By Peloquin ([email protected])
"Only well-fed hedgehogs survive the winter."
God damn Wyrm-infested garbage, thought Slays-The-Wyrm, Red Talon Theurge. They steal the animals from their rightful homes, destroy their original habitats, and then they stick them in cages to stare at the noble beasts they are destroying. It was time for him and the WyrmHater pack to set the beasts free. He motioned for Dreams-Of-Death and Stormclaw, the two Ahrouns of the pack, to move ahead of the rest to secure the area.
Silence. Then roars of surprised fury, (Stormclaw?) tearing sounds, whimpers, and silence again. And then hysteric giggling, mad, evil, bubbling laughter. Black Spirals.
"A trap! Spread out and engage!"
The others spread out, as Slays-The-Wyrm entered Crinos and sharpened his claws on the asphalt. More than twenty of the black-furred, grotesque beasts jumped out of the shadows, all in Crinos, all laughing like insane hyenas, greenish froth around their jaws. Slays-the-Wyrm grinned. This was more like it... He slashed what seemed like the leader over the chest, tearing out several ribs in the process, and followed up with a backhand slap over the monster's face. And grunted when the Spiral leader just grinned, and caught his slap in mid-air, twisting around his arm and tearing it off. Everything went black.
He woke up, slowly. He could feel that his right front paw was bleeding still, he must have reverted into his true wolf form. He also felt that he was tied with strong cable. If he tried Crinos with this on he'd slice his own arms off. Damn. He turned his head. Four dead, it seemed, and Dances-Around-Danger didn't look so good either. They shouldn't have brought along the young Galliard in the first place; he was too inexperienced for this kind of thing. The Spirals were jumping and skipping around the burning corpses of his dead packmates in some sort of perverted parody of a Ghost Dance.
A rustling in the bushes.
And a small, thin voice, sounding as if it came from somewhere below him. "'Scuse me, comin' through, comin' through, pardon, pardon, out of the way, oh yeah? Hey, if it weren't for me bein' busy I'd eat you right now. Same to you, matey! Ah, finally here...sometimes I hate my short little leggies, you walk some awfully slow when you're only a foot long...now, what seems to be the trouble Mr. Wolfie?"
He stared at the ground. He couldn't see properly; the bonfire cast shadows confusing his senses, but he though he could distinguish something...small? "Is anyone there?"
The thin little voice again. "What, besides me? Not that I can see, mind you, I can only see about one inch above the ground, so I wouldn't take my word for it. Well, it seems they've tied you up with strong metal stringy things, right. If you hold on there for a second..."
He could feel the cable heating up right by his left paw, and then the stench of molten metal and burned fur touched his nostrils. He was free! "Thanks, whoever you are!" But as he tried to get up, his body failed him, the bloodloss had been severe, and he fell back to the ground. The little voice could be heard by his right side, but as he lay with his face down, he still couldn't see what was talking. "Oh dear, oh dear, trying to charge off with a missing arm, we can't have that now can we. Hold on a sec' Mr. Wolfy; I'll have you nice and comfy before you can say 'growl growl'"
Slowly, but surely, he felt his bloody stump warming up, and then...it started to grow, healing back to it's original shape, and he felt his strength returning with the arm. He was back in business. And the little voice was heard again.
"Now, I can heal your friends in a while; only I gots to make sure those nasty black furred ones don't go and spoil me work, so I'll help you take care of them. Hold on, I'm almost finished. Ah, good, now let's go, how do you yanks say it, 'prod some buttock?' No, wait, it's 'Lick some ass!' But what donkeys have to do with it I have no idea..."
Slays the Wyrm grunted, and then entered Crinos, and with a chilling howl of rage he leapt into the midst of the dancing Spirals. They looked surprised at first, but then they began grinning, when they noticed he was alone. He wasn't. One of the Spirals suddenly howled in surprise, as he grabbed his left buttock, and with an even more surprised grin he fell to the ground, stone dead. Another clutched at his throat, and fell, grinning, to the ground next to his brother.
