Sample GarouMUSH Applications

Accepted applications

Holly: Homid, Wendigo, Cub, Theurge
Lucas: Homid, Lost Cub, Ahroun
Dirk: Kinfolk, Bone Gnawers
Raul: Homid, Bone Gnawers, Cliath, Theurge

Rejected applications that can still be salvaged

Rheen: Homid, Child of Gaia, Cub, Galliard

Rejected applications that cannot be salvaged

Homid, Fianna, Cub, Galliard


This web page is intended to give examples as to what constitutes a good application--with a marginal and a bad application for comparison purposes to demonstrate pitfalls to be avoided. New applicants are strongly encouraged to apply for a pre-change cub, which are easiest to obtain and allow GarouMUSH's worldview (which is a unique interpretation from the sourcebooks and supplements) in-game. As the cub PC learns about Garou society, the player learns about worldview and conventions in a manner that is not disruptive to the game and where built-in correction mechanisms will not result in the character being culled or having punishment rites performed upon it.

If you've never played on GarouMUSH before, we strongly urge you to read the guide for writing a character.

Accepted Applications

Holly: Homid, Wendigo, Cub, Theurge

Name: Holly Wynnecoop
Breed: Homid
Tribe: Wendigo
Auspice: Theurge
Rank: Cub

We were fishermen, our people. You tell that to white folks and they get this look in their eyes, like you're a puppy dog that needs a pat on the head. To them you're not 'Indian' unless you hunted buffalo and ran around flat prairies half-naked and whooping it up with Geronimo and Crazy Horse. Nevermind that Geronimo was an Apache and Crazy Horse a Lakota. Whatever. We Spokanes have a proud heritage. Fishermen, yes, but we hunted other things too. Elk, deer, the antelope.

Mostly, though, it was the Spokane that sustained us. The river. Not anymore. Now it's government peanut butter and powdered milk. I'm the daughter of Leana Etue and Malcolm Wynnecoop. My dad was a Flathead from up near Missoula in Montana. He moved here, though, to be with my mom after she got pregnant. I don't remember much about him. He died in a car accident when I was five. What I do remember is his laugh, the way he used to spin me up over his head and play airplane. That and the smell of beer and whiskey. My mom wasn't much better. I don't blame her, though. She was just sixteen when she got pregnant. She liked music. Loved it. She even wanted to be a musician, at one point. I guess that ended with me. She got a job at the General Foods in Wellpinit and has been there every day since. Her nights are mostly spent at Divit's Tavern, drinking, singing when she can, dancing, flirting. Trying to live in those few hours. After dad died, she talked less and yelled more when it came to me. The job, and everything else, meant she was gone a lot of the time. So, she left me with Grams.

Grams could be creepy sometimes. She liked to do rituals and pretend she was really one of the old Indians, before Columbus invaded. She's the one who taught me the language. She taught mom, too, but mom was never that interested in stuff like that. It was Grams that taught me about the land too, about the river, about our family. She used to say I was a throwback. I didn't know what she meant until this summer. She sat me down near Little Walking Creek and she told me my Sumesh would wake up soon. Once that happened, everything would change. She told me Thomas Builds the Fire would come for me, take me someplace special, and make a true warrior out of me. I said something very sarcastic and placating, which made Grams very angry. I don't remember what it was, but I remember the look in her eyes. I remember how serious she was, and it scared the hell out of me. I haven't been that scared since dad died.

It was crazy, all the things she said. Stuff about skinwalkers, changers and wiping the white man from the good earth. That it was my job. She said that I--little me--had been born true. She knew, because when I was just a few days old, she had called this Thomas Builds the Fire to come look at me. He was a great theurge, whatever that is, and he came to perform some ritual on me. He told Grams I was a Wendigo born under the crescent moon. Then he bound the Sumesh to me. I don't know exactly what a Sumesh is, but Grams says it's like a guardian angel. A spirit watching over me. Builds the Fire said that, when my time was close, the Sumesh would emerge and lead me to the People. Or the people to me. Something like that.

I guess it doesn't matter now. When mom found out, she was furious. She and Grams had this huge fight. There's nothing new in that, but this one was bad. Mom threw things. She said things, like how Grams lived in a fantasy world that didn't exist anymore. How she wasn't going to let her daughter live in the past. I was supposed to go to school, find some better life than government powdered milk and frybread for breakfast. Grams told her she was a fool. That I couldn't escape who I was, no matter what white schools Leana sent me to. It all ended horribly. I don't honestly think they've said more than three words to each other since that day, and that was more than six months ago.

Mom packed us up, and we left town that weekend. At first I don't think even she knew where we were going. We wound up here, though. St. Claire Washington. And it sucks. School sucks, the city sucks. Everything. I miss Grams. Maybe she was a little nuts, but I liked singing with her. I liked our life. Hell, I even liked the lumps in the powdered milk. OK, maybe not, but the frybread's not the same when you use fresh milk for some reason. Maybe it's just Grams' touch I miss.

I've been skipping school a lot, hanging out at the Park with some friends I met. Getting in trouble. Nothing serious, but the other day mom freaked out. This girl Joannie and I had pinched some beer and gone down to the harbor to get high and try and spot cute dockworkers unloading freight. When I got home, she was waiting for me. I guess the school called and told her I was ditching. She smelled the beer, and maybe the joint too, I don't know. That was the first real whipping I'd had since I was young. She was screaming and yelling, all the time hitting me with this broomstick, telling me I was not going to waste my life like her.

I got a couple stitches out of that, but she got some too. I fought back. That's been happening a lot lately, too. She and I, fighting. Ever since I got here, to this stupid fucking white-man's town, everything's been wrong. I'm angry. I'm restless. I can't sleep to save my life, thanks to the dreams. Sometimes Grams is in them, sometimes it's this other creepy old Indian talking to me about a giant fetid dragon digging out trenches that become the course of the Spokane River. It's all confusing. Frustrating.

Mom's been talking about sending me away, to some white school in the east. There's no way in hell I'm going to some prissy little blonde-girl-prep-school. It's all just talk anyway, though. She can't afford anything like that with what they pay her at the diner. Still, she won't drop it. Every night, now, it's the same song and dance. 'Be better. Study. Be the good little girl. Get good grades. Do what I never did.' It's pissing me off. Sometimes I think about running off, seeing if I can find my way back to the Res. At least there I knew who I was. I was nobody, but that at least is familiar. There's nothing familiar here. And, I had Grams, and her cute but crazy little dreams.

