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((Note: This is a role playing journal. All contents are ficitonal, any resemblance to a real person, or to real places or events are purely coincidental. Duh.))

Nearly twenty years ago, with Venus rising high in the midsummer night sky and the moon gibbous waxing full, a Garou was born of the Sept of the Broken Marches. The First Tribe rejoiced as their seers prophesied one of their heroes of old had been reborn to fight in the coming Apocalypse. At least, that's what his elders have told him. They say the blood of the great Garou warrior-princes of old runs strong through his veins. That his fate is written by Gaia's own hand, and that at the end he will be Light's-Last-Hope. Yet they will not tell him the words uttered the night of birth - the night his mother died.

Nor does he hear the ancestors he is supposed to be a re-incarnation of, as so many other Garou do. Their voices are silent to him. And with every day of that silence more doubt begins to grow.

The one thing he does know is that he was born to live for Gaia, to die for Gaia, and even to kill for Her. And for now, that is enough.

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