By Mr Badger (mbadger@es.co.nz)
Especially not in this particular field as smoke started to twist its way up from the middle of the field. Starting off as a gentle stream of opacity in the early evenings sky the smoke gathered strength like a raging torrent of water that started off as a trickle. Soon the flicker became a pillar of smoke lit by the raging fires that gave it birth. The fire spread like, well wild fire, amongst the dry crop and soon a majority of the maize was engulfed in cleansing fire. Before any action could be taken to hinder its travel the fire claimed the field as its own. The crop was devastated, wiped from the face of the Earth as if it had never existed. Standing nearby on top of a hill a small group smiled as this was exactly what they desired. The blaze may eventually be correctly attributed to arson, that is inconsequential to the act. The crop was destroyed and that was that mattered. At the head of the group was a tall man with a large mane of red hair down his back, gathered together at the back of his shoulders in a clasp resembling boxing gloves. Turning to his Pack the man smiled with a grin far too toothy to be anything other than s toothpaste advertisement or something that would look appropriate in a shark's mouth on a Ocean life television program. The teeth were blunt rather than sharp but the sheer number of them made up for any deficiency. "We run," said the man.
One by one the group changed. From standing as men and women on two feet their forms melted into those better supported on all fours. Mouths elongated into a snouts. Hands and feet fused together into paws. Ears became pointed while be positioned more towards the top of the head than to the sides. Slick red and/or black fur grew to cover bodies no longer clothed. Running into the scrub at the side of the well scorched field the Pack left at a swift trot. At the Pack's lead was the original speaker. The fighter for justice and nature in a land twisted and evil. A man who fought against the blight and darkness falling across the lands in ever increasing waves. The Dingo at the head of the Pack was none other than Skippy, the Bush Kangarou.
The name Skippy was never mentioned lightly. Even those who are unaware of the Supernatural battles occurring around them each night were aware of the man known as Skippy. This outlaw was a 90's version Ned Kelly. This one man and gang had caused more heartache and destruction than any other since the shameful night of "Hagbutt got slightly annoyed at someone in public" spectacle of the early 80's. Fire, death and much urinating were his trade mark. What the public was not aware of was the foes attacked by Skippy and his gang each night were all owned and operated by the one and the same Mega Corporation, Phorex.
Phorex were a gigantic organization structure formed out of one really bad brewing company. I'm not saying this beer tasted in any way or form undesirable for human consumption. What I am saying is that the USEPA once mistook a shipment of this so called 'beer' as seaborne nuclear waste. This 'beer' is so awful to consume many a person has burst into flame rather than let the fetid liquid reach the lower end of their tormented throats. This 'beer' has as much to do with 'an enjoyable beverage' as Clinton has with 'chastity.' This 'beer' holds the definition of liquid in only the very loosest terms. Any looser and it would achieve escape velocity and with any luck fall into the sun. This 'beer' is world renowned for having a name that could only be an Australian's attempt to spell 'beer.' This 'beer' sterilizes household pets by just being driven past in a delivery van. The 'beer' was been proven to turn back the passage of time as entire lineages of Mortals have had their family line eradicated from history because one foolish member decided 'just one couldn't hurt.' This wasn't 'beer,' but the Wyrm embodied with little bubbles and a malt taste. Phorex just sort of grew from there into the Bane filled horror story we know it today. Skippy, the Bush Kangarou, was dedicated to its downfall.
Skippy greeted the Pack as they returned to their base camp in a way, that gave me as an author, a disgustingly easy way to introduce a few of the characters without any fussy or bother. Skippy himself appeared to be a Dingo (it's a dog) of great stature. Skippy was born under a certain phase of the moon that like all Kangarou identified his nature towards others. Skippy was a A-hoon, born under the Full (Hoon) Moon. He liked old rusty cars, liked very loud music playing through a shite stereo in that before mentioned rusty car (a stereo that was worth three to four times the value of the car itself,) like wearing black t-shirts with Heavy Metal Bands emblazoned upon them and liked to wear a suitable well worn black jersey that had so many holes in it to qualify as a multitude of golf courses as well as a hand full of Women's Boarding houses. A-Hoons are violent and prone to anger. The A-Hoons are the warriors of the Kangarou race.
