All right, I suppose I can give you my story. It’s not a big chore for me, though excuse me if it sounds rough and perhaps not very entertaining. I’m Ahroun, so more of a fighter than a story teller. I like to think I have more entertainment value than your usual Ahroun, but perhaps I’m just full of myself. I don’t think so, but who am I to judge?

I’m originally from Kenya. That’s in Africa for those of you that aren’t big on Geography. It’s in Eastern Africa, and I can’t think of a better place to be raised. My father was a farmer, and so I grew up learning all about those sorts of things. No offense to him, but it is a rather dull existence. I didn’t like the day to day drudgery of it, although I never did have the heart to give him my complete opinion on it. I spent much time during the day out in the hot sun dealing with everything, and by the time it was over, I would be exhausted. However, I also could not simply sit down and rest. I had to unwind by going out and taking walks. This became a nightly habit that I cannot seem to break. It’s a calming activity for me, one that I enjoy and have no desire to give up.

However, even more than my nightly walks, I like to run. Actually, it goes way beyond like. It is the thing that I like best in the world to do and there is no way that I could ever give it up. I suppose I am one of those stereotypical runners from Kenya that you hear so much about regarding the Olympics or marathon races. It just seems to be the perfect place to hone that particular talent. I did enter many races in my time, winning a good portion of them. I love the competition that comes from it, but more than that I simply just love to run.

Anyway, as I was saying... growing up was pleasant but often dull. It was only my father and myself for the most part, my mother having died when I was five. My father was very easy to get along with, but he also wasn’t exactly a stimulating companion. His conversation was usually about farming, the weather and the like, so getting much more out of him was a real chore. Most of my more interesting interactions came from school. I enjoyed it for the most part, but early on I found that I had a more difficult time than most others with it. I struggled with reading especially, and when I was ten I found out that the reason was that I have dyslexia. A rather severe form of it, actually. I was two or three grades behind the others in reading, and my other subjects weren’t much better. I did much better at learning when I just listened and didn’t worry about reading the textbooks. I still can’t read too awfully well, and anything written at all is difficult for me. I ended up having to quit school when I was thirteen, so that didn’t help the state of my literacy much at all. But then, I had little choice in what happened, which is the usual case when tragedy strikes.

I remember the day that it all happened very well. I’d been kept after school for an hour by the teacher, who wanted to try a new tactic with me. She was very dedicated to trying to help me get through school and I’ll always be grateful to her for that. I wish I could’ve found out just how well her help would have panned out, but such was not to be. That day after I left school, I dallied on the way home. If you can dally while running, that is. I decided to take the scenic route, which was the long way around. It took me about an hour to get home, which likely saved my life. As I got closer to home, I got the sense that something was terribly wrong and so I picked up my pace to get there.

As I approached the house, nothing really seemed out of the ordinary. Not until I got to the door, that is. It was open and hanging by one of its hinges. There were what looked like claw marks through the middle of it. I stopped to look at it for a long moment and then my nose picked up the smell of blood. It was strong enough that I knew that there must be a lot of it. I didn’t want to enter the house, my first instinct was to turn and run. But I couldn’t do that, I knew I had to go in. So I steeled myself and did so. The sight that I saw was one that is forever burned into my memory.

I saw my father lying on the floor, blood all around him. Or I should say that I saw part of my father lying on the floor. Another part was on the table, and yet another on a chair. He’d been literally ripped apart by something. The horror of the sight is something I can’t begin to describe, nor would I want to. I found myself outside soon after, on my knees and retching. It’s strange how cold something like that can make you feel. I felt as if I were packed in ice, and the temperature was near a hundred degrees. I was shivering horribly, still on my knees on the ground when people showed up. The people from a neighboring farm had come by after seeing a group of wolves running off away from the farm, blood all over their muzzles and fronts. They knew when they saw me what had happened, and they helped me get out of there and to their house. I couldn’t have made it of my own volition, I will say that.

