some ancient point in the distant past, a glacier carved a deep hollow in the ground. Years went by and harsh winters cracked the stones at the hollow's edge, while melting snows filled it with icy water that turned warm in the spring. The mist is constant - at all times there is a faint film in the air and obscuring the finer details of people, animals and things at the heart of the caern. One of the few stands of tall trees in this part of the prairie surrounds the caern's heart - descendants of trees that have been in the area for centuries, well before the whites came. The pond at the caern's heart actually sits above the river, but somehow has managed to remain full and vibrant. Other ponds in similar circumstances drain away or go stagnant - this one has not.

Fog is not a materialistic totem, but here it is not solely a being of ephemeral mist and concealment. Here, Fog is strong, cold, and hungry. The colder months bring out an especially bitter and deadly streak in Fog - every year a careless hiker or two and a number of lost, drunk roughnecks are found face-down in the dirt, frozen to death after losing their way or having an accident. Fog appreciates discretion and secrecy, true, but the sept totem here is different than similar sept totems in other places - the canny Theurge or warrior has been known to use the severed heads or warm and bleeding hearts of enemies as a means by which to gain Fog's favor here.

Shrines, Dwelling Spaces, And So Forth

North Wind Rock occupies a specific and well-known promontory on the northern bluffs overlooking the river. There have been rumors for decades of a long-lost shrine to Eagle that disappeared more than a hundred years ago when the knowledge of its location was lost in the blood and fire of the Indian Wars. Unfortunately, the last known line of werewolves directly connected with it died out in the 1970s, and ancestor spirits have been unusually tight-lipped about it, even Silver Fang and Get ancestors. The reason for this is unknown.

The sept's burial ground consists of a patch of open prairie with several very old and sturdy wooden platforms next to rows and clusters of mounds and markers. Which section is which depends on which tribe owns the section in question. The Fenrir section is rigidly organized and regular, while the Wendigo part of the graveyard is older, larger, and more divided - in the graves dating to the 19th century or earlier, human tribal origin comes more commonly than on recent burial markers.

The caern narrowly escaped annihilation in 1955, back when the American government started tearing up big chunks of the Badlands to put in nuclear missile silos and other doomsday weapons. Sept elders at the time somehow managed to have a small military base and airport put in at the fringe of the bawn instead - the base was closed soon after in a realignment plan, and the airport reverted to civilian control. It was discovered, however, that fog and high winds had become unavoidable problems. After a number of plane crashes and well over a hundred dead in a two-year span, the airport was permanently shut down in the early 1960s and turned over to the State of Montana. They were unable or unwilling to do anything with it either, and it has largely been decaying in place ever since. With Kinfolk support and money obtained from dubious sources, the sept has managed to buy up the old airport and make it part of the bawn - the most valuable commodities are undoubtedly the old terminal and hangar buildings.

Despite their age and outward decrepitude, Kinfolk contractors and innovative werewolves have converted the Eisenhower-era buildings into passable living space over the last 60 years - the frequent cold and damp are gladly accepted by the sept's Bone Gnawers as big improvements over scratching out sleeping space in eight-foot snowdrifts, while the Wendigo and Fenrir are satisfied that their accommodations are not too plush and soft. Everybody else thinks the members of these tribes are weird, to some degree or another, and are usually looking to bring in space heaters, more blankets and the newfangled concept of "insulation". The old air traffic control tower looms above the mist, but is typically dark - out of service for decades, the exterior is slowly fading and crumbling, although its commanding height has warranted it being reinforced and shored up over the years.

For material defenses, the bawn sports wide open sprawling country as a first line of defense - it is very difficult to sneak up on the residents of the Biting Mist Sept. Predictably, the old air traffic control tower serves as a sniper's nest. So far it has yet to serve as a physically commanding surveillance or command post during a set-piece or guerrilla-type battle, but some believe that is only a matter of time. Unexpectedly, it is generally accepted that there is at least one sniper team on duty at all times, typically Kinfolk war veterans. When there are no enemies to shoot, they poach deer for marksmanship practice, to stave off boredom, and to get free meat. It is generally known that there are minefields and other unconventional warfare plans in place, to say nothing of spirit-based defenses, but the Sept's Warder is stingy with details about most of those.

Spirits In Residence

For the most part, the bawn and caern heart strongly resemble the landscape around them. There are common animal spirits aplenty - deer and squirrels, birds of all kinds including eagles and ravens. But there are also some slightly rarer animal spirits, like wolves, big cats and badgers, among others. There are even what some Theurges call the ephemerals or the no-see-ums - wind spirits in particular. Twister is a frequent visitor in stormy months, and certain older and more crotchety sept members are rumored to have established living space underground to avoid having their possessions thrown all the way to Bismarck. Apart from him, however, the Aurora Borealis is accompanied by a storm of Epiphlings, chimera gafflings, and a small galaxy of cosmic spirits and spirits representing mysteries and secrets. It is no accident that certain members of the sept prescribe borealis season as the ideal time for vision quests, spiritual inquiries, and seeking the answers to ancient riddles.

Fog, it is said, was not the original holder of the caern - but he stepped in when the original owner was forced to leave. It is believed that one of the Native tribes knows the answer to this mystery - as far as the non-Native tribes can remember, Fog has always owned the Caern of the Biting Mist. Rumors have circled for decades and possibly centuries, however, particularly because of Fog's tendency to accept the warm hearts and entrails of Wyrm-beasts and the Fallen in return for answering questions or granting knowledge and wisdom. Wise Theurges and werewolves who have traveled know that this is unusual for Fog, but longtime sept member shrug their shoulders - Fog has always been this way here, and there have not been problems with it yet.

At the same time, however, the ghosts have been gathering. Wendigo, long absent from this part of the prairie, has been heard howling in the winter winds, while Bison has slowly and methodically regained a foothold in the Badlands as his Earthly kin have been reintroduced to Big Sky Country. There is even a rumor that the Wind Incarnae have been gathering somewhere to hold a council, to see if they can remember which of them used to own the Biting Mist Caern. Or if, whether they remember or not, they will back another Incarna who seeks to claim it. For his part, Fog is not telling. At least, not everyone.

Specifics

Type: Survival
Level: 3
Totem: Fog
Werewolf Population: 24, counting sept leadership and PCs.
Significant Tribes: Wendigo, Fenrir, Bone Gnawers
Lesser Tribes: Uktena, Fianna, Children of Gaia.

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