Notice

This narrative blends elements from WOD 5E , and

Legacy WOD to craft a distinct and compelling
story. Keep note inspiration from these sources,
certain aspects within this book may diverge from
the established World of Darkness canon of
mentioned editions to create a more interesting
narrative. With that acknowledged, relax and enjoy
Werewolf: The Apocalypse - The Stains of Our
Lineage.

Chapter 1

The morning sun seeped through the gaps in the white plastic

curtains, casting golden beams that painted the bedroom in a sleepy,

honeyed glow—turning the space into a natural spotlight.

In the center of the room, the bed stirred to life. Thick blankets were

tossed aside, revealing a young man who rose slowly from his

slumber. His maroon-ginger hair was tousled and wild, his

mismatched eyes—one ocean blue, the other moss green—blinked

against the light. With a groggy yawn, he rubbed the bridge of his

nose and squinted at the alarm clock perched on a weather-worn

dresser. Its scratched plastic face and peeling stickers read 6:47 A.M.

Another day had begun—breakfast with the family, then whatever

duties Gaia had in store.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feet meeting the cool

hardwood with a faint creak. His head hung heavy with the familiar

weight of morning. A satisfying crack of his spine followed as he

stretched, releasing a low groan before hopping up to scavenge the

floor for something decent to wear.

He pulled on a pair of white socks, faded black jeans, a Good Kid

T-shirt worn thin with love, and a forest-green flannel. To top it off, a
handmade beanie that lent a touch of warmth to his rugged, muscular

frame.

After a brief moment of approval in the mirror, he stepped into the

hallway. His feet sank into the worn red carpet that lined the narrow

corridor—its fibers flattened by years of footsteps and quiet mornings.

Framed photographs watched from the walls: snapshots of a life that

once filled the house with noise and laughter. Childhood smiles.

Birthday cakes. Mud-caked boots. Arms slung over shoulders like it

was the most natural thing in the world.

Now, the rooms behind those doors sat silent, their occupants long

gone. A quiet ache stirred in his chest. His brothers and sisters had all

gone their separate ways, scattered like leaves in the wind—each

serving Gaia in their own way.

He entered the bathroom and began his usual morning routine.

Grabbing his blue toothbrush from the cup beside the porcelain sink,

he squeezed out a bit of minty toothpaste mixed with a pinch of baking

 soda. The brisk taste jolted his senses awake as he scrubbed away

the remnants of sleep, quietly humming an old tune. His thoughts

drifted to the chores awaiting him on the ranch—tedious,

back-breaking, endless. He ran through each task in his mind, one by

one.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught it—the faintest shift of

movement behind the shower curtain. Halting his thoughts of the

day’s work, his brow furrowed—curiosity mingling with caution. He

turned toward the shower and took a careful step closer. Leaning in

toward the white curtain, he listened intently, hoping it wasn’t Piko, the

infamous feathered shit disturber.

Last time, that mischievous chicken had snuck in, hidden in the

bathtub, and nearly scared him out of his skin when he tried to take a

bath. The little bastard left him with scratch marks across his face and

back for days.

 The memory alone made him shudder. He drew a slow breath and

listened again, ready to dodge the tiny menace if it came flapping out.

But instead of the familiar clucking and pecks against the ceramic tub,

he heard something else—a soft, stifled laugh, barely contained, like

the sound of a secret begging to be discovered.

A slow, knowing smile crept across his face. He’d been expecting this.

With a low chuckle, he moved toward the sink, careful not to make a

sound. He filled the chipped cup that held the family’s toothbrushes

with cold water, then stepped back to the curtain.

Without hesitation, he yanked the curtain aside and flung the water.

A startled yelp burst out as the culprit stumbled backward into the tub,

spluttering and coughing as the water rushed down the wrong way.
Tomar loomed over with a smug grin spreading across his face as he

took in the sight of his drenched little sister.

She scrambled to her feet, water dripping from her maroon hair, eyes

flashing with fury.

“Dammit, Tomar!” she snapped, brushing herself off. “How did you

know it was me?”

Tomar burst into laughter, his voice echoing off the tiled walls as she

stood there—dripping like a soaked mutt and scowling through

embarrassment.

