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I saw the girl again: black hair, a slender frame in silhouette, the warm circle of a child’s face. Between each slant of shadow, her appearance flickered. Wolf to youth, youth to wolf. No footprints followed behind.
I exhaled into my scarf. My breath unwrapped in slow plumes of white.
Not an amarok, though I’d thought she was one in the beginning. Werewolf was my second guess. But once, I saw her transform into a gargantuan boar, tusks curving from her snout, four too many. And once, when the moon was a cut of silver, I thought I saw her untangle from her skin and take flight.
“Aswang,” my Greenland contact had said. But what could one be doing here in Duluth so many miles from home?
• • •
It had been three weeks since the aswang arrived in my woods.
Three weeks and no reports of death on the radio. No disappearances. No miscarriages, no deflated wombs pierced by a proboscis tongue. Nothing.
Yet.
I dialed down the volume of my little box radio and flipped through the channels until I found something jazzy. Rose as Skip James began to moan, fingerpicking through the chorus of “Be Ready When He Comes.” Small ironies. Far below, the aswang continued pacing through the pines.
I sighed. At some point, the aswang would need to eat. Even the dead require nourishment. And what kind of watchman would I be if I permitted such to happen? So, I loaded my rifle cartridges with salt, holy water, the dirt from the church. I holstered a bolo and unwound the cured tail of a stingray from my right wrist. There are so many ways to kill an aswang. It is a wonder they aren’t just myth.
Then, I waited as the dusk gorgeted the horizon, rose and drips of gold, staining the mountains orange until the stars seeped into the encroaching blackness before descending from the watchtower.
The air shivered with ice. The wind dragged veils of snow across the air, thick upon the steps and my shoulders, the brim of my Yankees cap.
The woods were quiet, of course. If the aswang noticed my entrance, she made no sign of it. Nonetheless, I paused at the foot of the steps, gripping my rifle. Nothing emerged to challenge the loud clack when I cycled the bolt. Somewhere, something howled — a ragged sound, full of grief.
Still nothing.
I slid a vial from a pocket and decanted its contents onto the snow. The oil — a rare attar, imported at considerable expense — began to smoke at once, the substance lurching forward as though propelled by some invisible breeze. I followed its tendrils into the dark.
I went deeper, the pines closing like teeth behind me, their shadows transformed into an oil slick. Between their branches, the constellations burned softly, like candles at a midnight mass.
“I am not afraid to die.” Her voice was soft, older than her appearance let on, a puff of sound and heat against my ear. It carried in its lilt decades in America but also decades more in the monsoon-steeped Philippines. For all of its proximity, I could see nothing of its owner.
I stilled. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“No? But you brought so many, many toys to hurt me with.” A rattling laugh, tired. “I can smell all of them. Liar. It is alright, however. I understand your kind.”
“Precaution.” I told her. “You are dangerous, after all.”
“I am exhausted. That is what I am.”
Slowly, I unslung my rifle and placed it atop the snow. “In that case, I have something for you. A gift.”
“A gift.” She repeated, her voice swooping upwards. The aswang had moved into the trees. I could hear a flutter of wings pulled together, rested against a slim spine.
From my bag, I pulled a thermos and unscrewed the lid. A warm, copper scent flooded the cold. “I figured you might be hungry.”
“Blood?”
“Body-temperature blood.” I held the thermos aloft. Sometimes, to kill a monster, you have to give them what they need most.
There was twitch of motion and she took the container. I heard the rustle of leaves and branches settling as the aswang returned to her perch. “Why?”
“You haven’t fed in three weeks. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” I paused. “You are an aswang, right?”
The darkness returned no reply.
“Why are you here?” I said to her.
“Because there is no safe place for us left in America. I came here with those who were once my family, who were my blood, and for a while, it was a place of plenty. Hard work, certainly. Thankless work. But we did what was needed. And now, with what is unfolding, it’s no longer a place I wish to be.” She stopped then.
“You’re not making any sense.”
“The truth, then? The werewolf you hunt slaughtered my kind. I want it dead just as much as you.” The aswang laughed. “My turn for questions: We share a common enemy. Can we…set aside our differences for now? You know you are outmatched.”
I swallowed the sourness that rose — a lode of bile at the base of my tongue — at the thought of teaming up with a monster. In my spit, I could taste sulfur and cinders, but I knew the vampire was right. “For now.”
She laughed again, slow and rich. “A hunter with manners. Interesting.”
I smiled. “Make no mistake. We are not friends; we are enemies. When this is over, I will find you. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes.” And she rose into the firmament, a spiral of flesh and bare spine, membranous wings, the curve of a smile flashing bright.
It was only much later that I realized she’d had taken my thermos as well.
I sighed, went home, and tried not to think about the aswang. At least, not until that werewolf was dead.
Hello Hunters,
A quick note in the middle of previews and manuscript downloads...
Thanks to a reminder from Stephen in the general comments, I should note that Onyx Path has started hosting a brand new Hunter: The Vigil game on their Twitch Channel. They started with a Session and then got up and running with Episode 1. The story is called HOMETOWN HEROES and you can search for it on Onyx Path's hosted Twitch listing.
I believe new episodes air on Wednesdays (although you should double check with Onyx Path's schedule). Or, dig into Onyx Path's Twitch Channel to see a variety of the games played: https://www.twitch.tv/theonyxpath
In case you missed it, we also hit our FIFTH Stretch Goal!
