Fantasy Gaming, SciFi and Irreverence

The map itself made the trip look very simple.

Once out of Knoxville on I-40, the young werewolves would follow St Rt 66 to Seiversville, then St Rt 71 to Pigeon Forge where they would pick up US Route 441 down into the Great Smoky Mountain Park and into the Qualla Boundary Reservation. Once there, directions stated that US Rt 441 becomes Tsali Blvd, and the searchers should follow Big Cove Rd to Grassy Branch Rd, and then 'go until the gravel road ends'.

"Might wanna stop in Pigeon Forge before headin' over the mountain. Bad place to find bathrooms up there. This is the quickest way to where you're going." The friendly note was signed with "J <>", a play on his name.


The trip out of Knoxville on I-40 was quick, with the exit to Seiverville and St Rt 66 barely 15min out of town. The way to Pigeon Forge was well-marked by brown tourism signs, giving the mileage in clear letters. Farmland framed the roadway, large rounded haybales echoing the rolling hills that were never far away. Signs for "Douglas Lake" came and went, internet maps showing a huge dam impoundment snaking towards the east.

The trees down here were already turning the mountains burgandy, amber, crimson, and gold. Green pines still tall, darkly accenting their more colorful neighbors. September in these hills was temperate, noticeably cooler than the concrete-held heat of Knoxville. The folds and peaks of the Great Smoky Mountains towered here, cupping the road and fields like water in a child's hands.

As they came into Pigeon Forge, the signs for DollyWood and other local attractions were obnoxious. Dolly Parton's face (and other assets) were everywhere they looked. Yet there was still somehow a small-town feel to the town that wasn't quite artificial. The gas stations even still offered Full Service, filling your car with gas while the attendants cleaned your windshields and checked your oil for you. Signs showed US Rt 441 would continue South towards Gatlinsburg and the Qualla Boundary Reservation, with mile markings showing the Reservation would be 35miles away.

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Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers

Werewolves and traffic were an awful combination at the best of times, but fortunately the roads were wide enough until they got to a town named (Sophie could scarcely believe it) Pigeon Forge. The question of exactly what sorts of pigeons were forged here was one she would leave to one side for a moment.

The road had been fast enough, but perilously thick with motorhomes and RVs, packed to the gunwales with tourists viewing the admittedly stunning foliage this time of year. Sophie found that it set her teeth on edge. She didn't mind crowds per se, she was from a megalopolis after all. But this was different. Cities were designed for crowds, built around them, constructed from the ground up to house and transport and service millions upon millions of people, like living organisms comprised of countless cells. They were supposed to have swarms of people, couldn't survive without them. There was a natural symbionic rhythm to them as a result, despite everything, that most other werewolf clans simply couldn't see.

This place was not designed for crowds, despite the parkways and gas stations lain crudely down atop it, and it showed, a sort of weird gestalt made more visible by the tourist crowds. The roads up ahead would be smaller still, if the satellite footage was to be trusted, yet it wasn't the lack of lanes that was the problem. It was something she couldn't quite put her tongue on, some nameless sense that somewhere, perhaps decades ago, something had fallen off the rails in a way just subtle enough to preclude an obvious answer.

She growled, she hoped to herself, as she pulled into the gas station (though in fairness to the surroundings, she had though full service gas stations were a myth). Up ahead the directions would get spotty and the cell and satellite coverage worse, so she decided to switch out and check the road ahead in more detail.

"Alex, you want to take over?" she asked. "I'm gonna see if I can find out what's waiting for us up in those mountains".

Other than nausea-inducing hairpin turns of course.

_________________
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."

"Sure thing," said Alex. The tall man left the car, stretched, and yawned. "Cooped up for too damn long," he said as he rolled his shoulders. "I'm going to see if they have some pepperoni or beef jerky for The Appetite on Four Legs," and headed inside.

_________________
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

Alex slid into the driver's seat and held up one of the packages of pepperoni he had purchased. "Be a good Lupus and you'll get this at the end of the trip."

_________________
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

Though still in his "Joe-Smith" homid form, Sees-Faces grinned at Alex's offer. "Those drymeats are delicious yes - but depends on what you mean when you say 'good', no?"

To his credit, "Joe-Smith" hadn't thrown out the used sauce packets out the side - he'd even thrown them in the round things where humans put the corpses of things both living and not when they'd stopped.

_________________
"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes."

- William Gibson

Josh wrote:

What? There's nothing weird about having a pet housefly. He smuggles cigarettes for me.

"Consider this a test on human customs," said Alex. "If I think you pass, you get meat." He turned on the engine and headed out of the gas station.

_________________
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

The road continued to be divided 4-lane highway, following the Little Pigeon River south to Gatlinsburg. The tourist RVs and campers that had annoyed Sophie pulled off into the many campgrounds that dotted the landscape. Passing the turnoff for Dollywood showed cars lined up waiting to get inside the amusement park, but cleared the road in front of them for the most part.

