Whistle while you work. Actually, no, don’t.

Power: Minor

Effect: The sound of this whistle embeds listeners with the fate of being distracted in the near future to some extent. Hearing the whistle blown (even if you blew the whistle yourself) will force you to make a (Soul+Mind/2) check the next time you try to do anything. This check comes before the actual roll for the task. Failing the (Soul+Mind/2) check causes you to flat-out fail (not a Matched Failure, thankfully) the task without a roll. Succeeding in the roll protects you from insta-failure, but there is still some negative effect resulting from the distraction (taking longer to do, doing less damage through an attack, taking minor damage while stumbling through the task, a -20 shift etc.) and only a Matched Success on the check will cancel out any bad effects on the task roll. The distraction may come in the form of a bird flying in front of your rifle scope, a stupid kid tugging on your shirt all of a sudden, a loud noise right next to your ear or some other twist of fate. Not hearing the whistle blow (through the use of sound-proof earmuffs, thick cover, deafness, etc.) will protect you from its effects. Picking up the whistle for the first time in your life will send shivers down your spine and cause you to lapse into an unfocused stupor for (100-your Mind stat) hours unless you make a (Soul/2) check.

Description: Just a strangely clean (perhaps otherworldly in its gleeming, in fact) silver whistle. Close inspection reveals a shakey, engraved lettering along its sides in Latin. A rough translation seems to be best described as “Insanity of fate inherent in breath.” A detailed inspection of the silver with the proper lab equipment will reveal nothing out of the ordinary, although the poor tech doing the analysis may soon be ravaged by all sorts of accidents for a while. Checking into the whistle’s history through toy stores and antiquities will eventually reveal the origins of the artifact are steeped in the Occult Underground of Berlin in the closing days of World War Two. Its first owner was apparently a teenager in the HJ, who was forced to be a spotter for a sniper during the onslaught from the Allies. He was apparently average in his duties, but a larger than normal amount of kills was achieved by the team, thanks to astonishing good luck. The spotter, however, was still reprimanded many times in his first few months on the job for blowing the whistle when they should have been hiding. The boy died when he was shot by a deaf American soldier in the line of duty just days before the offical surrender of the Nazis.