For ordinary mortals, it’s (usually) easy enough to find someone local to speak to about where to go and what to do, often as simple as pulling into a gas station, ringing the bell at the front desk or ordering a drink at the bar. For supernatural creatures, however, things can be significantly more complicated. It’s not as though one can pull up next to the officer at the crosswalk and ask, “So, where do the vampires gather in this town?” That in mind, how do those who walk in the shadows of the paranormal find their own when entering into unfamiliar territory?
While this book is primarily intended to discuss in broad generalities the various types of supernatural beings wandering the lonely roads of the World of Darkness, a more specific treatment of the different creatures’ needs and motivations is warranted at this point:
• Vampires: Despite the perils inherent in Predator’s Taint, vampire nomads the world over have, ironically, come to appreciate this strange phenomenon as a useful means for finding a local representative of the Damned who might direct the nomads to an authority figure. In brief, this effect, which occurs whenever two vampires meet for the first time, impels the weaker of the two to flee and the stronger to attack. The Taint isn’t strong enough to send them into frenzy — usually. Of course, going berserk on a member of the court who happens to be about the business of scouting out his evening’s repast isn’t a great way to ingratiate oneself with the powers-that-be, and so Kindred have sought to develop other methods of contact- ing their kind when entering a new city. Some covenants, for instance, make use of old-fashioned correspondence. Certain elders even go to the trouble of making known means of contacting them within very limited circles, so
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as to mitigate the potential for unexpected visi- tors. Other Kindred make use of the ties of blood (whether in the form of clan, bloodline or even lineage) as a means for securing a welcome within an unfamiliar domain.
• Werewolves: In many places, it’s simply impractical to stop at the edge of another’s territory and howl a greeting. While a pack based out of a ski lodge in the mountains or a logging town in the wilderness won’t necessarily mind that sort of calling card, one operating in the heart of a violent slum is apt to view such an introduction as a threat to the secrecy of their race, and rightly so. The subtle cues of scent can sometimes be used to indicate a desire for audience, though this can take a great deal of creativity on the part of the nomad (given that wolves’ olfactory cues don’t naturally include anything in the way of a request to stop and chat). Unfortunately, as some nomadic packs come to discover, local Forsaken are occasionally inclined to act friendlier than they are, in the hopes of luring the pack in to steal their fetishes and other resources. Further, some Pure can convince wandering For- saken that they hold the same allegiance, eager to meet prospective guests — often for reasons far less wholesome than mere theft.
• Mages: The Awakened have perhaps the best- defined protocols for interactions with outsiders.
The office of the Herald, common to many Consilii is, among other things, specifically intended to serve as a leader’s messenger to Awakened in other cities. Just because mages have a system in place for interacting with foreign Awakened, however, does not mean that wanderers are invariably (or even often) well received, or that Consilii make it easy for would-be visitors to find someone to talk to. Sometimes, spells of greeting or mystic requests for audience (such as a glowing sigil, apparent only to mystic sight, or a messenger ghost) can be used to find a local mage. Other times, a request might be lodged through the Herald of one city to arrange for a meeting with the Herald of the next town over.
• Changelings: The Lost are a scattered breed, united by a terrifying common experi-
ence and an implacable foe. Changelings take well to the wanderer’s life. Indeed, there are many tales of faerie beings haunting the roads and lurking in the wilderness, moving from place to place. Arcane customs of hospitality can exist within freeholds, though one never knows for certain whether the group is walking into a place governed by an honorable lord or a ferocious beast until that long last step is taken. The tentative ties forged between some of the
Lost within just the past decade are gradually ameliorat- ing some of the perils inherent in the nomadic lifestyle, but the constant fear of reprisal on the part of the Others keeps many freeholds intensely suspicious of outsiders fresh from the road.
• Prometheans: The Created are, in some ways, the perfect nomads. With a powerful incentive never to settle in any one place for more than a few days at a time — a few weeks, at most — they tend to spend the majority of their lonely half-lives on the road. Lacking as they do anything resembling a cohesive society, Prometheans don’t generally need to give thought to disturbing any kind of “local power structure” among the Created, though Prometheans actually have the easiest way of finding each other — when they get within a certain distance, they just know it. Of course, wandering from place to place certainly encompasses perils for the Created, just as surely as for any other kind of no- mad. While their enemies and predators are certainly not common, they often have a way of crossing Prometheans’ paths, and wise Created take what precautions they can to discern the presence of such monstrosities in any new city they enter. Conversely, any local Promethean who’s man- aged to stake out a semi-stable homestead will probably hold onto her little island of sanity with frightening resolve, and may well view outsiders with suspicion.
