Tory Ward (Werewolf)

Core Attributes (3D6 In Order)

PRE(sense) - 12(4)*
REA(ction) - 13(4)***
INT(elligence) - 10(3)*
MIG(ht) - 16(5) (+1)*
ATT(unement) - 8(3)
RES(istance) - 13(4)**
YES! - 10(3)

Secondary Stats

Age - 23
Base Health - 37/16+12+9 (When Shifted +12)
Base Skill Points - 26/14+4+3+5
Skill Point Cap - 3
Defense - 4
Base Initiative - 13
Speed (Yards) - 12/8+4

Traits - Bruiser

Unique Skill - Tracking By Scent
Unique Skill - Control Shape
Unique Flaw - Hunger for Living Flesh

Skills -

Hand to Hand - 3 (+1) / Proficient(Grappling)
Melee - (+1)
Intimidation - 1 (+1)
Persuade - 3 / Trustworthy
Stealth - 3 / Failure Allowance
Spot Hidden - 2
Handle Animal - 1
Listen - 2
Firearms - 3 / Weapon Specialization (Shotguns)
Sense Motive - 2
Medical - 1
Craftsmanship - 2 / Specialization (Tools)
Survival - 3 / Home Turf

A piece commissioned a while ago from  DeadDragonP and which since then has been one of the artworks I've referenced for a tabletop RPG system, and sample scenario, I'm designing. At the moment, this is in the early stages of development and the more involved systems have not been designed. What has been decided on is the dice system, which is a pool system and uses only D6. You may also notice some bits inspired by Fallout/Wasteland 2 like the Traits and Perks.

One final thing: Werewolves are not the only creatures this game will let you play as. More details will come as I make more for this game.