Background info on the Spokane Tribe:

The Spokane Indians are of the Interior Salish group, which has inhabited northeastern Washington, northern Idaho, and western Montana for centuries. The native language spoken by the Spokanes is common to other Salish tribes with only a slight variation in dialect. Generally speaking, the Spokanes can converse easily in their native tongue with the Kalispels, Coeur d' Alenes, and Flatheads. There is a Coastal Salish group that includes tribes all over the Pacific Northwest coastlines, up into Canada and Alaska.

The aboriginal lands occupied by the Spokanes lay in eastern Washington along the Spokane River and surrounding area encompassing some three million acres. The vast domain began on the Columbia River near the present town of Hunters, moving easterly along Hunters Creek to Deer Lake. From Mount Spokane, it went south through Peone Prairie and the present town of Opportunity to a point near Rosalia. In the west, it extended from Ritzville north to the old townsite of Peach, and up the Columbia River to the point of beginning.

Nowadays, the Reservation surrounds the town of Wellpinit. It's nestled along the course of the Spokane river about fifteen miles southwest of Spokane city. It is small and has no BIA office of its own, instead sharing an agency with the Colville Reservation. Often, it is (in impolite circles) referred to as the Colville Res' 'step-child'.

The tribe originally consisted of three bands: Upper, Middle, and Lower. These terms were apparently applied by the white man to the three bands according to their location on the Spokane River. The Lower band usually occupied an area along the Spokane River from its mouth to the present site of Tumtum; the Middle band occupied the area from Tumtum to the mouth of Hangman Creek; and the Upper band lived in the Hangman Creek region and through the Spokane Valley as far as the present town of Post Falls, Idaho.

The word "Spokane" is generally accepted as meaning "Sun People" or "Children of the Sun", although the interpretation is somewhat controversial. In 1807 David Thompson, a trapper with the Northwest Fur Trading Company, first used the name "Spokane" in referring to the three Spokane bands.

Further info on Holly:

Her ancestors come from the Upper Spokane people, living closer to the source of the river--Lake Couer d'Alene in Idaho. Both the river and the lake were extremely important to the Spokanes. Her Wendigo blood comes down out of the Salish speaking peoples along the pacific coast, all the way up into Alaska. Like all Wendigo, Holly's a full-blooded Native American, though of mixed Salish ancestry. Her father, a Flathead, also had Wendigo blood in his background, though there are no great storytellers or loremasters to remember who they were or what deeds they did.

Holly has a high Pure Breed; I was thinking a 3, along with a little Past Life that occasionally manifests as knowledge of both her mortal tribe and Wendigo tribe's history in the region. Events and occurrences from the past sometimes come to her in dreams, and sometimes she just "knows things".

Personality-wise, she can be both stubborn and obnoxious but for the most part she'll be an intelligent, attentive cub--once she gets past the idea that Grams wasn't so crazy after all.

Statistically, I see her as balanced, with no one stat standing out disproportionally from the others. Mental primaries. She was born during a waxing crescent moon on June 19th, 1988. That makes her 14 going on 15, this summer.

Wizard comments--Why the character works:

  • Good sense of history and a realistic interpretation of reservation life along with the clash between the young and old generations.
  • Well-rounded and well-developed character with strengths and weaknesses.
  • No particular drive or motivation (yet), but the hint as to what direction the character will go later on is clearly there.
  • Left wanting to know and actually caring about what happens next with the character.

Lucas: Homid, Lost Cub, Ahroun

Name: Lucas Whistler
Age: 14
Date of Birth: December 20th, 1986
Birthplace: Lancaster, Pa
Race: Garou
Breed: Homid
Auspice: Ahroun (waning)
Tribe: Lost Cub
Rank: 0 (Cub)

He was seven years old, the black-haired boy that sat on the benches on the fringes of the baseball field. The kids were playing kickball, laughing and running until they were too dizzy and exhausted to breath, at which point the bell would ring and they would all drag themselves back inside for their next class. None of them had wanted him for their team. In the end, a teacher forced them to let him play, feeling sorry for the boy who'd just moved to the school halfway through the year. She had figured they were just shy of the new kid, but maybe children know better. Maybe they just know when something isn't right. They didn't want to play with the new boy, but Ms. Williams made them anyway.

The boy brushed the dirt from his pants as he watched an older classmate go skidding across the home plate, kicking up a cloud of dirt and sand through which the big red ball ripped through a second later. It was his turn now! He pushed himself up off the bench, feeling the muscles in his legs itch, wanting to kick that ball and run, run faster than any of his classmates and be into home before the other team even reached the ball. His feet scuffed the dirt as he walked, fingers dragging along the metal links of the cage as he watched the pitcher collect the ball and prepare to throw it. The boy stood on the base, preparing himself, watching the bright red ball and waiting for it to be released. He'd show them he was a good player, even better than they were!

... And then the bell rang. The boy watched the other kids take off for the building, eager to leave him and the dirty red ball behind. He clenched his fists, feeling the hot, angry tears well up in his eyes. Furious at himself for crying and furious at being unable to play, he let lose and kicked the ball as hard as he could, sending it sailing across the playground at which point he crumpled onto the ground and cried out his grief. By the time he'd gotten control of himself, the grounds were already long empty and classes had started. He'd be late to English again, which meant another note home and another detention. Lucas was beyond caring. If they didn't want to play with him, then he didn't want to play with them either, the boy thought fiercely to himself as he stalked for the school.


It was around Easter when Mikhail wandered into the streets of Lancaster, eyeing the Amish and their carts with a lofty amusement. His eyes were bleary with drink, but the Ragabash felt just fine. Why he was in this shit hole of a town, he wasn't so sure of, but he did remember something about "checking out the competition," though he had the sneaking suspicion he wasn't in the right place. No matter. While he was here, he might as well find something to amuse himself, so off to the nearest bar he went. It was there Mikhail, a somewhat less-than-competent Shadow Lord, crossed the path of Alexis Horne, a frequent patron of the Rusty Nail bar and a perfectly normal woman of twenty-two. The two hit it off spectacularly despite having nothing in common, largely thanks to several stiff drinks apiece. In the morning, however, they couldn't recognize the other and went their separate ways with headaches, doubts, and something else between them.

Lucas Horne was born late in a cold and snowy December, a ten-pound baby with raven black hair and charming blue eyes. Alexis, a single mother who had more Monopoly money than real money, was quick to ask the government for aid. The W.I.C. program was her savior, and it was on that and welfare the two lived on for quite some time. For five years, Alexis managed to keep a job at the Rusty Nail and make enough to support her and her son. When the Nail went under and no one else wanted to hire a poorly-educated woman who had to bring her son to work, Alexis had to find ways of keeping her sanity, which unfortunately did more to harm it than save it. Drugs soon began taking over her life, and young Lucas was kicked to the side. It was two years before the neighbors decided to act. Two years of seeing a woman spiraling downwards. Two years of seeing a little boy dig through the trash and beg for food. They called the police, and it wasn't long before Lucas was whisked away to a state-run orphanage in Harrisburg, never to see his mother again.