Slays-The-Wyrm didn't wait for the Spirals to recover. He swiped off the head of the leader with one blow, and followed the move by grabbing the next one's legs, and yanking, causing the creature to break his own back by sheer force of inertia. The next received a fist through his chest, and his fourth victim got quite a nasty surprise as his leader's head was tossed in his arms, followed by a kick that crushed his own head. Slays-The-Wyrm looked about himself, and noticed that on the ground lay the grinning corpses of the five other Spirals, and he noticed that they had begun to rot already. The stench was quite ghastly.
"There now, that was a whole lot better, wasn't it, mr Wolfy?" The voice again.
Look, little one, I'm very grateful for your help and all, but what in the name of Gaia are you?"
A reproachful sigh was heard from feet level, and he bent down to see -- a little hedgehog, looking at him with twinkly little brown eyes. "So quickly you wolfies forget. We're the Erinaceus, the old cleaners, the watch-all, see-all assistants of Gaia. You people nearly destroyed us, you know? Lucky thing we hedgepiggies don't hold a grudge, otherwise I might've pricked your botty with me fur. Hi hi hi, now that would be fun. Now get out of me way so's I can help your friends."
Slays-The-Wyrm stepped out of the way, still in shock, and watched in amazement as the little hedgehog waddled over to his imprisoned friends and melted away their bonds, then healing their injuries as quickly as anything, even removing an old battle-scar on old Graysnout's chest.
"Now, I can't stays here any longer, I was really just here to free one of me friends from the Children's Zoo a bit away. I'd better join her before she gets worried. Bye bye, wolfies; maybe we'll meet again.
And the little ball of thorns blurred into a short, young man in a tweed coat, jeans, boots, and a t-shirt with the text "Save the hedgehogs-British Wildlife Preservation Fund" on it. He dragged a hand through his already slicked back hair, and then walked off into the shadows.
Slays-the Wyrm told the story about how the great WyrmHater pack was saved by a little ball of thorns to all his kin, and to all those of the other tribes who would listen. Many Red Talons said that he had gone soft, that his conviction about killing humans had been tricked away from him, and many of them turned their backs on him. But Slays-the-Wyrm changed his name into "Open-Eyes", and the exploits of this strange Red Talon diplomat were acknowledged in many a camp, and the stories of him grew in number, how Open-Eyes had settled peace between a pack of Silver Fangs and a group, or "pride" as they called it, of Bastet defending their land, on how he had managed to bring a Mokole to peacetalks with the Louisiana Garou, how he had managed to convince a Rokea maneater to leave the shores of New England alone.
But to his children, he told the story of how the little hedgehog had come visiting him a few years later, and how they had talked about the sins of the fathers, and how they should never, ever, be so prejudiced as not to listen to others opinions.
And when he died, in September 1994, two hundred men and women no one could recognize showed up at his funeral, and sang a strange, sad song that sounded vaguely Celtic, and finished by bowing to the dead diplomat's corpse. And then they all vanished into thin air, leaving only a few white roses on the litter.
Once upon a time, Gaia held a little race dearer to her heart than any other. These were the hedgehogs, one of her very first mammals, who had crawled around in the bushes when the dinosaurs walked the earth. They functioned as her bards, her little helpers, with many a strange power, and a calm, patient sense of humor. But naturally, this was too good to continue.
The Garou, who in their pride had attacked the other bete, were severely jealous of these calm little creatures, and began slandering them among themselves. The hedgehogs ate carrion, and insects, and naturally, this was a sign of Wyrm-taint, and not the sign of a healthy eco-system. And one day a few young Garou who had had their ears stuffed with lies of the evil Wyrm-hedgehogs were out scouting to see if the Bastet their pack had been following for months were anywhere near, and happened upon a little hedgehog. They started toying with it, the little one used his first line of defense and rolled into a spiny ball, upon which the young Garou pricked their paws, and they got angry at the insolence, and slew the helpless little one. But the hedgehog was not alone. It's mate, an Erinaceus, watched helplessly as the thoughtless wolves killed his mate, and used one of his more harmful gifts, to send a few spines into the killers, killing them instantly. And the Garou had a new enemy to slay in the War of Rage.