ACHIEVED! - At $66,000 in funding - New Add-On Reward: Malleus Maleficarum's Scrolls — We’ll create a PDF bundle of first-edition titles that can be added to any reward tier for only $3.
And, thus, we're expanding our Add On Reward offering, slowly covering all of the first edition PDFs that may fill some missing holes in a collection.
For +$3, add this bundle of PDFs from the previous edition of Hunter: The Vigil, The Mallelus Maleficarum's Scrolls can provide inspiration and ideas for your Hunter: The Vigil game. This bundle includes the following titles:
At $70,000 in funding - Tending the Flame: Compacts — Help us fund a second chapter for the Player’s Companion for Hunter: The Vigil Second Edition. This chapter on Compacts would offer eight expanded compact write-ups with an emphasis on their current members and activities.
This one is a big one for me - I love new content. And now that we've already launched Tending The Flame - the Hunter Player's Companion - it's time to bulk it up with some resources for Tier Two play! Let's get some more Compacts!!
What a segue! This morning, all backers received our latest manuscript preview from the Compact & Conspiracy section of the book, featuring a brand new Compact - SWORN. And now, if you want a peek behind the curtains, there's some more info for you to check out...
Posted at FLAMES RISING.COM <LINK>, developer Monica Valentinelli discusses the new compacts that will show up in the Hunter: The Vigil Second Edition core rulebook, and then digs deeper into SWORN in a discussion with writer Allen Turner.
So, keep vigilant! Our Stretch Goal targets lie just ahead, and we're approaching swiftly! Remember to share your excitement and enthusiasm for this campaign with your social circle and on your social media! Let's kick this campaign into Tier Two and unlock another section for Tending The Flame... and then more beyond that!
This post is for backers only. Please visit Kickstarter.com and log in to read.
Hello Hunters,
An exciting preview for you today. SWORN is a brand new Compact for Hunter: The Vigil, and will be fully revealed in Monday's Compact & Conspiracy update for backers. But today, I thought it would be fun to have a little taste...
SWORN is a new compact for Native hunters and is an example of a culturally-inspired group. For this Compact, Hunter: The Vigil Second Edition developer Monica Valentinelli wanted to work with someone who was not only familiar with the culture, but figured out how to include their authentic experiences in Hunter. Hunter's conceit is that anyone can be a hunter and SWORN's presence helps ensure that's the case.
SWORN was designed by Allen Turner, who recently utilized his design, storytelling, and cultural experience to create, and publish, a table-top RPG called “Ehdrigohr: The Roleplaying Game.” A dark fantasy setting that pulls from the myths and folklore of Native American peoples and tribal peoples from all over the world, Ehdrigohr explores tribal themes and allegorical battles with depression, solitude, identity, and erasure.
And now, Allen has lit a candle, and brought his talents to the world of Hunter: The Vigil Second Edition.
The Indian Termination and Indian Relocation Acts of 1956 pulled many Native Americans away from their homes on reservations, forcing them to relocate to urban areas under the pretense of rehabilitation. The public was told indigenous families were encouraged to move to find vocational skills necessary for employment, but the government’s end goal was to depopulate the reservations in the wake of decreasing subsidies and increasing urbanization.
Relocated Native Americans struggled to navigate their new environs and social circles, and naturally connected with other Natives to form new communities. The more stories they swapped, the more they realized how unsafe their cities were. They’d talk about how they never walk down a certain dark alley or how they ignore a strange man who doesn’t feel right. While some did report their sightings to local authorities, Native Americans were either ignored or patronized, so they turned back to their own. They found Native circles gave these stories more attention than other groups would. When people were afraid, they listened. When they started to disappear, they sought answers.
The roots of SWORN, or Strong Warriors of All Red Nations, grew from tragedy. Chicagoan Michelle TwoCrow, a member of WARN (Women of All Red Nations) and AIM (American Indian Movement), was desperate to find her son Eddie, who never came home from work one fateful night. At first, Michelle sought help from the police, but after hitting a dead end she turned to her local Native community for assistance. Unfortunately, they didn’t help Michelle either, because they claimed Eddie had been spotted hanging around with a known drinker and drug user; some community members assumed Eddie was probably still out partying — even though Michelle knew that couldn’t be true. To her, it seemed Native resistance groups were so focused on fighting oppression they had little time to wage war in the shadows.
When Michelle investigated deeper, she not only discovered Eddie had been attacked by the undead, the police had covered up the incident, too. Turning back to her community for help, several members threw their hands up and said the problem was beyond them. Michelle was determined to bring Eddie home — dead or alive. Many people told her to give up because they didn’t feel safe; forced out of their homes due to the Relocation Act, they were frightened by what Michelle was telling them. Worse: the Native community was aware monsters were real but since their traditions to deal with the monsters had been lost, their response was to look away. Ultimately, the community decided they had to deal with bigger threats. Eddie TwoCrow was disposable and not worth the fight.
Michelle disagreed and managed to find help by drawing on the other communities of which she was a part. Because of her determination and the things they’d seen, Michelle sought help from Angie Decora, a lesbian biker; Ida Miller, a mixed black and Lakota bartender; Danny Romero, a LagunaChicano man who worked as a gang intervention social worker; Kara Dittami, a Pequot literacy worker; and Derrick Moser, an Ojibwa homeless man to form a cell.
The hunters found Eddie, but unfortunately it was too late. After hunting and killing the creature responsible for his death, the Native hunters swore an oath to never give up, no matter how intimidated they were, to keep fighting. Soon afterward, the cell broke up and each member formed a new cell of their own to create SWORN.