---

Tuesday, March 14th, 2023
10:48 p.m.
Moon Phase - Waning Gibbous
Abilene, Texas

Tory Ward did not struggle as he was forced to the ground and his arms were bound; at least one shotgun was trained on him. He struggled to keep his breathing under control despite his rapidly beating heart, and his head swirling with nightmare scenarios. How he ended up like this flashed in and out of those thoughts with regularity. He had been careful. No one had seen him.
Was he just unlucky?
That had to be it. Nothing else could explain why he was seen and caught in the same night.
A few seconds later, Tory felt a thick ring of steel wire grasp his neck, and a gasp was caught in his lungs. An animal snare.
"Get it up," one of the officers demanded.
Tory felt his neck get yanked in turn. He let what words he would otherwise have said play out only in his head as he got himself up. His arms were bound tightly at the wrist with both handcuffs and tie-wraps, the metal and plastic tugging at his fur with even minute movements.
The police then walked him, with a noticeable amount of force, towards a waiting SUV cruiser, with a searchlight trained on his eyes to keep them shut. Once inside, they made every effort to push him against the opposite door and then yank his head down as if to hide him from view, only to leave the pole of the snare inside and lock him in. The officers that then got into the cruiser said nothing to him in favor of starting the engine.
*Fine. Be that way.*
The drive felt longer than it actually was, and all the way, in-between processing all the scents of the vehicle’s cabin, Tory had time to think. What had he done wrong? Still nothing came to mind. His thoughts then fell on his family. He could keep this from his folks easy, unless they got a call from the police station about him.
Only then did he grow worried, but for another reason. A niggling feeling in the back of his mind, one that told him he had not finished filling his stomach with the flesh of the animal he had caught. If it came back...
As the cruiser came near the police department building, it turned into the side parking lot, away from, what Tory could manage to see, several civilian vehicles before coming to a stop. Though he made no effort to move, the officer in the driver's seat was quick to train his revolver on him, and the one that got out resumed handling the pole, pushing his face into the door. Only when another searchlight was trained on his head was the door he was pressed against opened, and he was marched into the building with two weapons pressed into his back.
Right away, there was a hint of sulfur in the air of the building, and for the length of the first hallway, it fluxed in strength but never vanished. *So that's how.* Tory would have sighed a bestial sigh at that realization, but he held it.
The second hallway was similar to the first, and so was the room he was forced into. A place meant for no more than three but into which five would soon stand. Himself, the officer with the pole, the two with the weapons, and one lieutenant with a laptop. The lieutenant, like the others, did not speak to him. Only gesture to the officer with the pole to make him sit, and then the one with the keys to uncuff his arms.
Tory felt the wire around his neck tighten as his arms were freed, and a growl slipped by him. The officer with the pole then thrust his head to the side before jerking it back, not releasing the pressure on the hold. The lieutenant then opened the laptop, and set it on the table, the screen facing Tory. For a moment, within the white screen, he saw the still wet bloodstains on his muzzle and chin, his mind jumping back to his kill and his concerns about his hunger.
Tory ignored the lieutenant when after a period of no movement he snapped his fingers; it was all too obvious what they wanted him to do. His focus was on the sulfur scent. Inside the room, it had weakened considerably. The source had to be another elsewhere in the building.
The lieutenant snapped his fingers after more silence. Again Tory ignored him, only to get his head jerked around. Another growl slipped out, a louder one.
"Start listening, then," the lieutenant said.
Tory met the lieutenant’s gaze after more silence, and the officer shook his head.
“Never would’ve believed it, but now it makes sense.”
Several questions flickered through Tory’s mind at that, and his gaze went back to the laptop. If they didn’t know he could speak, there was no sense in letting them know.
/You know that was an animal I had, right?
“Yes,” said the lieutenant after reading the sentence. “We also know at least two other animals have been killed around here since last October, and you fit the bill as to why.”
Tory sighed through his nose. *Shit.*
“Unless you’re not the only one.”
Tory eyed the laptop again. Even if he lied, he knew in his gut they would never let him go.
/Would be news to me.
“That so?”
/Yes.
"Well then, here's what we're going to do. You will stay under arrest for the deaths of those animals. When who you are becomes clear, we'll go from there, unless you give us trouble."
Tory exhaled out his nose, eyed the laptop once more, but then looked away from it.
"Alright. Get his pictures, then lock him up. By himself." As the lieutenant left, the sulfur scent returned in force, reminding Tory to be watchful. The others then put the cuffs back on him and marched him out of the room.
The mugshot room was barely twice as big as the previous one with a camera on one end. Inside, the sulfur scent weakened again, only for it to spike when another entered the room. The new officer seemed no different than the others, but gestures from the ones restraining him told him he was not the only one noticing the sulfur scent.
Tory kept his focus on the newest one as they worked to attach plastic letters and numbers to a handheld board. How calm he seemed compared to the others was only brought into question when the board was completed and Tory’s last and first names were revealed.
“Wait a second. Do you know this monster, Penton?” asked the officer with the rifle.
“Oh, yeah.” The officer then gave Tory a smile that oozed creepy, and a feeling that he was staring at a stalker cut deep into his flesh. “Yeah, I know he’s taken quite a few animals around here.”
“And how long have you known this?”
“Does it matter? We have him, and he has to turn human at some point.”
*Fuck you, parasite.*
“Depends on what the lieutenant has to say,” the officer replied as the board was snatched from the creepy one.
Torn between smugness and concern as the board was slapped against his chest, Tory felt his arms get uncuffed again.
“Hold that, and don’t try any anything.”
Tory exhaled out his nose in response as he was walked into the front of the camera. The sour look he could feel upon his muzzle and face held until the shots were taken, and then once again he was marched from the room, this time by only the officer with the snare and the one with the shotgun.
The final stop was the holding area, a hallway with six cells, stone backed with no windows. Just over a dozen fresh, and unique, human scents were in the area, but the cell he got was all the way at the back, opposite one with five inside. Of those five, one was an older man in his fifties with glasses, another a younger girl who smelled of reefer, two college aged kids -- one of both sexes, both brown-haired -- that smelled of alcohol, and a middle-aged woman with nothing of note about herself.
Within a second, there were voices from all of them. Some asking questions, some sounding amazed. Only one -- the unassuming woman -- seemed to act nervous; Tory noticed her shuffle back.
His attention was then refocused on the snare and shotgun. His arms were uncuffed as the cell door was opened, then he was marched in, the shotgun’s muzzle in his back.
“Turn around, slowly.”
Tory obeyed, and at last his neck was freed of the wire noose. The officers then backed slowly out of the cell; once the door was shut and locked, there was nowhere he could go and he got to work massaging his neck. All he could do now was hope his stomach would accept what he had given it.
Tory held back his sigh of frustration as he sat down; the fewer clues he gave to the ones in the opposite cell, the better.
"Are you okay?" asked the older man after what felt like a minute.
Tory glanced at him but kept quiet, answering with a lifting and rocking of his left paw.
"What did you do?" asked the drunk male. "Scare the SWAT team?"
Tory refused to answer, and to his appreciation, the others took the hint. He then rested his head against the bars and let his thoughts take over.
For what felt like an hour, he made no effort to move. Only once did an officer come in to check on them, but no words were exchanged.
For the same length of time, he was focused most on his stomach, and his fears were being confirmed. His hunger was creeping back, and with it, the scents of those in the cell across from him were taking on a more pleasant edge.
As his pulse rose, he kept as quiet as he could. In the back of his mind however, he continued to imagine Paige and Brent nearby.
Then, for a reason he could not explain, he started smelling something he knew in his gut did not belong in a place like this. It was sweet and relaxing, and as he breathed, he could feel his lungs growing colder.
*What the...?*
How quickly he moved and looked around at the realization got the attention of the others. As soon as the older man asked what was wrong, the unassuming woman spoke up. "What's that smell?"
"What smell?" asked the one who reeked of reefer. When Tory looked at her, she seemed to give up after one sniff.
Then the older man spoke up. "That's laughing gas. What the hell's going on? Who's pumping that stuff in here?"
In Tory’s mind, he wondered the same. The cell block had no doors, but the gas had to be coming from somewhere. A second later, he remembered the vents along the ceiling and focused on them, standing up in the process before signaling to the others to do the same and cover their faces.
But his efforts gave them only a few minutes to contemplate the circumstances, and one by one, they passed out. No officers came to check on the block, despite the older man calling for them.
Eventually, his own eyelids grew heavy along with his progressing headache, and the last thing he saw was the worn and chipping paint of the bars of the cell.

* * *

The first things Tory felt as he came to were some gentle slaps of his face, still coated in fur, and a woman's voice telling him to wake up. Only when he made a resistant noise did the slaps stop, and then he got his eyes open a crack.
Just beyond his watered vision were shapes he recognized as Paige and Brent, and a background that looked like the living room of his house.
"There you are," Paige said.
Tory said nothing. Too much relief was rushing his chest and heart, along with familiar scents into his muzzle.
Brent said nothing until Tory began making more of an effort to shake off the drowsiness from the gas. "It’s fine. We can keep an eye out so relax if you have to."
Tory relaxed a little, only to remember his hunger when Paige’s scent started giving off a pleasant twinge. He reached one paw to his abdomen and licked his muzzle in response.
"Did you not get enough?"
"Probably best to assume no," Paige replied.
Tory nodded in response.
"Then at least we still have a few hours of night to spare."
*Thank God for that.* If they were lucky, the deer would still be at the spot. A few more pounds of that, and he could shift back.