He was seven. Thankfully, it wasn't long before a couple, barren and unable to have their own children, discovered the blue-eyed and black-haired boy. After several meetings and a thorough background and compatibility check, Lucas was formally adopted into the Whistler household. His bags were packed and, with his new family, made the long plane trip to St. Claire's, Washington, which would be his new home. The Whistler's were soon to discover, however, that raising Lucas was going to be a hefty problem. The boy was highly reclusive and fiercely independent, both fueled by his ability to care for himself and the poor treatment he received from his peers at school. His formidable temper kept him from making friends, and his desire to be the best at whatever he did made him a poor team player unless he was the leader, which given his temper, never happened. The other children avoided him, and even the bullies gave him plenty of room in passing. The Whistlers tried enrolling him in sports, which Lucas excelled at physically, but always it was the team who drove him away. Therefore, the Whistlers resorted to more solitary recreation, like martial arts to give him discipline that he could practice by himselfr. Academically, he was an average student, scoring B's at best and D's at worst in his classes to which he was frequently late and uncooperative.

Things only got worse as he got older. Lucas eventually estranged himself completely from his peers, when not even the Goths, Punks, and other social outcasts would accept him. Driven to the fringes by his schoolmates and by himself, Lucas absorbed himself into things like boxing and hiking, things he could do alone to vent his frustration and growing anger. Despite being a handsome and well-built young man, no one wanted to be around him, not even his own family. Instinctively afraid of the boiling, pent-up Rage in their son, the Whistlers left Lucas to his own, often leaving his dinner for him on the table while they went out to be with friends. Spending more time on the streets than at home, Lucas was drawn to drugs and alcohol like his mother was. He bought most of the time through Rich Devalco, a nineteen year old dealer, who Lucas met through one of his classmates, Rich's brother Martin. The Devalco brothers were the closest Lucas ever had to "friends," but the relationship was always more of a business class and information network than true camaraderie. Lucas periodically ran with the small gang Rich led, accompanying them when they needed his physical skills to strip cars or fight a rival gang. He'd often come home bruised and bloody, from some street fight or another, but never very worse for wear.

His Rage, so long encaged and fueled by anger and grief, was finally gnawing its way free. Having just turned fourteen, the wolf is throwing itself at the bars of its prison and is nearly free, thirsting for blood to cool the fire in its veins.

GM Information

* Personality: Fueled by his anger, Lucas is quick to judge and slow to forgive. He doesn't understand why no one likes him and his ignorance only serves to irritate him further. He is not alone by choice and yearns to have those who would accept him, but having been scorned so many years has lent to paranoia, and any signs of friendliness are bound to be met with suspicion on his part. He's just not used to being treated with kindness or acceptance. He's a perfectionist when it comes to his own state of being. Even though he has the drive to succeed, he lacks the discipline and focus.

* Appearance: Lucas is a handsome Caucasian boy with black hair and clear blue eyes. He's very athletic and well built for his age, though more in the taunt spring sort of way than a hulking brute. He has a typical variety of scars from sports and fights, and one more noticeable scar low across his chest where a knife got a bit too close in a brawl. His clothing is typical of middle-class America, with a good dose of rips, tears, and dirty scuffs typical of someone who spends a lot of times outdoors and doing things.

* Experiences: Lucas is a whiz when it comes to being tough. He's had years of physical training, in things like martial arts, boxing, wrestling, and anything where he can get in and get sweaty. He'd be a good competitor in any of these, if only he had the discipline and self-control. Unfortunately, his temper always gets in the way, and thus someone with the same level of skill--or slightly less skill--can always topple his best efforts as his rage gets in the way and clouds his judgement and reason.

On the streets, however, his ferocious temper is what's kept him alive. He's a berserker in a fight, and a merciless brawler who's had plenty of practice. For the past four years, his father has also allowed him to use the training equipment downstairs, and Lucas has focused primarily on weight training of which he devotes a good portion of his time to. For a fourteen year old, he's well toned and could probably surpass any of his classmates easily in strength. He started working odd jobs when he was twelve, doing lawn moving and assisting Mr. Whistler in his home construction/renovation small business under the table, which has provided him roughly $700 in his bank account.

* Contacts (1 point background): Rich and Martin Devalco -- Nineteen and fifteen year old (respectively), the brothers are resident drug dealers, thieves, and gangsters in St. Claire. With some minor form of payment, either money, services, or "favors," the brothers would be happy to assist Lucas in getting drugs, small-time weapons (pistols, knives, etc.), or information regarding what's happening on the streets.

Wizard comments--Why the character works:

  • Good grasp of both the positive and negative effects of rage.
  • Application gives sufficient detail for how the character will act IC in given future situations and hints at potential future strengths and weaknesses.
  • Martial arts/combat background is strong, but explained in detail and not overtly twinkish. About what one would expect for someone that was 14 years of age.
  • Interesting inner conflict and poor social skills that will provide for interesting RP later.

Dirk: Kinfolk, Bone Gnawers

Name: Dirk Dawson, Private Investigator
Race: Kinfolk (Bone Gnawer)
Age: 29


Dirk Dawson lives in San Francisco, and has ever since he was 9 years old when his parents split up. The divorce had gone about as amiably as such things usually go where infidelity is concerned. In truth, Dirk hadn't learned about his father's unfaithfulness until he was well into his late teens, and even then it was Uncle Seamus who'd spilled it.

Dirk had been 12, Uncle Seamus had been a bit drunk and loose-lipped, and Dirk's mother -- a woman of strong convictions who considers that private things should stay private -- had been furious. She'd shooed Dirk from the room immediately, then turned on her older brother and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was /never/ to speak ill of her ex-husband again. Then, later, after Seamus had left, she called Dirk down for milk and a piece of cake and quietly explained to him that his father was a good man, but a man with weaknesses, ones she could not live with.

Dirk's mother never regretted the divorce, but neither would she allow badmouthing of her ex, especially not by Dirk. "For good or ill, he's your father and deserves your respect." In the end, Dirk absorbed his mother's opinion of Michael Dawson (who visited only twice but called frequently), and while he never developed anything more than a distant filial love for the man, he still had that sense of blood-loyalty and respect.