“Well, y’know,” he said between laughs, “when you’re giggling to

yourself like a schoolgirl, it kinda gives it away. You’ve got that bubbly,

annoying laugh. Nice try, though.”

He tossed her a fluffy gray towel, which she caught midair with a huff.

Muttering under her breath, she dabbed at her freckled face and

dripping hair before wrapping the towel around her shoulders. Despite

her scowl, a small smirk tugged at the corners of her lips.

Tomar leaned against the wall, crossing his arms with a satisfied grin

as their morning prank war reached another playful stalemate.

“So,” he said, raising a brow, “how long were you even hiding in that

damn tub?”

She rolled her eyes, the smirk breaking through at last.

“Long enough to realize I should’ve come up with a better prank…”

She looked at him, then down sheepishly. “Since, like… four a.m.”

Tomar stared at her blankly as she tossed aside the towel

“So let me get this straight Cricket” he says as his blank expression

slowly started to crack. “ you thought that sitting in a tub for about 3
hours was a great idea for a prank that would have just spooked me?”

Cricket taps her chin thoughtfully, humming as if deep in

consideration. “Yeah,” she says with a straight face, before looking up

at him.

The two siblings locked eyes for a brief moment and then, as if on

cue, burst into uncontrollable laughter, the absurdity of the entire

situation hitting them Between the cup of water cricket falling

backwards into the tub and the hours spent in the most ridiculous

hiding spot imaginable, the sheer stupidity of it all has them both in

stitches.

“You'r such an idiot!" Tomar said slapping crickets back laughing

harder and harder as they think of the stupidity " I know!” She said

wiping a tear from her eye “I get it from you!" She said pointing at

him.

Their laughter carried on for nearly a full minute, echoing down the

hallway, until a sharp throat-clearing cut through the air. Both froze

mid-laugh, heads snapping toward the doorway.

There stood Isaac—their eldest brother. Towering, broad-shouldered,

his presence filled the room like a shadow. His narrowed eyes and

scowling lips framed by a rough mustache left no room for mischief.

His arms, crossed over his chest, revealed a map of old, jagged

scars—marks left by years of fighting the Wyrm’s spawn, leeches, and

every other abomination that dared challenge Gaia.

He didn’t need to say much; the silence spoke for him. This wasn’t the

first time he’d caught them fooling around—but judging by the

tightness in his jaw, he’d long since grown tired of it.

“Breakfast is ready,” Isaac said flatly. “Ma and Pa are waiting.”

 Without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps

heavy and deliberate, each one echoing through the hallway like a

drumbeat.

The two siblings exchanged a long, reluctant sigh—the last traces of

laughter gone. Without speaking, they followed after their war-torn

brother, into the hallway not daring to irritate him.

They descended the creaking stairs to the main floor of their old

family home. Morning light streamed through the windows, draping the

worn wooden walls in a warm, golden glow. The scent of freshly

brewed coffee and sizzling breakfast met them halfway down the

steps, wrapping around them like a familiar embrace.

At the head of the sturdy wooden table sat their father, Butch—a

grizzled titan of a man whose very presence seemed to anchor the

room. His rugged features softened in the calm of the morning as he

sipped from a steaming mug, the paper spread before him. Wisps of

vapor curled upward from his cup like pale ghosts of the dawn.

Plates of breakfast waited neatly at each seat: crisp bacon, golden

hash browns, and his signature fluffy eggs. It was a sight so ordinary,

yet strangely grounding.

The three siblings took their seats, dwarfed by the sheer presence of

their father.

“Morning, Pa,” they said in near-unison.

Tomar and Cricket exchanged a look—half amused, half

curious—before glancing back down at their plates. The smell alone

was enough to make their stomachs growl.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Butch set the newspaper aside, its

edges crinkling softly. He looked at his children with a warmth that

seemed to melt the years off his weathered face. A smile crept

through the thick bristles of his mustache, and his eyes glinted with

quiet pride.

“Mornin’, cubs,” Butch rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly, but

touched with humor. He leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning

beneath his weight, his grayed maroon mustache twitching with the

curve of his grin.

“You know why I’m grinning so bright today?”