Skippy was also born of a most renowned Tribe of Kangarou. Tales are told of these leaders amongst men, Dingo and those things with teeth that could open bottles if the rest of us if it didn't mean spraying drool everywhere. I blame the parents, should never have gotten together if they'd known the kid would turn out like that. Damn ugly thing, must have been a very difficult birth to squeeze the head like that. Not only do Kangarou have Auspices of the Moon they also belong to Bloodlines, known as Tribes. Skippy was a member of the Silver Hangs, known as such as they have cojones of steel! Huge ones, the size of bowling balls. Men amongst men or women amongst men who could still beat nine tenths of crap out of you while flossing their teeth with the remaining tenth afterwards. We won't go into what women do amongst women, who the hell can tell except it no doubt involves going to the bathroom together in a group of giggling harpies.
The next to arrive was Steve. Steve was smaller than Skippy and panted with an excess of breath that condensed and fell to the ground in a puddle when ever he was stationary. Rather than run in a direct path Steve ran in a lope that could only be considered evasive action so violent in its horizontal direction it could only be against field artillery or orbital bombardment of very large and sharp fast moving rocks. Steve was born under the Phase of the Moon that made him a Dribbly-Hard. Dribbly-Hards are the ones who remember the old ways. To do that they remain perpetually drunk and start to tell the
same stories as always about how they remember it happening in the old days. This annoys the tits off the younger Kangarou. Which is just as well considering how many tits we have at the best of times and how few it takes to go missing to be noticed, that they regenerate. "Mate, mate, mate, mate," drooled Steve. "You're my mate, I know you mate. Yeah, mate." Steve wasn't much a conversationalist really.Steve's Tribe was one of the more Modern ones. His tribe was one that had embraced the Modern Age of Humanity and used that fact as a tool to survive and prosper. The Tribe was known as the Fast Talkers and as such were the ones most in tune with the world of the Mortals. The Fast Talkers were the premier bullshit artists of the Kangarou (which says a lot really about their skills.) The Fast Talkers were a Tribe to be reckoned with, being a Dribbly-Hard as well made Steve a very potent weapon in the Pack. Skippy just wished Steve would shut the hell up now and again. To stop pissing on anything sitting still would be an advantage as well.
Alphonse was the third Kangarou to reach the camp. Alphonse was one of the Pack which could only be considered 'dodgy' and that was before you even met him. It's referred to in the masculine but the jury is still out examining the evidence. Really can't be too sure about it. Alphonse was of a Tribe not generally tolerated unless they were gifted at their duties. Alphonse was a Git of Finesse. The Git of Finesse Tribe were renowned for their skills at camouflage. "No darling! You'd look far better in green with puce stripes!" They were renowned as decoys, as other Tribes would do damn near anything to beat the living crap out of a Git. Understandable really, who can blame them. The Gits were also attributed with a fierce temper. Without much provocation a Git would explode in a Rage of Hissy Fitting with finely manicure fingers nails flailing wildly at all comers. The battle cry of "You Bitch!" can cause a shiver down the spine of the most battle hardened Kangarou.
The next Pack member to arrive walked straight into Skippy before stopping. Rubbing her eyes with a well practiced motion the Kangarou reformed into human shape. Better to rub your eyes with actually hands rather than paws. Saves you falling on your chin into the dirt if you forgot to sit on your haunches. This Pack member belonged to a Tribe held within the Pack as the Law Keepers. This Tribe went by the name of Where'd-he-go? The 'Where'd-he-go?' were born with an abstract lack of perception and common sense skills most people take for granted amongst Mortal and Kangarou society. The 'Where'd-he-go?' were famous law Keepers as since they hardly ever noticed anything without prompting they remembered every single thing they were told. As such the 'Where'd-he-go?' make the most excellent gossipers. Think of the 'Where'd-he-go?' as Handel crossed with Mr Badger but with more hair than both of them put together (and being Australian as neither of them actually are).
The last of the pack members to be introduced at this time was known as Claudia. Claudia was one of the females in the Pack, not the only one but the only other one I'll introduce at this exact moment. Get off my back, if you want more you write it and I'll lean back and scratch myself while drinking a beer with a sneer. Claudia was the sort of Dingo that made you look and think of Lassie movies, in a way you never have or should never have you sick degenerate you. Claudia was so beautiful as to transcend the barrier of species and make you reach for the lubricant and the leather collar with a smile on your face that could not be considered healthy. I bet you do that all the time don't you? I bet you do that when you watch "Curious George" cartoons! You sick bunch of . . . ! You disgust me. Anyways, past what you bunch of depraved, hormone-ridden wretches think all the time Claudia was quite attractive. Claudia was a member of a Tribe who were so physically attractive as to cause excitement in the opposite sex (rather than the same sex like poor deviant Alphonse) from a distance measured in Light Years at the very least. Claudia was from a Tribe known as the Children of Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. As that was what people said when they saw her, gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
Skippy looked at his Pack and smiled a smile of someone who'd done bad without being caught. No one was saying "bad dog" to this Kangarou with a rolled up newspaper in their hands. Skippy bowed his head at his Pack at a job well done. At his signal all those who had not reformed into human shape did so. Human shape was the most desirable as it had thumbs. Thumbs were great things, so helpful when doing things like taking off bottle tops or can lids. Thumbs were marvellous, people should have more thumbs. Well no I suppose, any more than the requisite pair of thumbs (one on each hand) and people try to murder you. Just as well really, you freak of nature you.