Strangely enough, the Little Ones survived the great war, and hid away. Now they hid themselves in leafpiles and bushes, in abandoned rabbitholes and the likes, instead of walking proud in the free as before. And they licked their wounds, and told their tales of betrayal. But the Erinaceus were, and still are, a calm, patient lot, and never hold long grudges, although they were still wary of the Garou. And now, for the past hundred centuries or so, they have begun attempts to rejoin mortal and bete society. It isn't easy. Modern society holds many a danger if you're barely one to one and a half foot long. But they are coming back.
The hedgehogs have a very close connection with most ancient European peoples. They were there before the White Howlers, and watched how the noble Howlers were corrupted by the Wyrm. Some say they could have helped, but the Erinaceus simply say "Why would they have listened to us?"
The closest bonds they have with any ethnic group is with the original natives of the British isles, and nowadays, with northern European peoples of all kinds. Mostly, they're of British or Scandinavian descent, but they have kinfolk in almost evry European land. In the late 1700's, they started moving to the New World, where they soon bonded with the Nuwisha, and with many a northern tribe. Nowadays, they move around in the entire Western world, although they tend to stay in one place once they've found a home they like. The Erinaceus are very rural in their mentality, they tend to dislike major cities, but they have no problems with suburbs, towns or villages, as long as there isn't too much commotion.
There are three breeds of the Erinaceus, Homid, Metis and Erinus. The Metis of the Erinaceus do not have the same flaw as other breed Metis. They are not born in Crinos form, and they do not revert to Crinos when Incapacitated. Instead they have the flaw of never being able to enter Homid form, but instead must be content with the Glabro (Cidae) form of the Erinaceus.
In spite of what many may think, the Erinaceus are not related to the Cristata. They have similarities, yes, but the Erinaceus are a far older shapeshifter tribe than the mainly American porcupines, and the only thing they seem to have in common is the contagious charm, and the tendency not to take Garou seriously.
Cidae: Appearance +1, Charisma +1, Stamina +3.
Crinos: Strength +1, Dexterity +1, Stamina +5, Appearance 0, Charisma +0, Manipulation +0.
Migro: Strength -1, Dexterity -1, Stamina -1, Appearance +0, Charisma +1, Manipulation +0.
Erinus: Strength 0, Dexterity 1, Stamina 1, Appearance +1, Charisma +1, Manipulation +0.
Claws and teeth do +1 Aggravated Damage.
Homid: Gnosis 3
Metis: Gnosis 5
Erinus: Gnosis 7
Ahroun: Spiker (Rage 4)
Galliard: Singer (Rage 3)
Philodox: Speaker (Rage 2)
Ragabash: Joker (Rage 1)
Theurge: Maker (Rage 2)
Garou: Big blokes. A bit aggressive.
"What? BWAHAHAHAHAHAAA!"
Bastet: We don't like cats. They push us on our backs and eat us.
"I prefer them with some fava beans and a nice, chilled Chianti..."
Gurahl: Nice ones. They respect us.
"Mhrr...yes, they are good folk...now let me go back to sleep..."
Corax: Hmph. They're not crows. But they still eat our young. Killers.
"Tasty."
Mokole: Never met one. Still, I suppose they're no worse than most crocodiles.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you're blockin' my sun..."
Kitsune: Foxes! Hate them, hate them, hate them!
"Yum, yum, yum."
Ratkin: Rats. I don't like rats.
"Hedgehogs. So what?"
Cristata: What do they mean, are we the same? Of course we're not! I don't call the Garou rats, do I? They're porcupines, we're hedgehogs, it's as easy as that!
"No, we're not the same. The little ones are nice, but they ain't no family of ours."
Others: Vampires I don't like. Faeries I've nothing against. Ghosts don't bother me. Mages, well, we gots no caerns, do we? Hmmm, what else is there? Oh, there's the old ones, the ones who live on roofs and turn into stone by day. There's the ones who stay underground and turn into torches in the sun. There's those who live below the underground and are really mean, and then there's the weirdos who never die, both kinds. I don't fraternize with any of'em.
Bonesnapper
Hedgehog Song
Dance of the Hedgepiggies
Poison Spines
Hands of Man