Gatlinsburg was not much larger than Pigeon Forge, but was just as thick with tourist attractions. Billboards touted the Gatlinsburg Aerial Tramway, the Hollywood Wax Museum, the Gatlinsburg Castle, and the "Christ in the Smokies" Christian Musuem. Fans of 80s TV were lined up outside "Cooter's Place", and more than one blaze-orange racecar with "01" could be seen in the parking lot.

Yet for all the consumerism and Weaver-tech, the Great Smoky Mountains stood tall and proud. Their high ridges and deep hollers rose above the towns; the brilliant golds and crimsons bronzed the steep sides. Even the tacky tourist traps couldn't equal Gaia's own fall glory.

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Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers

Frankly, after a while, you seen one mountain coated with foliage, you seen em all.

Yes, that was highly unfair. Sophie'd even managed to do some sightseeing on the way up this treacherous hell-road, but frankly, she was a bit more worried about becoming hopelessly lost in this place or having the car plunge off a cliff, with which these parts were plentifully equipped.

"I think we're getting close," she said, using the periodic peaks and ridges they were going over to download further bits of data she thought might come in handy on this region.

_________________
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."

Having stayed in the form of "Joe-Smith" the whole time, Sees-Faces was just staring out the sides of the big, moving stinky Weaver box with wheels, and staring at the scenery from this view. Homid senses were much more dull, sure - but he began to understand why some humans liked to stare at nature.

At the sound of Sophie speaking up, Sees-Faces shook his head to bring himself back to the present. "Adventure, then hamburgers," he said with a grin. "Can we make fun of hicks?"

_________________
"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes."

- William Gibson

Josh wrote:

What? There's nothing weird about having a pet housefly. He smuggles cigarettes for me.

"Sorry Sof, we're not that lucky," said Alex. "More scenic mountain roads for us. A lot more. On the plus side, we seem to be gelling as a pack."

_________________
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

Alex's warning was sadly true. After Gatlinsburg, US Rt 441 became a well-kept two-lane road, following the Little Pigeon River upstream. It was an enjoyable ride, the river having long ago carved a large mostly flat bottom land out of the mountains. Smooth pools of water reflected the fall colors of the mountainside, creating an illusion that the mountains went down deeper into the river bottom's depths.

But all good things must end. The large river valley narrowed, the fall colored mountain slopes squeezing in, forcing the river into a torrent of fast-running white-water. Rt 441 was squeezed off the flatter bottom land and up onto the hillside, still running parallel to the river until reaching the bridge across it.

On the other side of the river the road started up into the mountains for real. The road twisted back the way they came, rising 100ft in roughly half a mile, before hitting a switchback that popped ears. Another half-mile and they were back to the bridge, now 200ft higher up. From there, Rt 441 continued following a holler dug by a river tributary that wiggled up the mountainside like a snake though grass. Ears popped as altitude was gained, and only a metal guardrail was between road and a long drop down in several places.

Then came the loop. An actual loop in the road, taking them through a tunnel, around the sharpest curve short of a switchback, and over the top of the tunnel to continue in the same way, 50ft higher up than before.

_________________


Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers

"Okay, I know as a New Yorker I'm supposed to maintain a blaise attitude and give the impression I've seen it and done it all," said Alex, "but really these fucking switchbacks are something else. Sweet Gaia, I though the Jersey Turnpike was bad."

_________________
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

Beginning to look a little motion-sick, "Joe-Smith" closed his eyes and made a grumbling noise for a moment. "We are more a pack now," he said wearily in reply to Alex, "but I think that means this road hates us."

_________________
"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes."

- William Gibson

Josh wrote:

What? There's nothing weird about having a pet housefly. He smuggles cigarettes for me.

"Nah," said Alex, "the road just doesn't give a fuck whether we live or die."

_________________
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

The road didn't care at all, as it continued the curvy path up to the top of the mountain. A rustic wooden sign held the cheery message "Welcome to North Carolina" before the road made a steep descent down one side of the mountain and up the next.

There the road leveled, following the top of the ridge. The view from here was spectacular -- the surrounding ridges with their splashes of fall color stretched out to the distant horizon, turning misty and blue as the signature Blue Smoke haze hung in the air.

Another large curve as the road began a gentle descent back down into a river valley, and the pack was again on easy driving. Another couple of miles and signs announced they were now in the Qualla Boundary Eastern Tribe Cherokee Indian Reservation.

_________________


Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers

Alex looked at the sign. "Please no Wendigo. I'm really not in the mood to take "evil whitey' shit tonight."

_________________
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

"If they don't want our help, then we can just leave," said Sophie, but to tell the truth she was more worried than she let on at the prospect of Wendigo. Wendigo had it out for all the originally-European tribes in general, but Glasswalkers in specific, or so she'd always been told. Nevertheless, this was likely too far south for Wendigo, and besides, there was no point in coming all this way just to turn back because of what they might run into.

_________________
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."

The town looked little different from the towns on the Tennessee side of the mountain. It was built in a wide bottom where several creeks had met and carved out a flat plain before draining out in the river. The houses were well-built, a mix of houses and trailers, with the occasional log-built longhouse in the traditional manner.

