Stina's Werewolf Backstory

I'm also quite excited for this Werewolf game, and here is my character's backstory:

I was called Loona Crockett. I’ll never know the mind of my mother, why she spelled it Loona instead of Luna. I can only guess she thought it looked cool. From what I’ve learned of her, she was that type . I was removed from her care before I was two. She couldn’t hide the bruises on me any more than she could control the rage that made her hit me. I can understand the rage. I still hate her. She’s dead, though, so my hate is nothing more than a compass. It helps me separate the good from the bad.

I was put into foster care. I was filled with rage even then, and foster parents couldn’t handle it. I moved from home to home at an average rate of every three months prior to age 5, every 9-12 months after I learned to control myself somewhat. Moving around so much only made me more angry, but in time I learned that my anger was the primary contributing factor to my moves, so I did my best to squinch it. I could only hold out so long before something made me lose it.

When I was 11 I was in a home with about six other foster kids ranging from 6 months to 16 years. The foster mom couldn’t give a shit about any of us except the baby. All the money she received went to the baby, and the rest of us were basically left to fend for ourselves with packages of ramen noodles and instant oatmeal. We were all too focused on individual survival to figure out we should band together. That was a lesson hard learned years later. One day I couldn’t stand to watch her coddle that puny creature anymore, and I screamed at her, called her a fucking welfare cunt. She slapped me hard across the face and I took off.

I got caught a few days later when I tried to sell pot to an undercover cop. I should have been more careful, but I was still learning the art of cunning. With my record of bad behavior at foster homes, the system took this opportunity to get me out of their hair for awhile. I was put in juvenile hall. It was only supposed to be for three months, but I couldn’t help fighting and sneaking cigarettes and committing various other offenses that stretched my three months to almost a year.

I was twelve and a half when I got out and landed in the rat trap. On the surface they looked like the model foster parents. I guess that’s why social services never really checked up on me after they got me off their hands once more. I spent one night in the beautiful bedroom they had shown off. The next day when they caught me smoking in the room, they took me down to the basement for “medicine.” I thought they’d just lock me down there for awhile. I’d been through similar in other foster homes.

I saw this was different as soon as I got to the bottom of the stairs. The basement was clear except for a bed. Queen-size, four post. Box spring, mattress, fitted sheet. No top sheet, no pillows, no blankets. Ropes tied to each post. I tried to run past the couple, back up the stairs, but the man-rat grabbed me. I was small, skinny, weak. He was a fucking giant. The woman-rat was also tall and fit. They tied me to the bed. My “medicine” was watching her give him a blow job.

I existed in that hell for eighty-two days. They said I had a sickness and that they had to gradually increase the dosage of my medicine and that ultimately, the medicine would control my sickness, but that it could never be cured. I would always need the medicine in order to survive. I knew that I needed to pretend to buy their lies in order to survive, so I went along with anything they said and did whatever they told me to do. My body was at their whim, but I kept my mind in a separate place. While they made me watch their sexual acts and while they forced me to give them blow jobs, I was in another place.

It wasn’t just my imagination, I know now. It was a premonition of the Shadow Realm. A part of me I didn’t know existed was seeing a place I now know as well as one can know such a shifting, tricksy realm. It was sometimes beautiful, sometimes horrible, but what was important is that it was someplace other than the reality my body was experiencing. It made me believe I would find a way out of hell and suffer the rats to face their sins.

By the end of the summer the “medicine” had increased to daily rape by both the rat-people. My saving grace came from the flawed social system that had dumped me there. Even “perfect” foster parents get noticed if their foster child doesn’t show up at school. So to school I went. They made me perform a series of sexual acts on them that morning without the contraints to convince them I was compliant. I did whatever they told me to do. I knew I had no hope unless I got out of hell.

They drove me to the school and told me they would pick me up at the same place as soon as school let out. I don’t remember much of that school day except for sneaking into the kitchen and stealing a knife. I chose a small paring knife because I needed to coneal it until the right moment. I was convinced I would be able to mete out the medicine the rat-people deserved with this knife. Right was on my side, after all. I had suffered much more than anyone deserved, so I believed that this would somehow make it possible for me erradicate my oppressors with a tiny knife. I was naïve.