Naturally, normal humans don’t have these sorts of prob- lems when they travel, since they can be certain (under all save the most terrifyingly extraordinary circumstances) that almost everyone they run into in a given port of call is “their kind.” Members of esoteric fellowships and the like may experience
a lesser degree of the consternation inherent in finding locals who share their particular allegiance, but this inconvenience is minute next to the perils supernatural beings face when they fail to get in touch with the proper local authorities. Indeed, the far greater danger for mundane (or even mostly mundane) nomads is to be found in the handful of places they roll into in which being human puts you in the minority.
“Gassing Up”
A central facet of the design of the World of Darkness is the existence of supernatural “fuel” that sustains paranor- mal beings and/or facilitates the use of their exceptional abilities. Sedentary beings tend to find a source of whatever “fuel” they require and stake a claim. Wanderers usually have no such recourse and must, therefore, resort to one of a few methods of acquiring whatever it is that they need.
• Unclaimed resources: For the most part, unclaimed sources of supernatural “fuel” can be hard to come by. Ma- ges don’t just leave Hallows lying around, and rare indeed is the locus that isn’t claimed by spirits or other Uratha. When a source of power isn’t claimed, the characters should probably question why it isn’t. Maybe all of the Mana that comes from a given Hallow is somehow tainted, or all of the local mortals possess some elusive quality to their blood that somehow causes Kindred to sicken. Save in the rarest of circumstances, there is no such thing as a free ride.
• Barter: When characters encounter others of their kind, those others may well have a surplus of whatever it is that the characters need, and might be willing to part with some of that surplus, for a price. The local Kindred might
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who are willing to give a bunch of nomads some “juice” in exchange for favors are well advised to demand those favors upfront. Otherwise, the nomads are apt to hit the road right after gassing up, leaving their “business partners” high and dry.
• Theft: Whenever and wherever there exists a com- modity that someone needs or desires, and no ready means of acquiring such legitimately, there is bound to be theft. Among supernatural beings, however, the law is often a bit harsher regarding the pillage of necessary resources: less “burden of proof” and more “an eye for an eye.” Certainly, some groups of wanderers have become quite proficient — sometimes to the point of infamy — at pirating needed goods and escaping to tell the tale, but far more often, of- fenders eventually get caught and, if they’re lucky, they walk away to shudder in memory of the punishments levied upon them. The more successful thieves (when and if they deign to share their secrets at all, that is) tend to advise picking off the fringes of society, taking just enough to get to the next stop, rather than going for the “big score.” If one is careful, they say, no one misses what’s been taken before the group is long since back on the road.
• Stocking up: In certain cases, it’s possible for char- acters to carry a small supply of the resource in question. Kindred might keep a small herd of animals or even humans on their RV, while a traveling cabal of mages can, with the proper skills, distill the raw magical energy they need into a material form for transport. Thus, even in the middle of nowhere, with no source of “fuel” for miles in every direc- tion, the characters still have a little bit of a safety net to fall back on. The problem with this solution, however, is that stockpiles don’t create and maintain themselves — they need to be established, sustained and protected by the characters. Mortal feeding stock need their own food, water and other basic needs, for example.
• Charity: Any wanderer with even a modicum of experience under her belt will freely admit that attempting to get by on the altruism of others is a sure way to end up flat broke, half-naked and starving, or else dead in a ditch. While it is true that certain sub-factions within supernatural cultures practice a limited policy of charity (such as the some vampires’ tradition of hospitality toward other mem- bers of their own clan, for instance), staking one’s survival upon these beliefs is an exercise in folly. Certainly, only the most well-off and/or stupidly generous supernatural beings offer free access to the resource that feeds their kind and fuels its occult powers. Whenever seemingly genuine charity is extended, the experienced wanderer looks for the hidden cost, for there almost certainly is one. Better by far, most reason, to pass up what looks like a free meal than to figure out what was wrong with it after one has cleaned one’s plate.
Adaptability is perhaps the most valuable survival strat- egy for wanderers, and so the most successful denizens of the long road tend to resort to an approach that encompasses many or all of the above methods: begging, borrowing, trading