Skippy remembered the teaching of his Elders. Those who educated him in the ways of the Kangarou from an early age. Skippy doesn't remember his original parents, one who was Kangarou and one who probably walked into the wrong dark alley or worked on the docks. All Skippy could remember was his Fosters Parents. Fosters Parents were the Kangfolk who bought up a Kangarou with the memories of the times before the Wyrm. Before Phorex wreaked its pestilence across the lands. Fosters Parents remembered before then when beer was beer and not 'beer.' Beer when it tasted nice and didn't taste like a u-bend scraping from the dirtiest toilet in Melbourne. Great mental image that eh? Fosters Parents were those who remembered the old times and wished them again. A time before Phorex arrived, a time before they lost the America's Cup. A time before they lost the Cricket to New Zealand.
Skippy looked to the silent Pack (except for Steve who was nattering away to himself as always, sitting in the wet spot.) "We have dealt the Wyrm a mighty blow, and burnt a whole lot of shite down while we were at it!" Shouted Skippy. "Phorex has been hit hard by our acts of vengeance!" Skippy the outlaw Kangarou beat his tail against the ground as he spoke. Yes, he has a tail even in Human form. Being the person who finds Lassie sexually exciting who are you to say what is right and what is wrong?
That's it, I'm ending the story now just to spite you. If I find it in my heart to excuse you I may write more later on . . . .The history of the Kangarou is a secret and not oft told story of hardship and adversity. Here for the first time I shall relate to you their history as spoken by their Loremasters, known amongst the Kangarou as the Kellihards. The Kellihard who spoke this tale originally was named in accordance with tradition with the surname of the first Kellihard, known as Ned to his friends. The Kellihards are considered to be the Loremasters yet the lore they preach may often not be the same as that considered the abject truth. All the same the Kellihards are entertaining all the time which can not be said of the truth. As with all things belief is a powerful force and it's not the type just caused by bad yogurt and unfortunate electric light sword waving.
After an evening of much refreshing and very many frosty beverages numbering almost a score but not quite a score as the barmaid refused to offer her phone number in case of later certain drunken harassment. By evenings end the swagman was feeling so mightily refreshed from Sheila's bounty he found the floor deceptively flat in places and indeed desired a place to kip away his magnificent refreshment. This desire for shelter was reinforced by the insidious endeavors of the Wyrm who offered the swagman a not so frosty and ever so much the opposite of refreshing shot of tequila. The swagman felt the coils of the Wyrm strangle his insides with all their yucky bits and thus did the swagman empty his stomach contents across the before mentioned barmaid. Hastily all of Sheila's creatures did expel the swagman to shelter nearby in case his mental fortitude did lapse much more and let the Wyrm enter unguarded. The floor here in the offered shelter was unstable and did spin wildly with no rhyme nor reason much like modern poetry. The swagman clutched the floor with trepidation and looked for comfort in the night.
Sheila took pity on her creation and thus offered companionship to the swagman, forgiving all his previous actions like a good woman should. Her beauty could only be explained by the holy words "oh mate!" Her loveliness is forever spoken by the promise of a full moon and the glistening moisture slipping slowly down the sides of a frosty refreshing beverage. Lips tasting of the richest nectar and eyes so clear and brown as to see a man's soul like rice paper before the light. The swagman took comfort in the arms of beauty and after did slumber like a noisy corpse made equally of hair and foul odors.
The next morning the swagman awoke and felt the evil vapors of the Wyrm pounding through what remained of his brain. He remembered little of the previous night except the sweet embrace of a cool frosty beverage and then the sweeter embrace of a good woman. Feeling a weight upon his other arm the swagman did look to one side first with affection and then with eyes the size of hubcaps from a most marketable product of the Ford production lines, number of cylinders immaterial. The dreams of many nipples were not fantasy but indeed reality for the swagman had found comfort in the arms, sorry to be accurate make that paws, of a dog. This was no ordinary dog but a dog gifted by Sheila to star in a movie with Meryl Streep. A native of the Australian shores known as a dingo. The swagman did say many words and few were to Sheila's liking.