Katherine Dawson, Dirk's mother, was (unsurprisingly) a strong influence in his life, but she wasn't the only one. Uncle Seamus was the other and, much to Katherine's chagrin, much more of a father-figure. Where Katherine was organized, strict, straight-laced and highly moral, Uncle Seamus Joyce (nicknamed "No Shame-us" by his friends) was a free spirit and more casual in his attitude toward strict morality. He wasn't a criminal, but he counted more than a few criminals as friends: a trait which was no handicap in his career.

Uncle Seamus was a private investigator. Still is, though the old man is nearing retirement and looking forward to settling down and living on the tidy little nest egg he's saved in the many years of his work. He taught Dirk everything he knows and could easily be said to be responsible for his nephew's chosen profession. From a gift of _The Maltese Falcon_ on Dirk's 13th birthday to letting the kid work for him when he was 17 to helping Dirk with the startup for his own PI business, Uncle Seamus has been behind his protege every step of the way.

Katherine did not approve and still does not approve. To her, private things ought to remain private, and snooping around in other people's business is low, dirty work. She frowned every time Seamus gave Dirk a Dashiel Hammett book and did her best to discourage Dirk from his youthful fantasies of being Sam Spade or the Continental Op. It was not until he turned 17, though, and came home excited about a chance to work with Uncle Seamus and do _real detective work_ that she was tempted to put her foot down with finality. She might have done it, too, if their family had been like every other human family in the world. If all their relatives had been normal.

Katherine, like her bother Seamus, and like her son Dirk, was Bone Gnawer Kinfolk. Unlike Seamus, though, Katherine wanted nothing to do with her werewolf cousins or their war. The Garou had brought her nothing but pain, and she often wondered if the lies she had had to tell to her ex might have somehow poisoned their relationship and led to his infidelity. She wanted to save her son from a similar experience. Katherine had left San Francisco to be free of it and had been relieved to be left alone when she'd returned.

Seamus, on the other hand, revelled in his connection with the Garou, and most of his best contacts on the street were Bone Gnawer cousins and half-cousins and sort-of-cousins. He'd developed, in his lifetime, a close relationship with the SanFran Bone Gnawers, this high regard helped in part because he (along with Katherine) was the offspring of the late Gnawer Galliard Lord Hamlet, a half-crazed old theater bum who'd been something of a favorite for his skill at storytelling. Seamus' good standing with the tribe was bolstered by his skill as an investigator and his willingness to champion the causes of the downtrodden. Plus, Seamus' contacts with the police often came in useful.

Seamus was proud of his heritage. Katherine was not. Seamus wanted Dirk to follow in his footsteps. Katherine wanted Dirk to live a normal, happy life instead. At 17, Dirk still had not been brought "into the fold" -- he didn't know about the Garou.

Thus it was that Katherine offered Seamus a bargain. She would stop trying to stand in the way of Dirk's dream to be a PI and Seamus' desire to teach the kid the business. In return, though, she wanted Seamus' promise that he would keep Dirk as separate from the War as he could. Seamus agreed, more for his love for his little sister than anything, and though in the course of Dirk's "education" he met many of Seamus' weirdo street-people contacts, he never learned the big secret.

Nearly 30, Dirk's been at the private dick business for some time and, like his uncle, has developed a solid reputation with the local Gnawers, who have been known to toss a clue his way and have been more helpful than most contacts tend to be. Dirk, for his part, suspects that there is some kind of organization... an "old boys club" that happens to include some women. Or something. He really doesn't know what's going on and remains without clue in that regard.

One month ago, Dirk's garou father disappeared. In a call just before the disappearance, he'd mentioned needing to go to St. Claire on a business trip.

Michael Dawson's disappearance comes at a time when Dirk's been getting tired of the big city and wanting to ease up a bit. Even if this weren't so, he'd still come to St. Claire to try to find out what happened to his father. Because he is, after all, his /father/--even if he's only seen him twice in his life. Dirk's not breaking any ties in San Francisco, but plans to use some of his money to open up a small office and rent an apartment in St. Claire, while the small house he owns outside of SanFran will be rented out.

Seamus, knowing what Dirk plans, has asked the SanFran Gnawers to contact the tribe in St. Claire to let them know who Dirk is and what the situation with him is. He also asked them to keep his nephew in the dark about the Garou as a personal favor, /unless such ignorance would endanger him/. As far as his mother goes, both Seamus and Dirk are telling her that he's taking a much needed vacation on the east-coast.


In many ways, Dirk would fit right into a Dashiel Hammett novel or a film noir. He's a PI who likes being a PI, even when the job's grungey or tedious. He's an ethical guy who strives to do the right thing, even if it means turning in the beautiful dame that's captured his eye (and he has a weakness for the fairer sex). Private Investigation is his religion; he quotes from _The Maltese Falcon_ like a fundamentalist quotes from the Bible. He doesn't smoke, though he has been known to take a nip from the flask in his trench.


He's determined to find his father (or what happened to him), but it's not a driving obsession -- he's also determined to relax now that he's away from SanFran. If he begins to suspect that his father disappeared from foul play, /then/ he might kick the search into high gear. Stats-wise, he's mental primary, social secondary. His resources are technically at 3 (the P.I business has been good to him), but because of circumstances (living here while maintaining a small home in the big city), he'll be operating at Res 2 while in St. Claire.

Wizard comments--Why the character works:

  • Well-developed concept and character
  • Potential conflict between the local Garou and Dirk as the Garou try to not clue him in while simultaneously assisting him as contacts/sources in investigations where a human influence can be more effective than a frontal assault by the garou.
  • Style points for wanting to play a gumshoe and actually having read Dashiel Hammett as a base starting point for the PC. Classy and classic.
  • On the other hand, it could potentially be difficult to get RP for this character in a game where almost all the PCs are Garou and not necessarily city-oriented. It makes for a good alternate character--which this PC would be for the player that applied it.

Raul: Homid, Bone Gnawers, Cliath, Theurge

Name - Raul Fixes-Stuff
Tribe - Bone Gnawers
Auspice - Theurge
Rank - Cliath (1)

Raul was born into the Black Fury tribe at the Sept of the Eternal Circle in Denver. Being born a garou male into the Black Furies meant that, as soon as Raul was old enough to be handed over to another set of parents without worry for his survival, and since nobody else would take him, he became the child of a Bone Gnawer 'encampment.' That is to say, he was raised by a group of five Gnawer kinfolk who clubbed together for survival. From the age of two or three months, Raul was raised on the streets of Denver, treated to the very best in life that his five adoptive parents could offer - a cardboard box reinforced with duct tape and hope, the cleanest slice of pizza in an open box that was overlaid with rotting trash, milk that was only a /few/ days off and /probably/ wouldn't hurt.

