"The devil's greatest trick was convincing man that he does not exist."
(This is Nightshade's background which you are welcome to read but is not common IC knowledge)
One of many wise sayings that rolled off the lips of Nightshade's instructor. A silence fell as Nightshade struggled to find a suitable retort, she had been working for many hours already on the brew that was to give her insight into her next spell. "God's greatest trick was convincing the devil that he had not planned his actions." she responded, hoping that it was a proper response. Her mentor nodded, moving through the shadows of the cave that was Nightshade's home, his form shifting as often as the shadow and light that covered him, or her, or it. Laughs When Weeping was a shaman who had been so long pursuing the path of the trickster that the ideas of truth and fact were completely subjective to his mood. Nightshade referred to Laughs as him as a matter of convenience, never having noticed a strong preference for either gender in his near constantly evolving forms.
Nightshade leaned forward pulling a wooden spoon from among several hung nearby, dipping and lifting just the tiniest sip from the roiling kettle. The taste was foul and caused her lips to curl in disgust around her tusks. She spat it out into a small but steady stream that crept out of the cave from where it welled up in the back. She rinsed the spoon and selected another, a darker wood this time. Her efforts to match the flavor of the vial her master had provided had thus far be unsuccessful, but the transformation spell he was teaching her was one that fascinated her and she believed it to be the first step to unlocking her mentors true powers. His method of teaching was more mockery than mandate, his way, she was sure, of reminding her of her foolishness when she began pursuing the arts of sorcery from knowledge gleaned from old books on wicca and other 'witchcraft'.
From the darker spoon the brew took on the right taste, a cascade of flavors that changed constantly as it sat on her tongue, sweet, salty, sour, spicy, bitter, bland, burnt the flavors changing nearly endlessly. As the liquid sat on her tongue she considered her efforts which lead her to the threshold of success how the brew had to be first broken down to a near tasteless glue before rebuilding it with the tastes she selected. How the body and flavor of the individual ingredients were inconsequential to the final result. Pulling mana to herself, she broke down her own body, casting aside her own flavors then rebuilding herself into the form she desired.
But something was wrong, there was horrible pain in her arms and legs, it grew worse every moment until something ripped. Whimpering on the floor, covered in the shreds of what had once been a pair of jeans and a sturdy flannel shirt Nightshade the wolf struggled, one leg had dislocated unable to bend properly in the confining clothes, the rest had shredded their way out as she kicked. Nearby her mentor laughed, "And that, my eager young apprentice, is why witches attended their black masses in the nude." Nightshades attempt at retort came out only as a growling yip. Her attempts to stand hampered by the tangled cloth and bad leg were pathetic, and as her hopes of dashing out into the night to run as a wolf faded so did the form as she released the magic. Cradling her arm and looking down at the tatters of clothes around her she asked, "Master, how do your clothes change with you?" His response as he moved through the various metahuman races, each wearing a different set of clothing, "They do not, I form them anew each time I change." Nightshade sat for a moment then asked, "Teach me that?" Laughs nodded, "Of course child, you know you need only ask." And so her lessons continued, knowledge, almost free for the asking, but never provided until one knew the question to ask, and never accompanied by the wisdom to use the knowledge properly, wisdom would only be taught by pain and failure.
The trip down the mountain was cold, her arm pained her but it was not the worst hurt she had born. Changing into her other set of clothes had been awkward, and they were meant for summer months, her jacket not long enough to cover her legs. And the shorts not doing enough to ward off the chill. When she walked into the circle of her family's homes she was greeted warmly enough by her relatives. A tribe of trolls, gathered together in self-defense in the mountains of Pennsylvania's coal mining area. Plenty of caves and abandoned housing that the oppressed trolls were happy to occupy. Now though pressure from several corporations threatened their homes as corporate greed pushed them the enforce their claims to mineral rights on the land. Her family only held the land through meager legal right, a loophole and a technicality regarding land sales that they had thus far been able to uphold in court. Strong-arm tactics had been tried against them many times, but strong-arming a community of trolls, many of which were gifted adepts was not an easy task.
Of course not every member of the small community was a adept, in fact the number was relatively small but every person in the town trained as one. A daily regimen reminiscent of martial arts temples straight out of the movies. A third of the community practicing each morning, midday, and evening in the town square in forms of combat. As an adept Nightshade was expected to take a lead role, but she was something of a disappointment to her instructors. While she took to unarmed combat or blades and fought like a demon and showed passable ability with firearms , she seemed unable to grasp many of the other skills in which she was instructed failing to improve her body as her peers were able to. She was considered an idle child and a dreamer, perhaps even somewhat slow, and this was all to Nightshade's satisfaction. She pulled guard duty less often and had time to pursue her studies, unknown to the rest of her family, with Laughs When Weeping.
