Boltcutter, Elodoth member of the Lodge of 66
The Lodge of 66 is a lodge of the Iron Masters that patrol Route 66 in the United States.
While the lodge members would prefer that Mother Road be their patron spirit, due to her insanity they have taken on Rumble of Coming Thunder instead.
Overview[]
Called the “Mother Road,” Route 66 was a pathway representing prosperity as impoverished Midwesterners could travel its length, seeking fortune elsewhere. Commissioned in 1926, the winding hairpin highway was one of the country’s major transportation arteries until the roadway’s decline and eventual decommission brought on by the bigger and faster super-highways that would eventually run the length of the country. Officially shut down in 1985, Route 66 still exists as a broken patchwork of crumbling highways and destitute back roads (all connected by bits of still-traveled links of actual highway).
For some Forsaken, Route 66 represents more than just an old, unused highway. The Shadow of Route 66 was once a strong and vibrant place, connected to a powerful spirit ecology. The Shadow’s health along this region was mirrored by the prosperity of the road. Spirits did as spirits do, eating one another and playing their strange games, but it was in relative balance, presided over not only by the Forsaken packs and gangs, but also by the highway’s own totem spirit, the titular Mother Road. Mother Road was a distant being, a spirit that spoke through orchestrated events and weird highway envoys (crows, lizards, the scent of scalded rubber, puddles of oil with faces reflected in the rainbow surface). But she was healthy, and so were the spirits over which she lorded. All was well. The decommission and inevitable disuse of the highway, however, set the Shadow’s tenuous balance on a path to decay. The road’s prosperity was falling away piece by piece, and with it came the madness of spirits. The breaking of the highway lead to the breaking of Mother Road — her spirit split into many personalities, some lazy and fickle, others wild with wrath. The Forsaken found their job a thousand times harder than it had been when the road was healthy, but their pride stopped them from banding together and mending what was broken. Instead of stopping the decline of the highway and attempting to foster growth within the Shadow, the gangs pointed fingers at one another, looking for blame. Territoriality mired the packs in violent infighting. The Pure wolves knew this. They watched and waited. And, in the 1990s, they attacked. As part of the concerted efforts all across North America, the Pure struck Route 66 like lightning. Over the course of a few short weeks, the Forsaken of the Mother Road found that they had been wasting all their efforts on one another, and their enemies had easily exploited that weakness. Most Forsaken died. A few went over to the other side, converted by honeyed-tongues and terrible tortures. The Mother Road herself cried out. Legends today say that all up and down the length of that already broken road, the blacktop split and roiled, as if shaken by a deep and troubling quake.
But it isn’t over. A coalition of Iron Masters has decided to take its territory back. They ride their motorcycle mounts and truck convoys down the hidden roads of the American West, striking small packs of Pure much as they themselves were hit a decade ago. This lodge isn’t big enough to hit the major players, yet, but it strives to gain ragtag members up and down the length of the old road. With packs like the Fat Truckers’ Association and the Stormriders, the lodge is gaining momentum. The lodge members must be wary, though — for every handful of Pure killed, it seems that one of their own perishes, as well. It is not a loss they can afford.
Membership[]
The Lodge of 66 recognizes that it needs whoever it can get in the fight against the Pure. Fact is, the Pure outnumber the lodge members mightily — while each might be individually weaker than any one Forsaken, their sheer population and territory give them a terrible edge. Still, while the lodge members cannot afford to be too picky (the lodge is still a fledgling organization, and has yet to produce numbers that make them more than a merely irritating thorn), they still uphold some standards to which a potential Iron Master must adhere.
First and foremost is transportation. The highway is a long and winding affair, damn near 3,000 miles worth of road. Some packs within the group are nomadic, whereas others keep and hold those territories that showcase a locus. Even those territories, however, may encompass 20 or 30 square miles of desert, mountain or forest. One cannot get from one end of a territory to the other on foot, and so one must possess a set of wheels. A Forsaken’s ride must measure up. Most Iron Masters in the lodge prefer loud-ass motorcycles or big trucks (be they pickups or 18-wheelers). Some, like the Vietnamese boys out of Amarillo (the Yamaha-ha-has) ride bumblebee black-and-yellow crotchrockets. The Stormriders, nomads every one of them, ride choppers and old army bikes. Some prefer Jeeps and buggies. Others like muscle cars. Whatever set of wheels the werewolf brings to the table must prove itself against the others. Some might scoff, but a potential can blow those dubious grins off their faces by performing well in a race or set of maneuvers.
The second requisite to join is the approval of the lording spirit, Rumble of Coming Thunder. Rumble does not favor weakness, and will violently spurn those who try to measure up and fail. (As one Iron Master put it, the spirit “needs wolves who are as hard as the blacktop and as bitter as a whiskey piss.”) If an Iron Master wants to join and shows up with a fast or rough ride, then the other members will bring them before the spirit. Rumble shows only at night, and he chooses to judge new members only at loci. If the spirit approves, the potential member should expect a thunderclap so loud their fillings rattle right out of their teeth. If Rumble smells weakness — that thunderclap comes complete with lightning that will burn every hair off the potential’s body. Once that’s all done, the lodge member goes through all the paces: any mechanics make sure their vehicle is up to par, they're given weapons and maps of all the territories (these are usually drawn and redrawn as the lines of war change things mightily) and then they're taken out for initiation. Initiation might be anything that a pack of 66 feels like: a night of hard drinking, a four-day peyote binge, a race or even an attack on the Pure and their kin. After that, the werewolf is expected to front all the colors and signs of their pack and lodge. They gets their ink, wears the right clothing and might even paint up their bike, car or truck. Each pack is like a gang unto itself (admittedly a coalition of like-minded gangs instead of the disparate enemies that they once were), and thus, each pack maintains its own codes of honor and symbols of power. Wise Forsaken don’t resist getting whatever tattoos their packmates wear. Stupid Forsaken get beaten into unconsciousness and wake up with the tattoos anyway.
Game Mechanics[]
The following are an overview of the game mechanics.
Prerequisites[]
- Glory ••
- Honor ••
- Crafts ••
- A set of proper wheels
Benefits[]
The lodge provides a vast network of grease monkeys and socket jockeys; as such, members may take a +1 bonus to all Crafts rolls involving repairing or modifying items. While these Iron Masters might prefer Mental Skills and Attributes, Rumble of Coming Thunder wants its children as tough as nails. Because of this, he makes it easier for them to improve themselves physically. All Physical Attributes can be purchased at the new experience point rate of new dots x 4, instead.
References[]
- WTF: Lodges: The Splintered, p. 31-36