Growing up amid the grit and grime of the streets gives one a rather cynical outlook on life. Even at the age of five, when he was introduced to the novel idea of book-learning at school, Raul worried some of his teachers with his too-mature views, preferring to just get on and do what was needed rather than spending time at play and finding school to be just another challenge that had to be survived--though a challenge that came with a free lunch five days a week. He had difficulty making friends in his own year - either they looked down on him, or (in two or three rare instances) tried too hard to be friends with the 'weird' one who didn't live in a house, didn't have a TV or Playstation, and never invited people over to his place for dinner.

Throughout his school life, Raul dedicated his attention to the study of books and numbers, realising that he had a chance to learn that was denied so many others - painfully evident in some of his contemporaries on the street. Even at seven, the only lessons they were learning was how to spot and steal and unattendend or poorly watched item or who to beg from, which trash heaps had the best junk and which shop-owners wouldn't mind you sleeping in their doorways at night. So, determined not to waste his chance, Raul managed to get himself some decent grades through elementary and junior high, even if he skipped high school in favour of scavenging and scrounging. After all, if you don't take the time to dig for food and secure yourself some cool stuff, you're going to get nowhere on the streets. In this, Raul developed a talent for fixing junk into working Loot, stuff you could trade for food or pawn off for a quick buck or two, as long as he had the right tools handy. Not hard to scavenge a screwdriver or spanner from the nearby junkyard, either.

After about a year outside school, approaching his twelfth birthday, Raul's collective parents took him aside and began to explain Things[tm] to him - the existence of Werewolves and their relations, the Auspices and Tribes, of Gaia, the Triat and the never-ending battle with the Wyrm. The basics that an in-the-know kinfolk would have. This information he dutifully soaked in and began to think about, as they also noted that, assuming their guess was correct about his heritage, he would go through his First Change soon. Studying what they'd told him, Raul did all he could to prepare for the Change, even going so far as preparing himself somewhere to hide, in case the worst came to the worst, and he ended up killing someone.

It didn't, however, prove necessary. As Raul began to feel the effects of his building Rage, his Fetch went off to alert the Garou of the nearby Sept (Gaia's Blessing), and they took him into the bawn and away from prying human eyes. His Change was eventually prompted after they'd put him in a locked room and given him some stuff to sort through, and he was having trouble making this one piece of junk work like it should - potential loot is worth working on, after all, but he had no tools! Frustration mounted. In a fit of pique, he threw the object (an alarm clock) against the wall, shattering it and sending cogs and clockwork components all over the place. That was the last straw - Raul began to smash all of the stuff he'd been given to look after, the heated emotions that precluded his Change manifesting thusly.

When the other Garou came to find Raul, he was curled up in a corner, the floor and liberally strewn with broken-up stuff. He apologised profusely for breaking up so much (in his eyes) valuable property, before being assured that it was okay, none of the stuff was as important as helping a cub through his First Change - this being one of the few bloodless transitions for a Garou cub's first change.

Raul was taught alongside a group of other cubs who'd changed within a month or two of him, with his own learning focused intently on the world of spirits. His garou education was stereotypical Gnawer fare and nothing unusual happened to him through his cubhood until the end, when he was sent on his Rite of Passage with a group of Bone Gnawer cubs drawn together from nearby septs. Joshua - a Galliard with a voice like an angel and who fought like a devil, Lexi - a Ragabash with incredible scouting skills, and Cari - a Metis and Ahroun, ever fighting as if she had something to prove.

Their task was simple, yet abnormally long for a traditional Rite of Passage. They were to be sent to a nearby city, and to survive there on their own, without the help of any Kinfolk or Garou, and without getting jobs or trying to soften their living by buying weaver-trappings, for a duration of four months. Also, they had to determine who or what had been recently killing homeless people in the city.

Each cub did their own thing, found some way of making money or scrounging, finding food enough to feed all four of them. The cubs lived in a communal set of cardboard boxes, reinforced with whatever junk they could find. Raul used his talent for fixing junk into loot to buy the group a hot meal once a week - even if it was only a sackful of McDOnalds value menu items, it was better than nothing. For four months they lived as true Bone Gnawers, supporting themselves and each other, fighting off threats and helping the local homeless community. As a result of this pack-like bonding together for support and protection, they also noticed when a pair of college frat boys dropped by with baseball bats to bludgeon to death one of their homeless neighbors. The cubs intervened, killed the pair of humans that had been murdering bums for fun, and solved the mystery within just three months. The fourth month passed and the time came for them to return to Denver. Upon their arrival, each was presented with a wooden spoon wrapped in scavenged tinfoil, and deemed to be true Gnawers. Raul was given the name 'Fixes-Stuff', to honour his part in keeping the group alive and healthy.

The group, cemented together by their trials and tribulations, formed a true pack under a Raccoon and inhabitted a local land fill. They guarded the trash mountain zealously and salvage plenty of cool stuff and loot, by which they kept themselves reasonably well fed during the times when dumpsters turned up little food.

Life proceeded along at this slow and rather uneventful pace, the only difference in days being when the trash-collectors dropped off more potential stuff, and the times when Raul could convince a Gnawer Elder to teach him a new rite or gift, usually by bribing them with a handy piece of junk that they liked.

During his sixteenth year, Raul found himself involved in a rather impromptu and unexpected relationship with a Walker kinswoman by the name of Jenny. Naturally, her own Tribe didn't think too well of this, so the pair kept it quiet, hush-hush, their romance lived entirely between her small apartment and whatever privacy Raul could sort out at the trash heap, which wasn't much. Eventually, after almost a year of being careful, sneaking around and watching backs, her Tribe found out they were still dating, expressed their displeasure to the elder Bone Gnawers, who in turn warned Raul away from his love. So, realising that they couldn't remain a couple where they were, the pair decided to leave Denver, with Jenny sinking funds into buying a camper they could live in, and wisely making sure Raul wasn't holding the key to her savings. She knew from experience how bad he - like every Gnawer - was with money.

Things went well at first; the pair relocated to Salt Lake City, and while Raul couldn't keep from settling in with other Bone Gnawers, Jenny kept the fact that she was part of the Glass Walker tribe to herself, though freely admitted to being unspecified Kinfolk, ever willing to help out where she could. Jenny scored herself a decent job and apartment, circumspectly using her own income to make sure Raul got decent food a couple of times a week. All was fine and well for half a year - until the couple had a lengthy and very heated argument (on a full moon, no less) about how Raul didn't want to get a job, didn't ever save money against harder times, and was generally unreliable. Knowing that neither of them were likely to change, they decided that splitting up was best. Jenny moved back to Denver within the month and since Raul was no longer happy just spending his days bumming around looking for junk, he decided to wander for a bit to see if a change of scenary would bring a change of luck.