The sly tone in his voice caught them off guard—it wasn’t like him to

be this chipper before 11:30 AM. Usually, mornings were reserved for

gruff one-word answers and the slow, methodical consumption of his

black coffee.
 Tomar and Cricket exchanged contemplative glances as they

cautiously bit into their food. The familiar flavors of their father’s

special breakfast lingered on their tongues. They shot each other

another look, hoping for some unspoken clue, but the blank confusion

in each other’s eyes confirmed they were equally clueless.

Their brother, however, sat silently across from them, calmly chewing

his hash browns without so much as a flicker of emotion. His stoic

demeanor was as unreadable as ever, offering no insight into their

father’s unusual cheerfulness.

“Uhhhhhh… Is it someone’s birthday?” Tomar asked, a hint of curiosity

in his voice, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece it together.

Butch shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Nope.”
Cricket snapped her fingers, a spark of realization crossing her face.

“Oh! You slayed a great beast of the wyrm!” she declared triumphantly,

turning to Tomar with a smug grin. “That’s gotta be it! He always gets

that high-and-mighty look when he kicks in the teeth of some fomor, a

Fenris cultist or a spiral dancer.”

Butch broke out into a full belly laugh, his hands slapping the table,

making it rattle slightly. “God, I wish, but nah.”

Cricket’s smug expression evaporated, replaced by surprise. “OH

WHAT? Come on, you gotta tell us! I’m all out of ideas.”

Tomar, equally stumped, added, “Yeah, same.”

Butch raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between them both. “You

just gave me, like, one idea each. Come on, you gotta try harder than

that,” he teased, struggling to keep a straight face.

As the siblings pondered their father’s uncharacteristic mood, the

creak of the back door swinging open drew their attention. Their

mother, Mavis, stepped inside, the morning light framing her well built
 silhouette. Her blonde , graying hair was tied back in a bun with a

blue-tipped highlighted bang that dangled infront of her face

showing her vibrant, youthful spirit she still carried.

Clad in her guardian gear, scuffed but well-maintained, she exuded a

quiet strength. Mavis wiped her brow with a gloved hand, her

expression softening as she glanced at her family gathered around the

table.

Butch glanced over at Mavis, a broad smile spreading beneath his

crimson mustache. His deep voice carried a playful lilt as he asked,

“Sooo... how’s the gaflings?”Mavis allowed a small smile to break

across her face as she slid into her seat at the table , the quiet

warmth of the moment settling over her like a familiar blanket. Leaning

over, she presses a gentle kiss to Butch’s stubbled cheek, her

affection met with a soft rumble of approval from her husband.

“Oh, y’know,” she said with a faint chuckle, reaching for a plate. “Still

bickering amongst themselves, always trying to one-up each other.

But, I’ll give them credit—they’ve been a big help keeping the

guardian alive and well.” Mavis took a bite of her breakfast, the flavors
 momentarily distracting her before her eyes lit up with sudden

recollection.

“Oh! Did you tell Ruffs and Cricket about the big news yet?” she

asked, her tone brimming with enthusiasm.

Butch leaned back in his chair, crossing his massive arms over his

broad chest. His eyes twinkled with playful sarcasm as he cast a

glance at his kids . “I’ve been trying to get them to guess what the big

surprise is, but with their collective intelligence of a pea, they ain’t

getting any closer to the right answer,” he said teasingly , his voice

laced with mock frustration.

Mavis rolled her eyes and shook her head, the corners of her lips

curling in mild amusement as she sipped her coffee. “Really? You

know, you don’t always need to try and test them. You don’t need to

see if they’re a ‘true garou’ or whatever.”

 Butch chuckled, wiggling a finger at her playfully. “What? I just want

my kids to be able to think on the spot! Besides, what kind of garou

can’t solve a good enigma?”

Mavis raised an eyebrow, setting her cup down with a soft clink.

“Okay, one—this isn’t even close to an enigma. And two, it’s just a

nice surprise. Nothing serious.” She reached out, gently swatting his

hand away as he continued to point at her, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Plus, they haven’t had their first change.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and Butch’s smirk softened

into a more thoughtful expression. He leaned forward slightly, his arms

uncrossing as he caught the playful glint in her eyes.

