The physical world and the Umbra are mirrors, Stonegrowl. I am the principle by which events come to take place. Ask Elton for a copy of Aristotle's Physics and review the multiplicity of causes if you don't understand. Anyway, I have heartening news: the spirits have come to a decision regarding the survivors of Broad Brook: they are a true pack, united by honor and common purpose. As I glide through the shadows cast by Gorsky Manor's high brick walls, you can almost see whatever is behind this body I wear, whatever is so huge and so far away that my form can barely conceal it. But it remains concealed—mercifully, for if you saw it, you would know the same pitiful rat-souled fear you inflict upon mortals, little Garou. What do you think about your new companions? Be honest.
The compulsion washes over you, calling upon you to ruthlessly scrutinize your packmates for weakness. Is this what it's like, you wonder, to be a Shadow Lord?
"Elton still mourns his dead wife. He ignored his duties to Gaia for years as his companions fought or suffered alone."
"Podge is dangerous and difficult, and he keeps clipping his toenails in my sink. I don't trust him."
"Nin might have a wolf's wisdom, but we need someone who can act and fight! All she does is tag along and play guitar."
"Melodie got herself trapped by some two-bit corn spirit and sat around in a daze for three years. I expected more from the self-styled rulers of the Garou Nation."
Get out of my head, Stormcat! I don't do what you tell me.
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