Tourism was obviously the big draw here, with signs for rafting, biking, and hiking companies mixed in with the more typical grocery stores and hunting shops. The largest draws were the hotels exclaiming the wonders of their enclosed casinos. Like many other Reservations, Qualla Boundary had found gambling brought in money. A few stuck out tackily with teepees and other Hollywood cliches.

The tourists for the most part stood out sharply against the black-haired sharp-featured Cherokee. Few wore full traditional garments, but beadwork and native designs were worn proudly on modern clothing. Elders sat on benches on store front porches, talking amongst each other and mostly ignoring the passersby, although a blond in a sundress got all the attention her beauty deserved.

Big Cove Road was easy to find, serving as a second main street for the town before curving out of town and into the surrounding hollers. The rest of the directions were just as simple, leading the pack out past residential areas up the hillsides. The road shrank to a one-lane paved, then petered out into well-traveled gravel.

((See OOC before posting))

_________________


Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers

"Joe-Smith" had lost his more casual nature the closer they got to the house. He almost seemed to jump at a noise, before looking at the others. "Someone knows we're here," he said in a serious voice.

_________________
"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes."

- William Gibson

Josh wrote:

What? There's nothing weird about having a pet housefly. He smuggles cigarettes for me.

((Rheonix jumped the gun, but here's the basics of what's seen))


The longhouse sets back from the road in a well-kept yard with large native trees providing ample shade with their changing leaves. There is no sign of a car, just a porch light on in the middle of the day.

"JoeSmith" is struck by the silence surrounding the house. No birds, no animals, and an odd scent of sweetish smoke lingering in the air. An itch along the back of his neck tells him all is not well.

A loud rancious "CAW-ha-ha" breaks out from the back of the house, echoed and answered by a second and then a third.

Sophie notes the light on, despite the bright sunlight. As the odd cawing breaks out, she looks towards the back of the house, catching a glimpse of something moving. It was too fast to be seen clearly, but it gave the impression of a long cloak.. or feathered wings.

Alex knows the sound of crows, the messengers of Grandfather Thunder. The sound he hears is ... ominous.

_________________


Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers

Alex pulled the car over and killed the engine. "That's not a crow," he said as he removed his seatbelt and reached back for his map case. He opened the door and exited car, twisting off the top of the map case as he did so. Inside Stormtalon lay waiting for the touch of his hand.

_________________
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

His form seeming to grow indistinct for a moment, "Joe-Smith" was a moment later in his more natural form, that of a grey-furred wolf with star-like patterns in his coat.

He leapt lightly out of the car, and looked around while delicately sniffing for a moment, his fur seeming to ruffle from a soft breeze for a moment.

"There was a ward here, but it is now broken," Sees-Faces howled softly, before falling silent for another moment. "The Gauntlet here is thin, and has recently been breached."

Taking a few steps forward, Sees-Faces' paws padded silently on the ground. He came to a stop after only a few steps, his ears twitching slightly as he stared at the house. "That house... is touched, but isn't a caern."

Turning back to the others, there was a visible glint in his eyes. "It's a mystery," he barked softly, as his tail wagged. "An interesting mystery!"

_________________
"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes."

- William Gibson

Josh wrote:

What? There's nothing weird about having a pet housefly. He smuggles cigarettes for me.

"Gauntlet breach," said Alex. "How did I fucking know that was going to come up? Okay, Sees, stay close. Odds are there's a nasty bane around and there's no sense in not using our strength in numbers. We're away from people, so no need to be shy about the heavy iron Sof."

_________________
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

"Way ahead of you."

Sophie had spotted something moving, something big, black, and feathered. It looked superficially like a crow, and she'd been about to ask Alex if he had the first idea what it was when she saw him grab the cased sword and get out of the car, followed shortly by Sees-Faces.

She had no idea what a broken ward might mean, but she knew enough to know that when the Ahroun went for his weapon, it was time to do likewise.

She unbuckled herself, exited the car, and opened the trunk, wherein she had stashed her shotgun. The pistol she kept on her, she even had an Illinois state permit for it, but while there was some risk in leaving it locked away, she had not wanted to have a cop pull them over and find a loaded shotgun stashed next to the seat. She popped the trunk and retrieved the street sweeper and the box of shells that the wolves in Knoxville had been so kind as to provide. She still had eight silver shells, but silver was a very specialized tool, and outside of a run-in with Black Spirals or psychotic Wendigo, they were unlikely to be the right tool for the job. Besides, any non-hostile Garou would be unlikely to look well on her taking pump-loaded silver to a meeting. She kept the silver rounds in her pack, loading eight shells of lead into the shotgun, and pumping one into the chamber, before replacing it with one more handloaded into the magazine. A "combat" load, giving one more round to fight with.

Thus armed, she checked the handgun at her side, hefted the shotgun, and walked towards the cabin.

_________________
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...

Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."

Though he kept an ear tracking what Sophie was doing, Sees-Faces-In-Stars kept his attention mostly on the house ahead of them.

After Sophie began walking away from the car, Sees-Faces howled softly in a cautioning tone to the others in his pack. "There are many things inside, and they're... getting stronger."

_________________
"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes."

- William Gibson

Josh wrote:

What? There's nothing weird about having a pet housefly. He smuggles cigarettes for me.