It's in this way that Raul entered Washington. Growing tired of the road he'd spent the past half-year travelling on, he began making his own way to the closest city - St Claire. It's here he hopes to make a life for himself again, starting afresh without lingering girlfriends or doubts about fitting in.

Ever since his birth, Raul has simply been surviving and contributing little--especially to the garou as a whole. Half a year on the road gives a man a lot of time to think, and maybe it's time now that surviving alone shouldn't be the only thing he does with his whole life.

Wizard comments--Why the character works:

  • Excellent character history that leaves you with a "feel" for how the character works both inside and out.
  • No obvious worldview issues.
  • It's a cliath and has a detailed RoP that fits within worldview--even though it is an unusually long RoP. It fits within the concept of the tribe and character.
  • Explanation for the character's extra experience in rites--and thus a justification for the Rites background.
  • No hints of munchkinism and a good balance of strengths and weaknesses.
  • Good, solid lead-in to why the character is now in St. Claire.
  • Explanation as to why the character never sought out rank/renown before and thus has little in the way of it beyond that of a recently rited cliath--so it's an excellent "base" character despite having years of experience under his belt as a garou (just not an active garou).
  • The reader is left wanting to know what happens next with the character.
  • All-around solid "base cliath" starting character with a "ritualist" emphasis instead of a spirit-savy theurge (which would require a much more extensive background to demonstrate spirit worldview knowledge).

Rejected Applications That Can Still Be Salvaged

Rheen: Homid, Child of Gaia, Cub, Galliard

Name: Rheen Garber
Race: Garou
Breed: Homid
Auspice: Galliard
Tribe: Children of Gaia
Rank: Cub (0)
Age: 17

A Boeing 727 cuts smoothly through the sky on its way west, leaving a trail of clouds that stretches behind it for several miles before fading. On board, blending with the ever-present whine of the planes' electronics and the low drone of too many conversations, the sound of a clacking keyboard can be heard. A tired looking girl who in her late teens leans up against the window, her face tinted an odd shade of blue from the screen of the laptop on the tray table. She stops typing for a moment to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes, and edges a bit farther over from the large woman spasmodically applying make-up in the seat next to her. She lets out a long breath and glances out the window at the clouds beneath the plane, and the cabin is once again filled with soft clicks.

Well, I made it. Here I am, headed for St. Claire City University in Washington. I can hardly believe it. I'm finally free from my parents and high school, and I'm about to start college. Wow.

I hope I fit in, coming in the middle of the year and all. I'm not sure how my parents talked me into leaving high school early. I mean, I have enough credits to graduate, but I'm already a year ahead of everyone else my age and, well, college? Not only that, college all the way out in Washington? I swear, sometimes I think my parents are trying to get rid of me. This will certainly be a change from home--the tiny 'Town of Schroon', in upstate New York. Yeah, New York state. Some people don't seem to realize there's more in New York than just New York City. I've only ever been to NYC maybe twice in my life, and I hated it. No, I come from the mountains, where you can actually breathe air instead of car exhaust, and it's dark at night. (scary, huh?) I guess I'm already a little homesick, but I should think a little of that is to be expected.

I love my new laptop! I mean, I know it'll be obsolete in a couple of months, but right now it's state of the art! I'm getting really off the point right now, it's probably all the caffeine I had this morning. I was up all night last night packing... can we say procrastination? I didn't start actively packing until last week when my mom finally stopped bugging me about it. I wanted to do it and all, but I couldn't until she got off my back. It became a matter of pride; I couldn't let it seem like she had told me to pack, I had to make it clear that it was my idea to do it. At least, that's how I rationalize it now that I've had a while to think about it. I think I was just pissed at her for bugging me so much and did it to spite her. Do you know how hard it is to pack up your entire life in six days? I'm doing it again, aren't I? Ok, so I'm a bit scatterbrained. Tough.

I wonder what courses I'll sign up for? I think I'm going to be a theatre major, but I'm not sure yet. I might go into music or even graphic arts. I've always loved being the center of attention, more often than not getting the lead the school plays and community theatre stuff. My mom says I get it from my dad. My dad says I'm a spot-light junkie. That's another great thing about going so far away to college. Nobody here knows me. I hope I'll make some close friends here, I sure didn't have many back home. I don't know why, but none of my peers ever got too close to me. Maybe that's the real reason I show off so much. The only time the people at school ever talked to me was after I'd performed. They complimented me, then hung out with me for a couple of days. Then they forgot about me. I guess I didn't act 'cool' enough for them. When I'm famous, I bet they'll all claim they were my best friends. I think I'll pretend not to remember them. It'll serve them right.

I still can't believe I'm about to start college. I mean, just this morning, I woke up in my bed, in my room, and ate my mom's waffles for breakfast. I even had time to watch a few of the usual Saturday morning cartoons before I grabbed my luggage and carry-on stuff (this laptop, a sketchbook, my camera, my penny whistle, and a roll of duct-tape, all in my big floppy backpack. I think this is the lightest it's ever been.) and got in the car. I don't remember the drive to Albany; I think I fell asleep. We got stuck in construction traffic (gotta love it!) on the way to the airport, so we had to run to the gate. We probably would have made it on time, but I got stuck in the metal detectors. I have this nasty habit of cramming a ridiculous amount of stuff in my pockets, and it took several precious minutes to get it all out onto the tray and back in again. No pressure. I thought I was going to get there just in time to see my plane taking off, but fortunately it was delayed. I got to spend a few precious bonus hours saying goodbye to my folks while technicians frantically repaired the plane's lavatory system. More than I wanted to know! I mean, I love them and all, but they can go a little overboard at times. I practically had to pry them off with a crowbar when they finally started boarding. I swear, my parents have to be some of the most over protective people in the world. I know I should be grateful, but they practically run my life! Even now, when I'm leaving home!

I'm leaving home. I can't believe I'm leaving home. I'm gone, and may not come back for a year or more. I might not see them again for a really long time, and they're, well, they're my parents! Sure, I know I wouldn't want anything to do with them if they weren't, but they are, and they were the only ones I had. Have. Even when people at school ignored me, or were mean to me, I always had my parents to come home to. What am I going to do now? I don't know if I'm ready to be alone. I think I'm beginning to understand why so few people go away early. I don't know why I let them talk me into it. Maybe they really are trying to get rid of me, maybe I caused them too much trouble. All I know is that around halfway through last year, I think a week or so after I got into that big fight with that bitch Melanie (dotted with a heart, no less!) and the slut squad, the 'rents started 'discussing options for my future'. They made it clear that there was a lot more out there than I could find in a small rural town, and I wasn't really learning anything in my current school. (I'm sure they were thinking 'except how to deck cheerleaders'. I still don't know what came over me, she was being an ass, and I started yelling, and they started yelling, and I don't know what came over me. I just wanted to make her hurt.) It didn't stop there, either. I kept getting into shouting matches and fist fights with people I used to just avoid.

