You can see the black ring in the sky, the spot where no stars are. It's almost completely dark tonight, except for the red haze of Buffalo far to the west and the squirming line of the Milky Way across the sky. But you can see enough.
Leave glory to others. The wolves of the new moon are cunning and fierce, wise as serpents, ruthless as the self-proclaimed "warrior-kings" among the Garou. This Bane will perish, but you're not here to put on a show for Clay or anyone else. You're here to make a kill: quietly, efficiently. People can try to figure out how you did it after it's all done.
You are new moon, ragabash, the auspice of cunning. And you'll need all your cunning to bring this monster down.
The ice wind shifts and the Bane steps toward the trees, its outline breaking apart as its cloud of flies rises up. You smell the others—Clay and Scarper and Black Tarn—but they're not here yet, and the Bane might still escape into the trackless forest. But you've planned for this moment since your first conversation with the hustlers who served this Bane, and you've already taken on the ideal form…