The swagman was shocked and dismayed, dismayed and shocked in equal but ever increasing amounts. "Oh what have I done?" Cried the Swagman towards Sheila and Sheila did reply, "not bad but your foreplay has a lot to be desired. Take my good creature as your wife as she is yours and yours alone." The swagman made a face that was not to Sheila's liking. "Bugger off, what will me mates think?" Replied the Swagman and thus was the final word spoken as all that remained of the Swagman was a life-sized hole in the air and the sound of rapidly departing feet. Sheila was displeased, not with her creature but with the swagman for his coward-like behavior. From this time forth, did Sheila decide, the union of Dingo and man would be fertile and fruitful and not at all futile. There would be an accounting and man would forever more feel the touch of fear when that word was used again.
Time did pass and the dingo did labor. In her labor she did give birth under the watchful eyes of Sheila to the first Kangarou. It was called Bruce which is sort of unfortunate as it was a girl.
The true man form is known as the Hogan and he is a mighty animal. Not all that clever but what do you really expect when it comes down to it. Hogans look the same as any other Mortal man except for the desire to carry a very large and undoubtably sharp knife (the Romans used to call something that size a siege weapon) on their hip. Headware is desired and this generally takes the form of a stockman's hat called something unspellable in English. ((-2 Int, +1 Cha, +1 Wits))
The near man form is known as the Crochunter. The Crochunter is a fierce beast with features close to Mortal yet slightly disturbing to view unaided by a frosty refreshing beverage. Crochunters are slow to anger yet strong and resilient. ((+1Str, -1 Int, +2 Stam))
The beast form is known as the Bloke. Blokes are wild beasts and prone to violent anger. The Bloke form causes a mental condition amongst Mortals known as the Debeerium. The Debeerium allows the Bloke to commit any action what so ever and any witnesses will dismiss the action as allowable as the Bloke was probably "drunk at the time." Blokes are easily two and a half metres tall with a girth quite large as well. Insanely strong but also supernaturally intelligent. No wise man attempts to combat a Bloke if they wish to see another sunset. ((-2 Cha, +3 Str, +3 Stam, -1 App, -2 Per, +2 Wits))
The near dingo form is known as the Lassie for the unfortunate reason you're probably already well aware of. Larger than a dingo yet not overly large so as to cause unwanted interest. The Lassie form appears to be almost entirely dog like except the paws are more capable of acting as hands and the eyes with the dog's head are far too intelligent to be passed off as belonging to a dog. Lassies are fine examples of animals and are prized for their looks and intelligence. ((+2 Dex -1, Manip, +1 Stam +1, +1 App as it's cute, +2 Per))
The dingo form is known as a dingo. What else did you expect? It's a dog, bit on the scrawny side but otherwise just a dog. A scavenger and pack animal. Often blamed for stealing babies out of the tents of camping idiots. Whether the dingos are guilty of such an action is immaterial as the people targeted would be better off not breeding anyway. It's a shame those guilty didn't just eat the parents as well and thus make the world a better place by far.
Those born under the full moon, or "that time of the month Sheila" are known as a-Hoons. A-Hoons are easily picked out of the Kangarou people. They are nearly always blond, either naturally or through dyes. The hair is short on front and sides yet long down the back in an unkempt flow. Black t-shirts are the norm, usually emblazoned with the faded remains of a Heavy Metal band either in logo or in picture. A-Hoons are rage incarnate. They live for confrontation and violence, Either physical personally or through the use of a motor vehicle. Vehicles seem to be chosen for age and decrepitness. No sign of rust is enough. As if daring the powers of the Wyrm the a-Hoons look towards corrosion as an almost totem like figure. A-Hoons are rude, unkempt and unruly. They are warriors first most and warriors second, third and even for the fourth helping along the way. A-Hoons believe in speed, aggression and then fast aggression going really fast. A-Hoons have an inner language within their own. Words are superimposed in replacement or enhancement of others. Women are known as handbrakes, for example "I couldn't come to the pub tonight as the handbrake was stuck on all night." Failing in a task is known as "spitting the dummy." Ending a task is known as "pulling the pin." The a-Hoons are respected within the Kangarou but not often invited around to meet the parents.
As mentioned before the Loremasters are known as Kellihards after the first of their kind. They are born under the gibbous moon or as it is more better known as "the nearly tipsy Sheila." The Kellihards do not just gather information but instead actively seek it out where many think there is known. The unofficial name for the Kellihards is "bullshit artists." This name comes about due to the fickle and often completely absent nature of the truth within the lore gathered. Still, when the party is in full swing there are few others eagerly sought out as the Kellihards. Amusing, eloquent and just plain fun. Kellihards can take any form and come in any color. Rather than aspire to any uniform it is a state of behavior that tells the Kellihards from any other. Even so the Kellihards have a most serious side to their nature when it comes to the performance of their duties within the breed.