Cricket, eager and a bit frustrated, slammed both her hands on the

table. “Hadn’t had our first change YET!” she said with emphasis, her

voice high with exasperation.

 Her parents couldn’t help but laugh, the sound rich and genuine.

Butch let out a deep chuckle, his shoulders shaking, while Mavis’s

eyes sparkled with affection. “Alright, lil Red, we get it,” Butch said

between laughs. “They’ve still got time.”Butch wiped a tear from his

eye, still chuckling as he straightened himself up. “Alright, alright, I’ll

tell y’all.”

With a playful grunt, Butch strode over to Issaic, placing his large

hands on his shoulders with a firm, yet affectionate grip. He leaned in

close, his voice low but filled with pride. “Your big brother here… has a

big opportunity to become his pack’s leader!”

Tomar and Cricket’s eyes instantly widened, their jaws slack with

surprise. Their gazes darted between Issaic and their father,

“R-REALLY?!” Tomar’s voice cracked with excitement as he leaned

forward, his eyes wide. “That’s great to hear, Issaic! I bet you’re gonna

kick ass today!”

He slapped a hand onto his brother’s shoulder, a sign of respect and

camaraderie, his grin stretching from ear to ear. The moment was

filled with genuine pride as Tomar’s enthusiasm filled the room.

Cricket, too “YEAH!” Cricket chimed in with excited glee, her voice

bubbling over with energy. “I bet you’re gonna make whoever you

gotta kick the ass of your bitch today!”

Issaic, struggling to keep his usual stoic composure, blushed deep red

in embarrassment. He quickly nodded in acknowledgement, though,

as Tomar and Cricket’s exuberant support settled over him.

“Thanks, Ruffles… Cricket,” he muttered, trying to hide his flustered

expression behind a cool façade. “It wasn’t easy, but it was worth the

work.”

Tomar, still buzzing from the excitement, glanced over at his mom, his

mind already racing ahead. “So, when’s the ceremony?” he asked, his

voice eager, his breakfast now a distant thought.

 Mavis met his gaze, the same warmth and pride shining in her eyes.

“Around 8:00 pm,” she said, her tone casual but with an underlying

sense of purpose. “But we’ve got to be there by noon to help get

everything prepared. There's also a moot happening as well.”

Her words grounded the excitement a bit, the weight of the

preparations and the significance of the event settling in. But the

energy in the room didn’t fade—in fact, it seemed to swell, thick with a

growing anticipation. The siblings continued to congratulate Issaic,

their voices filled with pride and excitement as they finished breakfast

together, the warmth of the moment filling the room.

By 10:45 AM, Tomar found himself retreating back to his cluttered

room, the clamor of the family breakfast still echoing in his mind as He

closed the door behind him and took a moment to breathe,

appreciating the quiet of his private dwelling. The familiar stillness

grounded him. Without hesitation, he dropped into his usual

routine—push-ups, sit-ups, squats—each motion steady and

deliberate. Soon, his hands found the worn pull-up bar hooked to the
 closet doorframe. With a low exhale, he pulled himself upward,

muscles tightening.

The burn in his muscles became a dull background noise, as his

focus slipped from the routine, the rhythm of his pull-ups faltering as

his mind began to drift. He found himself lost in thought, his muscles

burning but his mind somewhere far away. Will I ever get to

experience that? he wondered. The feeling of your family being proud

of you for getting a chance to prove you're the head of something?

The thought lingered, pulling him deeper into introspection. Let alone head

of the pack — head of the extended family, of the comrades who fought the

slow rot of the Wyrm.

Out of all the siblings, three—Isaac, Maverick, and Jessica—had already

had their First Change. Tomar? He was still waiting, clinging to that thin

sliver of hope. There was a chance he could change. He believed it would

happen; he just needed that damn spark — that rage, that fury — the kind

that would push him over the edge and unlock whatever was inside him.

The change that would bind him to his family and to his duty.

Sure, he could still serve, like the siblings who hadn’t changed yet. They

organized protests, cleaned the forests, ran safehouses for Garou in need.

But Tomar wanted more. He wanted the front lines — to fight the Wyrm, to

make something of himself, to prove he wasn’t just a bystander.

