Late September, 2012. Midnight. The days are still warm, but the nights cool off deliciously. The local trees haven’t quite begun to change, and the air smells more like spring – full of living, still growing things – than like early autumn. That will change soon enough. But for now, life still holds sway regardless of what the calendars and the almanacs tell you.

Mother Luna’s face, half revealed and half hidden, looks down on a gathering of her children. You stand facing Northeast with five strangers in the middle the street. It’s the intersection of 14th St. and S. 2nd Ave – the nexus point between three territories. Hell, between three sovereign countries as far as any of the gathered are concerned. Five steps to the south and you violate Shepherd territory. Five steps to the east and you’ve crossed into the land of the Reapers. The full force of each pack stares silently at you from just inside their respective domains. Eleven more of Luna’s children. Eleven sets of eyes on you, all unreadable.

An older man, clean shaven with salt and pepper hair and business casual attire, stares past you. He locks eyes with a younger man covered in strange tattoos and even stranger trinkets. The two stare for three…four…five seconds. As if by some unspoken signal, they nod to each other at the same time, turn around, and begin walking deeper into their own lands.

Five steps to the south, and you’re trespassing. Five steps to the east, and you’re trespassing. Five steps forward, and you might be home. If you can take it from monsters that live there. If you can keep it from all the other monsters who might want it after the job is done.

As one, six strangers step forward, leaving the non-space of the center of the intersection behind. As they reach the sidewalk, they glance at each other.

Welcome home.

Aisling takes the step forward. Territory! And a Pack! What more could a girl ask for.

"Mine" she whispers, savouring the feel of it. The monsters need to be found, but for now everything is right in the world. Or soon will be

She looks at the others, assessing her new pack. Adults, mostly. The priestess she recognises, but the rest are still strangers to her. Not for long.

"Aisling," she says, introducing herself, "call me Ash. Bone Shadow Ithaeur." She gives a bow, but keeps her eyes up. This bow is a greeting, not a gesture of submission. Nobody better expect that being the youngest puts her at the bottom of the heap.

"We need a den, and an idea of what we've got for ourselves here," she says, "so let's patrol and pick somewhere useful." The suggestion is made with the assurance that this is the right course and everyone will see it that way.

((Mumblebear, would Ash know where there would be a locus in this territory?))

"Jesus kid, ent you just eager?" Ray's thick London accent drips with sarcasm. He pulls out a pack of Marb Reds and almost reverently removes the last one. He lights it and takes a long drag, exhaling from his nose.

"Liable to get us all killed, you are."

He scans the street , muttering. "Never gone in so bloody blind before." Then aloud. "We need to get the lay of the land... lie low and not make waves till we know what we're up against."

Aisling stares at the old man. He thinks he is putting her down then he suggests they follow her plan?

"Lay of the land..." she says slowly "so we scout. Pick a safe base."

Jack gives the young woman a stiff smile. He hadn't pegged her for an alpha contender - not that he's particularly after the job. He's a tall man of clear native descent, with a mane of black hair pulled back behind his ears to hang down just past his shoulders. He's muscled, but lean - dressed in a gray t-shirt and jeans, with a braided leather belt some years out-of-fashion. A yellow and black fireman's coat hangs from the crook of his elbow, with "Keams Canyon Fire Brigade" stenciled on its back in white letters.

"Cha'kwaina," he says in deep baritone. His voice has a broken texture, as if coming out of a CB radio. "But I answer to 'Jack' as well."

"We could look around for an all-night diner or bar. Pick up a newspaper."

"Good thinking, Jack, eating together is a fine way to bond," Aisling nods approvingly, "and the watering hole will show us the nkid of people we are going to live with."

Aisling's hair is bobbed at the front, long and pulled back from her face in a ponytail, shaved slightly on the side. She wears a black hoodie top with striped arms, skinny jeans and bright coloured trainers.

"Here be dragons," she observes.

Jack nods and scans the street for any open businesses - particularly, as he said, diners and bars. If he spots a newspaper box, he'll head to that first.

If no one objects, the group walks north toward the sights and smells of Downtown. As they walk by, they see several places ranging across the dive bar spectrum. The first place -- named The Ritz -- is definitely at the low end of the spectrum. You can smell the piss and liver failure from half a block away. Thankfully it's only a scant handful of blocks away from the nearest hospital at the northern edge of Shepherd lands.

You pass two or three more bars, none as bad as The Ritz. As you round a corner, you catch sight of a large, wooden shingle illuminated by a single bulb attached to the building. The shingle looks like it was done by an artistic prodigy armed only with a cheap, hobby shop wood burning kit.

[[Like this, only in black and the natural colors of the wooden sign]]


Above the tree, the sign reads simply "The Sacred Yew."

The sound of a door opening diverts your attention from the sign. You see three young townies - maybe 21 or 22 - stroll out to the sidewalk and settle down on a bench. They smell like bar food, alcohol, and excitement. But you notice a distinct lack of urine or internal organ damage on the breeze.

"Who wants to buy a girl a drink" Aisling jokes, knowing that even in Dalu form she will not pass for 21.