I guess maybe I really was getting fed up with the place, all those jerks who seem to live only to make me miserable. I don't want to be there, but I don't know if I want to be here, either. I didn't even get much of a choice where I went, either. Sure, mom and dad made a big show of dragging me to all those college programs and getting me signed up for mailing lists and stuff, but they kept harping on this one particular place, and pointing out all the problems with the rest of them. I guess it's because St. Claire was my mom's home town, she must have convinced dad that this was the place for me, and they both went to work on convincing me. Here I am, so I guess it worked. I know I should be annoyed that she's so manipulative, (I know she did it) but I've gotten so used to it by now that the big things sort of go unnoticed until it's too late, and the little details (like packing) drive me up a wall. Dad won't even stay in the room whenever we have a full out argument. He says it's like the clash of the titans. Isn't that supposed to mean that we're equal in power? So why do I always lose? Why am I ranting about my parents? I might not see them again for months! I should be thinking about the good stuff. I should, but right now I'm too angry. I miss them so much already.

They're serving drinks now, so I'll try to wrap this up before the inevitable turbulence hits. Gee, more coffee. I wish they had tea. Maybe all the caffeine I'm having will screw up my sleep cycle so bad I won't notice the time difference. Well, I'll write again from on the ground, and if I don't, it'll probably be because I got sucked outside when I tried to use the can!

I've never kept a diary before, I wonder if I didn't make that all a little too corny, but no one's going to read it but me, so I guess it doesn't matter. I was waiting for some sort of watershed in my life to start documenting it, you know, starting out at a sort of beginning, (kinda missed the real one, you know?) and I guess college is as good a place to start as any. I mean, this is the start of the rest of my life. Here. Today. I'm finally free to make my own choices and take responsibility for my own actions, and I'm no longer just someone's friend, or my parents' perfect little girl. I'm me. I don't know if I'm excited, or scared out of my mind. What if I screw up? What if I shoot for the stars and miss? Where will I end up?

A little clarification:

A spotlight loving, idealistic, college kid with delusions of grandeur and an inferiority complex at the same time, Rheen enjoys playing all manner of musical instruments, writing, making wisecracks, getting attention, keeping attention, having things happen her way with no unforeseen twists, tea, making balloon sculptures, and long walks on the beach. Actually no, she is pathologically afraid of deep (10 or more feet) water, be it an ocean or a public swimming pool. She is also afraid of death, pain, loneliness, inadequacy and other such minor concepts. She has difficulty interacting with most people on more than a superficial level, often creating different personalities that deal with that interaction 'instead of her'. She has been hurt too many times, used by people she had thought she could trust, and blames herself for being too idealistic, although she would never drop her guard and say so. All this paranoia however, has made her extremely lonely, so she is always trying to draw attention to herself in hopes of making some sort of a connection, although she probably wouldn't know what it was if it happened. Who knows how many potential relationships she's neatly avoided? She also has an overactive imagination, probably from trying to figure out what someone's real agenda is before they ever speak to her. She will pretend to be all innocent and friendly, but she knows what's really going on.

Beneath all the jaded paranoia though, Rheen remains a die-hard idealist. She is sure that everyone is a good person, even if they don't know, or don't care. In a crunch, the best of everyone is brought out. She also believes all life is equally important, and while she has tried many times to become a vegetarian, (she got sick every time, and just couldn't do it.) she's pretty darn sure that 'the fly doesn't want to die.' On the other hand, sometimes people can be such jerks, she can't help wanting to make them hurt as much as she does-- or thinks she does. She has always had a quick temper, and even though she usually felt guilty about it afterward, has gotten into a fair number of fights, (Especially lately. Wonder why?) and even sent a kid to the emergency room once. Of course most of the time, she just wound up re-learning that no, bullies are bullies for a reason, and usually don't back off if you stand up to them.

She is stubborn, and a perfectionist in every sense of the word. When she undertakes a task, she will keep going until the job is done, or until she can't do it anymore. She is also extremely proud. She knows she's good, and wants everyone else to know it too, although at the same time, she is afraid of being thought of as being a snob without enough modesty. She wants credit where credit is due, and sometimes where it is not, (to make up for last time) but is usually afraid to claim it, instead suffering in silence and subconsciously hoping someone will take pity on her.

Rheen is currently torn in many directions, not sure what she really wants to do with her life, and still developing as a person. She wants to make a name for herself, to do everything, and be the best at it. She hates change, or when things don't go as planned, and feels insecure when she isn't the one doing the planning. This may make her transition to garou-dom particularly unpleasant, as not only is it definitely not what she had planned, but for someone who doesn't like change, having your body, the only one you've ever known, suddenly grow fur and a tail, and being expected to just live with it is, well, that ain't fun! (On the other hand, being garou might be the coolest thing that's ever happened to her, and it would certainly get some attention if it wasn't for that darn veil.)

Still, she does her best to keep a steady front, showing the world what she thinks they expect to see. That is, even while she's in the middle of it all, she still maintains that 'this teenage angst crap is for saps', and tries to joke her way out of any would-be stressful situations.

Wizard comments--Why the character was rejected but is still salvageable

  • Though certainly a good start, the character has a number of worldview issues, all of which could have been avoided by reading the character creation guide.
  • Worldview issue: With a minimum rage of 4, and as someone that gets into fights, the character would have had her first change probably at 13-14 years of age. 17 is way too late to be having a first change. This will require a minor rewrite of the application.
  • If the character was 13-14 years of age, it wouldn't be going off to college. That could be changed by having the parents sending the PC off to a private boarding school in St. Claire--like St. Uriels. Fortunately this is really the only "adult" issue facing the character in this application.
  • No information is given regarding the parents. Are they kin? Is one of them Garou (it doesn't appear so)? Is the Garou parent simply not in the picture anymore--but was around to attach a kinfetch? Otherwise this character is a Lost Cub and not a Child of Gaia. The latter is certainly possible (characters don't know the situation surrounding their birth other than what they're told later) but ought to be stated someplace so this is not a "I spontaneously became a Garou" situation.