The judges are known as the Filler-of-Docs. The Filler-of-Docs enforce rule by an iron fist -- or more popular is a fist wrapped around a broken bottle and used with great purpose. Within the breed the Filler-of-Docs accept nothing other than absolute peace. They'll kill to get it as well, which sort of makes them the sort of people to avoid if at all possible or at least to walk softly around when you can't. Filler-of-Docs can be best recognized by their foot wear. As a badge of office each judge wears the ancestral pair of heavy "kicker" boots. The Filler-of-Docs are the motivators of the breed. They point out direction and purpose, then make very good use of their kicker boots to make sure everyone is moving. A good arse kicking does wonders for motivation within a pack. Or at least fills in time while you look for a better one.
There is a fourth kind, hidden amongst the others. They are born amongst the new and crescent moons (known as the "she's gone mate" and "don't worry, another one will come along with bigger tits" Sheila). They are known as Commentators as they view the world's glory and speak of it. The Commentators are tolerated even though they seldom produce anything of material gain to the Kangarou species. The reason for this is that the Commentators, through speech and action, illustrate flaws within the culture and by bringing attention to these flaws they may perhaps be healed before any great harm takes place. While the commentators sometimes possess more wisdom and truth than the Kellihard they are nowhere near as exciting to listen to. A great Commentator can hold a crowd in awe but anything less and the boys just feel a little let down. Great Commentators have brought to the Kangarou such pearls of wisdom as: "That was bound to happen as it's been bubbling under all evening," "It was a game of two halves," "Never before have I seen such a display of decisive decision making," "This is the first time I've seen such action since the last time it happened." Rather than complaint the Commentators bring laughter and acceptance.
Mates are not shunned as are the Garou equivalent and instead are a readily accepted members of Kangarou society. Mates suffer from many deformities representing their warped parentage. The most notable deformity is the complete inability to reason; people want them to just bugger off and bother someone else. Mates are identified from the usage of their breed name often in conversation. "How's it going, mate? Mate! You should have seen me last night, mate; it was a cracker mate kind of day mate. Know what I mean, mate?" Unlike the Garou variety, Mates are unfortunately very fertile and seem to breed like the proverbial rabbit on Viagra. They're everywhere and represent the majority of Kangarou numbers.
Kangaroo: A totem of courage and war. Ever seen a pissed off kangaroo? They'll rip you apart rather than look at you and that's more often than not. The Kangaroo represents identity as well as authority. The origins of the kangaroo totem seem to have been found within a single case of very poor spelling in the distant past. Followers of the kangaroo totem must always have pockets in their clothing else they lose the trust of the spirit. It is said that even the Garou follow the kangaroo totem in some areas.
Koala: A totem of peace. The koala totem calls for its children to lay down the weapons of war and aggression and instead just sit still in a tree somewhere and watch the world go by below their feet. Koala often use chemical means to provoke inner peace and enlightenment. Few a-Hoons follow koala but there are some. Looking forth into the spirit world often means the children of the koala lose touch with the material world, even if they are material girls. As such they may appear to move in a different time stream than the observer. Slower, more paced and far more relaxed. Followers of the koala totem must remain peaceful at all times and never frenzy else lose all credibility.
Mum (spelt "mom" in less educated countries): A totem of wisdom. Every Bloke has a mum and that person is the greatest celestial body there ever was or will be. A Bloke's Mum is the wisest person there is and her advice is followed to the letter. Mum is often confused with the greater power that is Sheila, but they are two different figures entirely. Sheila gives her blessings to all her creations while Mum knows that her sweety is the best there is. Followers of Mum must accept all gifts without complaint or else suffer the wrath of Mum.
Kiwi: A totem of courage. When you're an oversized flightless bird which is preyed upon by damn near everything that breathes and yet night after night you wander around the wilderness you've either got two enormous steel bollocks just bursting with courage or you're a bloody maniac. Kiwi teaches his followers how not to be able to fly and how to run like buggery. Followers of Kiwi must always remain on solid ground else nothing at all will happen to them.
Their first major product and still their most famous is Phorex beer. While beer in name only it still beats a majority of more internationally well-known brands. With many uses other than as a frosty hardly refreshing beverage; such as a weed killer, paint stripper, sterilizer (of people mostly which could only be considered a good thing considering the people who drink it), solvent. Phorex beer is unto real beer in the same way teenagers are to life's wisdom. Basically not at all and never will be.