Some hours later, her shoulder properly set, she was summoned to the home of the communities leader. For simplicities sake, and to maintain the technicality that allowed them to keep their land he was referred to as Uncle, Brother, or Nephew depending on your age relative to his. To the young Nightshade he was Uncle. Uncle outlined the concern, another incursion on their land by a corporation, attempting to settle enough people in to overturn the 'law' that kept the Troll's community 'legal.' These people would need to be driven off the land immediately.
This was a common mission, almost routine, and one that Nightshade had been involved with many times before. Years ago it was one such mission that had drawn Laughs When Weeping's attention. According to Laughs, he had been in the form of a tree when Nightshade had climbed him to scout a small campsite. Nightshade had spent some time in the tree targeting the campers with spells she had taught herself in secret. Changing their memories of the paths and routes in the area and how to get to their vehicles, then planting a suggestion in each, that should they be attacked, it would be safest to regroup by their vehicles. She then unslung and took aim with her riffle, several quick shots wounded the campers then she waited for them to scatter. A few minutes work gathering their gear and then she turned to head for home, as she did she encountered a young human leaning against a tree laughing.
It would take quite a twist of the tongue to make that first meeting seem to have gone smoothly. Nightshade's attempt at shooting the young man failed, the young man's attempt at disabling Nightshade did not. It took quite a bit of talking for the young man to earn Nightshade's trust and become her mentor, it took quite a bit more time for Nightshade to realize that her trust was a foolish weakness. Satisfied that the first lesson to be taught was learned, Laugh's began instructing the young troll in secret and in earnest.
The mission this time was to involve a larger raiding party. The corporations had sent in a team with pre-fab houses. Under the cover of being a family lumber business interested in re-establishing the ancestral lumber mill. A smoke screen in their ongoing attempt to get enough 'voters' in the area. The houses would need to be destroyed, the 'residents' run off or killed. Resistance was expected to be moderate, while the corporation had not resorted to sending military forces in yet the people they do send tend to be ex-military or at least well trained. The fight was short and bloody, wounds were taken on both sides, and the houses destroyed. And so Nightshade's life went for several years.
As Nightshade approached the age of twenty, near to middle age for a troll, something changed. A corporate supporter of their clan, an executive who's rival company would suffer greatly if the mineral rights were optained, who had helped the community for decades requested a special run. An extraction designed to put a mole into place at the corp that constantly threatened their community. Working from inside they could further hamper the efforts to make good on the mineral rights. Nightshade took a small part in the affair, traveling as far as Denver making arrangements, there she met a fixer named Shaq. The meeting was casual, an exchange of goods and supplies for nuyen, but Nightshade had been long trained to take what advantage she could from whomever she met, so she spent some extra time and money on Shaq, cultivating a relationship with him. It was good fortune that she did as the extraction deal went sour.
That is not to say the trolls failed, in fact they succeeded. However the 'mole' was actually the executive that had been working with the community all these years. Having received a better offer he switched allegiances, as he left he undercut the support for the community, putting motion plans that quickly lead to all legal and financial support being stripped away. Lacking the backing to protect their actions in court it quickly became a matter the biggest bankroll wins. Within weeks the rights of the community were stripped away and the corporation were able to bring the full force of their "security forces" to bear.
From her cave farther up the hill it was easy to see the black smudge working it's way up into the sky from what was once the community's dwelling. The family had fractured under the pressure, small groups spinning off to live with friends farther away, to make their way into the city, to fall back further into the woods. Laughs When Weeping stepped to the edge of the cave beside his apprentice watching, "The trickster laughs when others are weeping." he said giving voice to his full name. Nightshade looked out over the woods towards the far distant city, "The nightshade blooms in shadow." she responded with the name he gave her years ago on becoming his apprentice. He nodded watching her family scatter, "The devil's greatest trick…" he prompted. She shook her head slowly watching as the large aircraft bearing corporate insignia took off from the ruined community, "No." she responded, "God's greatest trick, convincing others that the devil existed."
Some months later a female troll makes her way through the streets of Denver. A handful of new identities and a scant amount of nuyen attached to a credstick in her pocket. The executive never saw his payday for betraying the trolls, and while Nightshade would have liked to take credit for that, it was the corporation that did it, "Never trust a traitor." Nightshade remarked laughing as she wept upon hearing that the man who had destroyed her life had not even profited by it. The identities and equipment were courtesy of Shaq, as was a nod towards a semi-secure location in the worst parts of town where she could lie low as the SINs matured. She had much to do, surviving alone would be a challenge, but she also had a riddle to solve, given to her by Laughs before they parted company, watching the corporate machines roll into her town, "Man's greatest trick…" he said, "…is learning to kill gods."