Rejected Applications That Cannot Be Salvaged

Homid, Fianna, Cub, Galliard
Name: Riyan O'Riley (Garou name undecided as of yet)
Race: Garou
Breed: Homid
Auspice: Galliard
Tribe: Fianna
Rank: Cub (0)
Age: 14

Riyan had a pretty good "normal" life up until his first changing. Well liked at school by his teachers, good at sports since he was quicker and stronger than his peers, with average grades that were enough to please his parents and didn't take too much effort on his part to earn. He didn't fit in too well with his classmates, since he seemed to effortlessly excel at everything, and was stuck being the scapegoat of many of their own insecurities. He had a wonderful voice, and was a frequent soloist in the school's choir. He had an older sister, Breanna, who was a bit mean at times, whom he loved and tried to please whenever he could. His parents were as most parents are, loving and kind, yet his mother always seemed a bit distant to him. All in all, a good life smack dab in St. Claire. Up until the change. It happened to him late one night when he was coming home from a park. It was dark out, and he was hurrying, trying not to get caught out too late when some of the rougher citizens of the town liked to come out. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how one looks at the situation, his luck didn't hold out. A group of ten men, looking like they were in their early twenties, came out from an alley he passed by. The largest of them stopped him in his tracks with a blow to his gut, and the others closed in to quickly finish the job. He was beaten within an inch of his life when something inside finally came loose and snapped. His body doubled in size within seconds, tearing his clothes at the seams. His visage became bestial, wolfish, and with a howl of pure fury he threw his attackers from him. His attackers rose, and tried to run, but with a flash of fangs and claws, each ended up dead in the streets, their bodies horrendously maimed and their throats torn out. The creature howled again, and ran off into the night.

The next day came, and early in the morning the boy awoke. He was at home, in his bed, completely naked. As he slowly opened his eyes, he glanced at himself, and discovered with a mixture of fear and revulsion that his entire body was covered in dried blood. He ran to the bathroom and washed the blood from his body, sobbing quietly the whole time. He dressed himself quickly, and ran out of his house, and for most of the day he wandered the streets of St. Claire. Come nightfall, his brain had finally remembered a few bits and pieces of the previous night. Even as the few memories he managed to salvage came to him, he shuddered in revulsion of the slaughter that he had done. He started to make his way to his home, and as he was walking past that same park again a creature, seemingly a large dog, flew from the shadows knocking him down and his wind from him. Gasping and coughing, the boy turned to look at what had attacked him, and saw standing there a man who bore much resemblance to him. The man approached him, and heaving him over his shoulder, set off through the streets at an easy run. Soon the boy had his wind back again, and was struggling against the grip that was as strong as steel. The man carried the boy to the woods outside of town, and gently set him down. The boy backed away from him, and asked him who he was and why he had taken him. The man chuckled for a moment, posed the boy a question. "Don't you know your own father?" The boy gaped at him, and then slowly, seemingly reluctantly, he embraced the man. They talked for hours, the boy asking questions, the man answering them. The boy learned a bit about his conception, how the man had seduced his mother one night with his singing.

The night was still in full sway when suddenly the man stopped. He looked into the shadows, and sniffed the air. He rose to his feet, and hauled the boy to his as well, when they struck. Two of the kindred broke from the shadows and hurled themselves at the man. They knocked him down, and began clawing at biting at him. The man roared with rage and pain, and managed to shout to the boy "Run!" before his rage consumed him. Growling with pain and hatred, the man's body changed in front of the boy, much like his own had. The kindred jumped from the man, and warily circled him. The boy looked on in horror as they came at the wolf creature again, then turned and ran. The sounds of the pitched battle reached his ears as he broke through the forest, going into it deeper and deeper. Stumbling over a branch, he fell to the earth and struck his head on a rock,passing out. He woke up in an old cabin the next day, warm and covered. An old man approached his bed, and slowly watered and fed the boy. He then began to talk to him, asking questions, and finally revealed himself to be another one of the garou. He left the cabin once the boy fell asleep again, and found the spot where the battle had raged. All about was the blood of the fallen garou, and the man wept. He took the boy to the Caern, where he was received by the Fianna tribe, the tribe his father had hailed from.

Description: This isn't for sure or anything, but I see Riyan as a short, wiry young man with flaming red hair and somewhat tanned skin.

Wizard comments--Why the character concept was rejected and should be abandoned:

  • He's good at everything (sports, academics, musically gifted, and is well-liked by all) and has no weak areas. He's also really good at fighting because....
  • He kills ten people during his first change--in the city--leaving mangled corpses everywhere for the cops to find. (Potential veil breach. Also see the character creation guide for detailed information on worldview regarding a PC's first change.) This occurs in St. Claire, where the local Garou will have to deal with the fallout.
  • The character got back into his house and into bed--naked and bloody--after presumably running through the densely populated city of St. Claire in crinos or lupus the night of his first change. And no one noticed a werewolf running through the streets and the parents never noticed said werewolf unlocking the door to the house and sneaking off to bed or the blood that was likely tracked through the house and left on the doorknobs and whatnot.
  • Though it's not mentioned, apparently the character has a kinfetch that went off and contacted the nearest garou of his tribe--which happened to be his father and notany of the in-the-city-and-on-the-game garou. All garou within the game's setting--St. Claire, Kent Crossing, and Wolf Woods--must be applied for.
  • His father shows up in St. Claire and shifts in a public park, attacks and kidnaps the kid, throws him over his shoulder, runs off with him in public, and physically carries him from a St. Claire park to the woods--a distance of several miles which involves crossing over a long bridge that goes over the Columbia River. No of the likely hundreds or thousands of passerbies, motorists, or law enforcement take any notice of this at all.
  • The character gets "training" and "education" about the garou--and none of what was learned is discussed and the -reg wizard has no idea whether this training/education conforms to GarouMUSH worldview or not--nor the extent of what was commmunicated in the brief time that the pair was together.
  • Random kindred attack out in the woods, where kindred tend to not go, for no reason at all.
  • Random old guy with a cabin on the bawn shows up to collect the kid who, despite killing 10 people the night before in his first change, ran from a pair of kindred (which he presumably knew nothing about and probably saw as being nutball humans out in the woods at night?) and left his father to fend for himself and die--then tripped and knocked himself out.
  • The old guy with the cabin is a member of the sept on-game and therefore must be an existing character--and this is clearly not the case.
  • Description-related: A tanned Irish red-head? :)
  • Overall, the application focuses on a series of action-related events in order to develop the character. In essence, simply developing a story (which has numerous worldview issues and doesn't fit in with the MUSH) rather than developing the actual character background, motivations, values, strengths, weaknesses, desires, loves, hates, beliefs, etc.--the things that make a character a character.
  • There's no way to save this application. The applicant would be advised to completely scrap the application and try again from the ground up after reading the character creation guide.

Last updated on Dec 31, 2006.