Disclaimer: Werewolf: The Apocalypse, Vampire: The Masquerade and all other related gaming systems are owned by White Wolf Inc. The character Garrett Rainbird is owned by me. This story is based off a campaign that my friends and I enjoyed while killing time in Iraq 2003-2004. Hats off to James Doubrley, an incredibly talented GM for providing the scenarios our characters found themselves in.

Enjoy!

Sex, Blood and Rock n' Roll

The Saga of Garrett Rainbird

Chapter One: Early life and the first change

It was a normal childhood or at least as close to normal as it could be, growing up right outside the Okee Fenokee Swamp in northern Florida.

But unlike most unchanged shifters, Garrett Rainbird wasn't a loner or an outsider in the group; he was always involved with whatever his small family was doing.

His mother died while giving birth, so he didn't know too much about her. His father, Joseph and sister, Lorie were all the family he had.

Joseph was a game warden and enforced hunting and fishing regulations in the swamp and the outlying areas. He was also a full-blooded Seminole medicine man and taught his son the ways of the shaman from an early age.

Lorie, six years older than Garrett, was fast following in their father's foot steps. She was very passionate about wildlife conservation and figured that becoming a game warden would be the most effective way for her to make a difference.

He believed in the cause of protecting the wildlife and all, but Garrett's passion first and foremost was music. And from a young age, it was known.

Garrett got his first guitar at age 6 and took to it like a duck to water. He played the blues and rock and roll like a child possessed. His dream was to become a professional musician, selling out stadiums and playing for screaming fans.

Garrett continued to excel with music and with attuning himself to the spirit world. He used the primal calling in his dreams and meditations to weave songs almost magical in nature. He sang blues of the dying Earth and her tears reflected in his voice. They knew he would go far some day.

Then, close to his eighteenth birthday, everything changed.

They were all sitting around the house one night, listening to Garrett play. Joseph got a call: the report said there was a small group of men hunting out of season not far from where they were sitting. He set out to find them and investigate. Garrett and Lorie, not wanting to get left behind, went with him.

They went into the woods, searching for the men. The only weapon between them was an old .45 pistol that Joseph was issued by the Department of Fish and Wildlife.

A light flickered faintly in the distance, mostly obscured by trees and vegetation. Upon closer examination, they found it was a camp fire in a clearing. Five men were huddled around it. It wasn't hard to tell they were drunk. For the moment, they hadn't noticed the trio observing them.

Lying on the ground near the fire was their haul for the day. They had killed a Florida panther, a species on the verge of extinction, as well as a few whitetail deer, which were out of season.

Joseph saw this, motioned to Garrett and Lorie to stay back and stepped into the clearing. The men were clearly alarmed when he announced his presence.

"I see you boys had a hunt today," he said, trying to remain calm. There were too many of them. He should have gotten back-up. "What you did ain't legal and I'm taking you boys in for shooting deer out of season, not to mention that panther, which is gonna land you some major jail time."

The men now looked scared. One was holding a rifle. Joseph went to draw his .45, but as his hand touched the holster, a shot rang out in the woods.

Garrett and Lorie watched in horror as their father fell to the ground, missing a good portion of his head.

Lorie froze, terrified. Her breathing was escaping in short gasps. She appeared to be going into shock. Garrett, trying to keep his wits about him, thought to make a move for his father's pistol. At that moment, his vision went black as he fell to the ground. There was one last member of the hunting party who had gone out to get some firewood and heard the shot. In a panic after seeing the game warden dead, he had hit Garrett in the back of the head with a rather thick log.

Garrett awoke with a dull throbbing pain in his head. He could hear muffled screams of fear and pain. He got to his feet and looked into the direction of the screams.

As his vision cleared, he saw what was happening and froze.

They were gathered around Lorie. Two of them were holding her arms, while another was on top of her, holding a hand over her mouth. Her clothes had been ripped almost completely off. The others appeared to be waiting their turn.

Something inside Garrett's mind snapped.

Every muscle in his body seemed to tense to the breaking point. His fists clinched so tight that the fingernails drew blood in his palms.

His vision went red as his body started to contort.

Intense pain shot through his body as muscles tore then expanded and bones broke, only to immediately reset themselves. Though the pain was nearly unbearable, Garrett didn't make a sound. His eyes were still on the hunters, not seeing them, but knowing they were there.

He grew in size to stand over eight feet tall. His clothes ripped away from his body. Claws burst forth from the ends of his fingers and thick fur sprouted from his skin. Fangs grew in his contorting mouth and his face took on the appearance of a mountain lion.

Garrett's rational thought process had ceased; instinct was now running the show. With a loud and thunderous roar, he pounced.

The men, occupied with Lorie, didn't notice the hulking creature until the roar rushed into their ears. They turned to see death coming down on top of them.

It was now their turn to scream.

The beast that was Garrett Rainbird only moments ago tore through the men with horrid efficiency. In less than thirty seconds, he had dispatched them all with tooth and claw.

After ripping the last man to pieces, Garrett slowly regained control of his own body as it was again twisted and contorted, reverting to his human form.

The smell of blood was thick in the air and his naked body was covered in it from head to toe. He fell to his knees and vomited. There also, was blood.

He surveyed the carnage and saw his sister. He ran to her side and knelt down beside her. She wasn't breathing. He tried to resuscitate her to no avail. He cradled her in his arms and wept for what seemed like an eternity.

He then buried his sister and father at the base of an old gnarled tree by the clearing. For the hunters, he dug a hole and tossed in all the larger pieces of them, leaving the rest for the animals.

It was after finishing this task that fear suddenly struck him. What would happen to him? People would ask too many questions … they would want to know how it happened … they might find out …

He realized what he had to do.

Garrett ran back to his house as fast as his legs would allow. He gathered up a few changes of clothes, some food and packed it in a bag. He scoured the house for any and all money that might be present and gathered it too. Before leaving that house for the last time, he got one more item: his guitar.

As he stepped outside, he locked the door to the house. He guessed that it was probably unnecessary, but might look fishy if it was unlocked.

There was a shape in the driveway with a blue tarp draped over it. Garrett walked to it and pulled the tarp away. There was his father's pet project for the last three years. It was a 1979 Harley Davidson motorcycle. It wasn't the prettiest thing in the world to look at, but it had no problems running.

Garrett packed all his things in the two saddlebags, strapped the guitar on the bike and sped out of his old life. He rode for hours, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and what was up until a few hours ago, his home. He didn't know where he was going and didn't care.

He was just going.