The Blood Talons are violence incarnate. Every hunt is just a warm-up, a prelude to the clash of fang and claw and the inevitable killing blow. Every conflict is an opportunity to overcome, to crush the opposition and scatter them to the winds. “Compromise” is just another way to say “surrender,” and the Blood Talons swore an oath long ago: Nu Sum Ghumur Nu Su Ghid. “Offer No Surrender You Would Not Accept.”
They are the beasts in every werewolf movie ever made: ravening, savage, cunning. They fall on their prey like a thunderbolt, the carnage they bring as inevitable as the cycles of the moon. Lesser beasts seem almost beneath their notice. Killing a man or a Ridden or even one of the dreaded Hosts is just something that happens on the way to the real battle: that of pack against pack, Rage against Rage, of claws and fangs in the moonlight. Their rites are those of blood and battle, their songs of great victories to be remembered and great defeats to be avenged. They know their prey’s secret loves and hates, and they will use that knowledge to cut them out of the herd, leaving them naked and afraid.
To some outside the tribe, the Blood Talons seem like nothing more than mindless attack dogs. Point them at the prey and turn them loose, but for God’s sake keep them caged when they’re not needed. They’re berserkers, mad dogs not to be trusted. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The Blood Talons are more than a tribe, they’re an army, and an army has no use for soldiers who can’t think on their feet. On the battlefield, Rage can keep you alive, but if it can’t be channeled, if your packmates can’t rely on you, you’re worse than useless — you’re a liability.
That’s the key to understanding the Blood Talons: The pack is everything. It’s a standing order in the tribe — if a conflict of loyalty arises between pack and tribe, you side with your pack, every time. It’s not something the Talons advertise to the other tribes, but it’s there if you look. A Talon is almost always the first one to call out intra-pack problems, to offer a challenge to clear the air. That gives them a reputation as bullies or troublemakers, but that’s an oversimplification. Unit cohesion is priority one, because the things you hunt? They run in packs, too.
The Blood Talons pay homage to Fenris-Ur,the Destroyer Wolf. Neither eldest nor wisest of Father Wolf’s children, the Destroyer led his brothers and sisters in the hunt by virtue of his terrible strength. The Destroyer doesn’t just kill, he tears his prey limb from limb, scatters their blood and Essence across the landscape and revels in the carnage. But the Destroyer is more than just the destruction of the flesh: Before his terrible fury, all barriers must fall.
Blood Talons hunt the most dangerous prey: other werewolves. By the light of their Mother’s face they stalk those who reject her blessings. Into the depths of the Shadow they pursue those who swear themselves to the service of alien gods. And even among the People, they hunt those who have lost their way. Who decides what “losing their way” means? Why, the Blood Talons, of course.
The Suthar Anzuth in Paradi City have a large job on their shoulders. The Forsaken are newly returned to the scene but not all of them see eye-to-eye on what their proper role is. A group of hunters with supernaturally potent Rage are fractious enough but then you add in the Pure Tribes and a clear target emerges.
The Blood Talons often work to curtail the efforts of the Pure throughout the city. Fire-Touched zealots damage the Shadow wherever they tread, allowing the spirits far more free rein than should be permitted. Predator King cannibals stalk the lower levels of the city, devouring humans and even one another. The Ivory Claws fashion themselves as safer in their towers. The Blood Talons are there to prove they're not.
Life for a Blood Talon also calls for discipline. There are some who view killing another werewolf as a crime, no matter the circumstance. Others (most) have a more egalitarian view. Life as a werewolf is about seeking balance and too much killing can cause one to slip further towards the Spirit than is good for them or their pack. The balance isn't easy to find but the Blood Talons didn't choose their path for a life of ease.
There are other, worse werewolves than even the Pure to be hunted, as well. There are some shapeshifters who openly serve foul spirits and dwell in the worst Wounds to be found within Paradi. They serve hidden masters with vile names, the Maeljin, and work odd rituals on their behalf. Bale Hounds, they're called, and they can be shown no mercy, no quarter. Once found, the only acceptable conclusion to a hunt involving a Bale Hound is the death of the offending werewolf.
Last are the Cursed, the red-headed stepchildren of the Uratha, and their ugly cousins, the Wild Ones. Both are werewolves but not "true" werewolves like the Uratha. Both are perfectly valid targets for the Sacred Hunt.