They took me home and allowed me to go into the beautiful bedroom. I steeled myself for battle. With the knife in my hand, I walked out to face the rat-people. They looked at me, the determination on my face, the knife in my hand, and scoffed. The man-rat stood up and came to me. I lashed out with the knife, aiming for his gut. It was inconceivable to me that I didn’t so much as scratch him. His hand grabbed my wrist and twisted it until I dropped the knife. I flew at him with my left hand and teeth and legs, but he just turned me around and picked me up, and literally threw me down the basement stairs. I hit my head on the concrete floor and was knocked out cold.

When I woke up I was naked and tied to the bed. They were both sitting there on the bed, on either side of me. I could not conceive of how this was possible. How I could have been free earlier that day and now was locked up again. Why didn’t my knife of justice prevail and mete out their punishment? I was so angry at myself for being so stupid. I should have run away while I’d had the chance. How could I have thrown away my one chance of freedom? The woman-rat put her hand on my breast and said I was still very sick and needed a lot more medicine. I was filled with rage at these evil rat-bastards and at my own stupidity and weakness. And then I could feel myself growing stronger and could see on their faces that I was changing, that I was horrifying. They tried to run for the stairs, but I had broken free and I reached them before they were at the first step.

I don’t remember exactly what happened next, but when I woke up I was covered in blood and they looked as if they’d been mauled by a wild beast. Now I knew the wisdom of running away, running as fast and as I far as I could.

As I ran, I grew frustrated at how slow I was. I wanted to be faster and somehow then I changed and I was so much faster, but I saw that I was no longer human-looking and knew I need to get out of the city. I cut through back yards until I was in farmland, but I didn’t stop running until I was in the woods, deep past the hiking trails. Then I stopped and tried to be human again and I was. I found a stream and washed the blood off. I was naked and it was night now and I was cold. I wanted to have fur again, so I tried to change and I did. I didn’t know how or why, but I was a wolf. It felt like a gift from that dreamlike world that had helped me through hell. I accepted it as a gift and stayed wolf, figuring it was the best way for me to stay hidden and safe in the woods.

I soon grew hungry and started scrounging for food. I tried eating leaves and berries and ants, but I needed meat. I saw a squirrel and tried to chase it down, but it climbed a tree and got away. I had more success with a rabbit. It was old and the meat was tough, but it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted, and I was filled with pride at having hunted it down and killed it myself. Over the next several days I wandered deeper and deeper into the Rocky Mountain hillsides. I got better at hunting and I was doing all right, but I felt vulnerable. I was a wolf and I wanted a pack.

I heard howls one night and I tried out my own voice. I called out to the pack and they responded. I understood them and they understood me. I asked them to let me in and they did. I know now it wasn’t just luck that I found them. Father Wolf (not THE Father Wolf, but my Father Wolf) had found me by then and was looking out for me.

I lived with that wolf pack for four years. I forgot I was human. And yet I still felt like an outsider. One day I wandered away from the pack and closer to civilization. I went to a lake and across it, there were campgrounds. I saw people swimming in the lake and I wanted to swim the way they were able to swim. I stepped into the water and was surprised to see a human face in my reflection. I started to remember that this human was me, Loona Crockett. I had long, snarled hair and my skin was a deep olive. The last time I had seen my face I was pale from living in a basement an entire summer. There were other differences. I was no longer so puny. I was still short and skinny, but I was toned and felt strong.

I dived into the water and swam around like a mermaid for a long time. When I came out, there was a man on the shore. I was ready to change back into a wolf and run, but he commanded me to stay. He had clothes for me. He knew my name.

That was Father Wolf. He was the leader of my mother’s pack. He had been looking for me my whole life, and had found me just after my change. He’d been tracking me that whole time, just waiting for the moment I was ready to remember myself. I call him Father Wolf because his last name is Wolf and he’s like a father to me, but his name is actually Sam Wolf. Under his guidance, I learned about what I am, and I learned how to be better at what I am. He introduced me to the Spirit Realm, and with the help of his more technically savvy packmates, we reintroduced me to human civilization, but now as Luna Wolf, Sam Wolf’s long-lost granddaughter. I’m not really his granddaughter. My mother was not related to him. But this seemed like a good story, and gives me a place in the world. I changed my name to Luna because my mother was an idiot.

I never really joined Father Wolf’s pack. It wasn’t the right fit. He helped me out, though, as I figured out what I was doing. He feels he owes me, something to do with my mother and not protecting her. I still don’t know the whole story. What I do know I’ve just gleaned from overheard conversations. I think he feels a real fondness for me, though, too. He is the first human I ever trusted.