Lost in those zealous dreams, a familiar croak pierced the silence: Booger,

his pet bullfrog.

Tomar stalled mid–pull-up, a small smile tugging at his lips. He grabbed the

jar of mealworms from his dresser and made his way to the tank. Lifting the

lid, he met the plump green frog’s expectant stare. “Hey, Boogs. Sorry —

almost forgot,” he murmured.

He dropped the mealworms in. Booger attacked them with a single-minded

hunger, gulping each worm down. Tomar sat on the edge of the bed and

exhaled. Watching the frog’s methodical feast — the quiet scrape and gulp,

the ordinary rhythm — let his mind unclench. For a few breaths, his hopes

and fears faded to background noise. In that small room, with the world

muffled outside, everything felt still and present.

Then his phone buzzed — the shrill ring of an incoming video call cutting

through the calm. Tomar fished the battered device from his pocket; the

cracked screen still worked. The caller ID flashed: Roxane.

He accepted and set the phone beside him. Roxane’s face filled the

screen. She sat in her car, Chelsea-style blonde hair falling in a soft curtain,

exhaustion pressing at her features. She’d rested her head on the steering

wheel; a long groan slipped from her as she let her eyes flutter shut for a

second. Her office clothes, neat not long ago, looked rumpled now — the

day written in the slump of her shoulders.

Tomar frowned, not sure whether to laugh or be worried. “Roxy? You…

okay?” he asked.

She jolted upright with a half-groan, amber eyes heavy but smiling when

she saw him. “Hey, Ruffy,” she said, voice softening. “Rough morning at the

office, but I ducked out to decompress. How’s life?”

Tomar held the phone above his face; dim room light softened his features.

“Usual. Garage work weekdays, family stuff on weekends. Isaac’s getting

promoted, so the clan—what’s left of it in Kentucky—is going out to

celebrate.”
Roxane snatched the phone from her dash and leaned in, delight chasing

the fatigue from her eyes. “Really? The grump’s moving up? Good for him.”

She laughed, then tilted her head back against the seat. “If only I got a

promotion. Maybe then this office would feel worth it. Should’ve learned a

trade like you, huh?”

Tomar forced a chuckle. Pride at Isaac’s rank sat next to its hollow twin in

his chest. “Maybe you smart folk should take notes from us hicks,” he said,

trying to keep it light. His smile held a scrap of something darker —

jealousy, frustration.

Roxane’s smile faded as she caught the shift. She watched him closely.

“You okay?” she asked, voice soft. She’d known him long enough to read

the cracks.
Tomar hesitated, then shrugged. “I’m just a little envious of Isaac, that’s all.

He’s getting chances to prove himself, and I’m stuck under cars doing the

same thing, over and over.”

“I get it, Ruffy,” Roxane said. Her tone was warm and steady. “Working your

ass off and getting no thanks sucks. But you’ll get your chance. You’re

damn good at what you do. Don’t forget to be proud of your brother — he’s

family, and he’s earned it. You will too.”

Her sincerity eased something in him. He rubbed the back of his head and

managed a real smile. “Thanks, Rox. You always know what to say.”

She let out a breath as her watch beeped. “Oh — shit, I gotta get back.

Everyone needs coffee.” She gave a quick grin. “See ya, Ruffy!” The call

ended.
The screen went black. Tomar’s smile thinned into something quieter. He

stared at the dark glass, grateful for Roxane’s kindness even though she

couldn’t know the full picture. She didn’t understand the pull of the Sept, the

weight of being Garou. The lie he kept between them stretched a little

longer.

He didn’t want to be like the others still waiting — shuttling through chores

and expectations while life passed. He wanted the thrill his brother tasted:

standing on the front lines, a soldier of Gaia. He wanted recognition and the

right to stand with his family.

The silence grew heavy. Then his sister’s voice called from the hallway,

sharp and teasing. “Hey! We’re leaving now! Get your lazy ass up, Tomar!”

Her teasing shattered his dark loop. He pushed off the bed, setting the

day’s small drama aside. Today was celebration. For now he’d wear a

smile, join the family, and do his part.

But he wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted: glory, honor — and his

first Change