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Wendigo, Wolf, Cleveland's Night with Moon

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This story is No. 2 in the series "Cleveland's Own: Mailer Daemon". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: In the wake of a wish, a a god of destruction finds a convert in Cleveland. When the city itself calls out for help, Gary Hobson and Oz find themselves drawn to Ohio.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Games > Fantasy > Shadowrun
Television > Early Edition
(Current Donor)ShieldageFR1523,006011,25410 Aug 0611 Aug 06No

Wendigo's Totem

BtVS by Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Shadowrun RPG by FASA, WizKids, FanPro, Hare-Brained Schemes. Translations from Fenris' article in Wikipedia.

Wendigos pop up in Shadowrun RPG when the Human Metahuman Vampiric Virus infects orks. So far, only one half-demon in Buffyverse has shown the genes to express as one of these furry guys... but even one may be too many.

This all takes place sometime after Chapter 3 of A Virus Bonded to Magic

Once there was an idea about the End of the World. It happened.

The major players were ideas themselves. Those that lived became real and left the place.

Those that died, stayed behind. Limbo was full of conscious minds waiting for something that had already happened.

Asgard had become a cold and dark place.

Odin's shade sat in his throne, sustained by the few that mistakenly believed Ragnarok had yet to come. His bones lay in the skeleton of Fenrir, the great wolf.

Belief is a powerful thing.

Loki was one of the few survivors. He left Purgatory ages ago, but he still made it a point to stop by every now and again, to talk to the shades of those he once knew.

He told them of the living stories he had been walking through. He told them of the Earth they might see if they opened their eyes, acknowledged their deaths, and moved on.

For ages, none had been willing. Few understood.

Fenrir sat, much as he had for years, chained by a thread. The thread was long gone, but it remained in his mind, as much as a phantom as his flesh and soul.

He had died in the last battle.

A son of Odin killed him by a stab to the heart.

A son of Odin had killed him by tearing his head in half.

Ideas, even ones with souls, tend to blend and merge.

Loki, his father, often sat by him to scratch his furry head and tell him of all the things that had come to pass since Ragnarok. Most visits, only the sensation of his father's touch stayed in Fenrir's memory.

-2000 AD, A Convenient Bedroom, Cleveland-

Until the change, Smedley had been a relatively peaceful half-Gnork demon, making a living in the largest American city to have a Hellmouth. The other supernatural critters had generally left him alone. Sure, he'd dusted a few normal vampires that had mistaken him for an easy mark, but he hadn't gone out of his way to make the world a safer place.

What had thrown him out of his quiet routine was lady in red who'd made her way into his room. Despite his strength and the small magics he had used to resist her, she had brought him to his knees and drained him.

He had awoke to find himself taller and covered in shaggy white fur, with new powers and a hunger to match. He had gathered some things and burned his house -and most of his block- behind him.

A small bit of legwork had left him with knowledge of what his 'sire' must surely have been. A new breed of vampires, calling themselves the Windfell Clan, had recently appeared in Cleveland. Their powers of sudden enhancement and mistform, as well as the fact that they kept their souls, meant they were quickly out-competing the local demonic kind. Their effort to cement themselves in Smedley's city had been slightly disrupted by the fire he had caused claiming the lives of several of their pledges.

He had decided to lie low.

On this night, he'd sated his new hunger for human flesh with a homeowning couple and, at least until morning, this bed was his own.

In the universe known as 'Shadowrun', thanks to an often lucrative occupation, there is also a fanged race of humans who call themselves 'orks'. When infected with HMHVV they express as furry, cannibalistic beasts. Many gene patterns don't translate well between dimensions, but Smedley had fallen into the acceptable range and therefore was reconstructed with the 'wendigo' template.

Most humans infected with the basic strain of HMHVV become vampires who need to consume human/metahuman blood and drain bits of the life-force commonly known as Essence and generally survive by drinking directly from people in high emotional states. Wendigos have the same need to consume Essence but also require a steady diet of human/metahuman flesh... If pressed they can survive off corpses and find other ways to gain Essence, such as becoming an object of worship, but most don't feel the need to do anything other than start with their meal still alive...

It is a lot harder, by far, to be good and a wendigo than it is to be good and a viral vampire.

Smedley hadn't even tried.

After eating the choicest bits of flesh and tucking what remained carefully into bed, Smedley sprawled across the lumpy covers - rest his only concern.

His furry frame lay there, stretched above the broken bodies of the home's rightful owners.

That night, he dreamt his first dreams of power.

-A Place That Had Been Timeless-

One night, a month since Fenrir's father had last paid his son a visit, something changed.

The great wolf had been sustained by stagnant, unchanging belief. Long had he been bound to one spot, ignorant of the passage of time, but, on this particular night, he saw a golden glow in the distance.

It came closer, defining things around it in relation to itself.

Belief is power, was the message it carried.

The river of Hope had long spilled from Fenrir's limp jaws, but that was the first time a fish had found the mouth of the river.

The fish swam towards the wolf, all substance, all potential. It did not care whether the wolf was alive or dead, a physical creature or a false memory.

It was someone who only desired power over others and over himself.

Power which Fenrir could give in spades.

Conscious of his surroundings, for the first time in ages, the wolf ignored his own body, for it was no longer of use to him. Instead, he gathered himself through sheer force of will and lept at the golden fish. Not to eat it, but to swim in/through it.

There was a moment of confusion...

... Then the golden fish flowed with the water back downstream, toward Earth.

-Smedley's Home for the Night-

In Shadowrun, most, if not all, wendigos are magically-capable 'Shamans'. It's practically a rule.

Smedley had been a magic-user, more of a dabbler, really, to begin with. But, to be a Shaman in Shadowrun, you need a 'Totem'. To the outside world it appears that the Shaman picks his own semi-real, quasi-mythical being/idea/concept to follow. To the Shaman, the Totem is a full-fledged being of power who picks the Shaman out of many. Relativity.

Smedley's new unconscious mind was a shining beacon in the darkness and, having followed his dreams to their source, something was clinging to him, holding on for dear life...

Smedley woke up to find an immense wolf sitting on top of him.

As he sat up in fright, the wolf jumped off his chest to pace around the room; this was an odd trick, because it didn't actually move.

My name is Fenrir, it stated. You are Smedley and I have chosen you to be my mouth and hands in this world. I will make of you a being of great power, if you let me.

"Where do I sign up?" were the first words from the wendigo's lips.

No physical contract is necessary, came the silent, yet booming, reply. I have many agendas you may help me fulfill, although family should probably come first... Maybe, if we have time, you can help my childe, Hate, bring down the Moon.

... Time passed …
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