The next few days are unclear to me. I got a bit ill and was told by the doctor to stay put. Memories of those days come and go, some clearer than others. I do remember the kindness of the neighbors and the sympathy of all the people that came by to see me. My father had a very good funeral, many people showed up. Again, I can’t remember too much very clearly. The shock of what I’d seen was just too deep and it took me some time to get past it. Sometimes I still see the scene in my mind, although the horror has faded with time. I miss my father a great deal.

It was a few months after his death that some people came by my school to see me after class was over. They asked to speak with me, and so I went with them to a café to talk. I could tell that they were worried about my reaction, but I let them take their time to get it out. It was a very interesting conversation, I must say. You see, they told me that I was in danger from the same wolves that had killed my father. I failed to see how that could be, and they explained that the wolves were sentient creatures, ones that for some reason had a grudge against my family. They were not sure why, but when they had heard of the death of my father and how it happened, they felt the need to investigate. And they had found signs there in the claw markings that my father had been singled out by them. And there was also an indication in those signs that I was a target as well. They called the creatures Red Talons and told me that they were what people called werewolves. They also said that they sensed in me that I was Garou as well. They then threw the knowledge at me that they shared that trait and they called themselves Uktena.

I’m not going to go into the thought process that finally led me over the course of the next few days to not only believe those people, but to go with them. I had stayed with those neighbors since my father had died, they had been kind enough to offer their home and hospitality to me. I bid them farewell and went with my new companions. I was with them a few months when I went through the Change, proving that I was indeed Garou. Not that they had much doubt, but I did. It was a fascinating experience. Scary as well, but mostly fascinating. I went through a Rite of Passage that involved a trip into the Umbra and a bit of danger, but I passed it well enough and was inducted into the Uktena tribe. I was then told that I would be leaving Kenya and going to the United States. Imagine my surprise. However, they believed it necessary in part because they had found that the Red Talons there were looking for me still and my death was their goal. I never have found out why. I also never found out from which of my parents I got the Garou gene. My mother surely showed no signs of such a thing, I know that she was what is known as a homebody and left rarely if ever. She certainly didn’t seem as if she had any sort of qualities that would say that she was Garou. And as for my father... if he was a Garou, I’m quite certain that he didn’t know it. I know that there are cases where the Change doesn’t come until late, there may well be cases where it never does at all. But I am certain that he did not know of such a thing. As for what the tribe was that whichever parent was Garou came from... that’s anyone’s guess. I certainly have no idea.

Well, to get on with it, I did come to the United States. I was introduced to Thunder Growl, the elder that leads the Mystic Storms. She was very open to having me join the pack, and since I had nowhere else to go, I did so. It’s been a very interesting experience, I must say. Especially lately, considering the activities of the insane vampires and the fact that I was kidnapped by this annoying person who introduced me to one named Angelique. Luckily, I was able to get away from that and hopefully I will stay away from it. The vampires came after a group of us that was out recently, but we all very fortunately got away. I don’t know where things are going to lead, but I surely do think that life has gotten more interesting. And now that strange things that I really can’t explain have begun happening to me, I have no idea how things will turn out. I won’t go too far into that since I am basically clueless as to what’s going on. Suffice it to say that I’m either losing my mind or someone (something?) is playing tricks on me. Because I will be certain that I leave something in one place and then not long after I find it someplace completely strange. And I sometimes hear this strange noises when I run. There was once when I am sure a fallen branch moved from the side of the path on which I was running to the middle of it just in time to make me trip over it as I had no time or warning to stop.

Ah well, that’s enough of that. I don’t think I’ve missed anything of real importance at all. Those are certainly the highlights, good and bad both. I’m sure more will come up to make life grow even more interesting, I just hope that it’s nothing too dreadful. I would hate for something bad to happen to anyone that I care about again. It’s hard enough to get past the memories with which I still live.