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Part of a werewolf story Im writing

Posted Oct 18, '08 at 4:41am

Dragonkin

Dragonkin

16 posts

Moonbeams By Rebecca Thrasher
Part 1
    The first time was the worst.
    It started just after moonrise on a cool fall night.  The first hint that something was happening was a strange feeling, like liquid fire coursing through my veins.  Suddenly I felt an overwhelming need to be free.  Free of my restricting clothing, free of my father’s house, free of everything.  Next thing I knew I had dropped my nightdress on the floor of the small alcove where I slept and slipped out the back door.  I made my way through the kitchen garden behind the house, not caring if the neighbors saw me by the light of the hunter’s moon.  Then I was out in the village fields with the fire in my blood urging my bare feet forward, racing over the slightly frosted earth and stubble, heading for the woods.
    By the time I reached a glade in the forest and collapsed onto my knees by the pond there I knew that something wrong was happening but I did not know what.  When the changes started I did not have time to wonder anymore.  I started to slim down as the fat around my thighs, hips, stomach, and breasts melted away only to be replaced by new muscle that grew around by body, almost flowing from the middle of my chest outwards.
    I caught sight of my reflection in the pool just as my face began to twist and morph.  The lower half of my face started to push outward, stretching into a snout while the muscles that moved my jaw became thicker and more powerful.  My forehead started to flatten and tilt backwards and my ears moved towards the top of my head, becoming longer and pointier as they went.  I felt my teeth sharpen and lengthen, morphing into fangs.  As I brought my hands up to feel my face I glanced down and froze, staring in horror as my fingernails became razor-sharp claws.  Frantically I heaved myself up onto my claw-equipped feet and looked down at them only to gape in revulsion as they lengthened and twisted, forcing me to stand only on the balls of my feet with my heels up in the air.  Just as I thought I could become no more misshapen and freakish I felt a weird sensation behind me.  I craned my now thickly muscled neck over my newly powerful right shoulder only to see that the base of my spine had lengthened into a two-foot-long, pink, rat-like tail.  Then my panic became complete as my beautiful hair " which I had spent years growing out until it reached the small of my back " dropped from my scalp like a cascade of dark brown water.  It was immediately replaced by short fur that started to grow at the tip of my wet, black nose and raced down my body like quicksilver, clothing me from head to toe.  The warm fur was stiff and course on my shoulders, limbs, and back, yet silky and soft on my throat, chest and stomach.  It was silver-gray in color except for the patch of pure white on the tip of my now bushy tail.
    As I was trying to come to grips with the monstrosity I had become, the animal mind that lies dormant in the subconscious of all humans reared up and shook off its chains like Fenris slipping his bonds at Ragnarok.  It bared its blood-stained fangs and swallowed my sanity, my reason, overcame all concern for man’s laws and morals.  Then my primal mind used its newly acquired throat to howl its savage triumph to the ice-cold hunter’s moon.

 

Posted Oct 18, '08 at 5:10am

shermzx

shermzx

565 posts

fenris in ragnarok
it seems you have good understanding of the norse folktales/myths

 

Posted Oct 18, '08 at 6:10am

Dragonkin

Dragonkin

16 posts

Mythology is one of my hobbies. Always has been. When I was a little kid my father got me two story books, one of greek mythology and one of norse, and I read and reread them till they fell apart... :P

Something else you might be interested to know is that I am actually writing this story using the original medival werewolf mythos. None of this hollywood invented crud.

 

Posted Oct 18, '08 at 8:23am

mentorso123

mentorso123

357 posts

Why is everyone writing stories now?
Anyway, it's pretty good. And kind of scary

 

Posted Oct 18, '08 at 1:04pm

OctoberSnow

OctoberSnow

199 posts

I think that's really good. keep writing. When you're done could you post it here? I would really like to read the rest

 

Posted Oct 18, '08 at 2:37pm

crimsonblade55

crimsonblade55

4,349 posts

well we are getting close to national novel writing month.So I think the amount of stories popping up are only appropriate.On the other hand,werewolf and vampire stories don't interest me.

 

Posted Oct 18, '08 at 4:55pm

Colby_123

Colby_123

9 posts

Seems like you write an interesting story.
Im not in to that stuff though.:P

 

Posted Oct 21, '08 at 1:48am

Dragonkin

Dragonkin

16 posts

I think that's really good. keep writing. When you're done could you post it here? I would really like to read the rest

Many thanks! I may post another bit or two of it, but I am actually planning on trying to get this published when I am done, so I wont be posting all of it. (makes it harder to steal)

Also, as for this being a pure werewolf/vampire story, that isnt how its gonna work. In this first story, the badguys are actually Teutonic Knights that have gone rogue after the Battle of Gruenwald. In other words, pure humans. The other stories I have planned are going to feature everything from dhampirs (Romanian Half-vampire/half-humans) to Skinwalkers (evil Navajo witches). I am also thinking of featuring African leopard demons, and possibly some Norse creepy-crawlies of some sort (possibly kobolds or wights) at some point.

 

Posted Oct 21, '08 at 4:01pm

AdamL

AdamL

12 posts

It's good but I am not into werewolves really. Vampires neither. More of a Zombie guy.

 

Posted Oct 27, '08 at 1:23am

Dragonkin

Dragonkin

16 posts

Here is a rather rockin battle scene I wrote that comes later in the story:

Early next morning, the town alarm bell rang, waking me from a fitful sleep.  I stuck my head out the front door, only to see a scene ripped from the jaws of hell itself.  The tavern was in flames, painting the night sky a sickly orange.  Figures spilled from every window and door, heavily laden with flagons and small barrels.  And all around the tavern, I could see flames flashing off of swords and armor.  Men in armor, with swords, maces, and war hammers faced off against the young men of my town, who were armed mostly with pitchforks, long daggers, and shortswords.  Even as I watched, a young boy’s head jumped off of his shoulders, arcing to the ground, trailing a spray of blood behind it.  Just then an older man wearing a blue cloak with a black cross on the right breast spoke up, calling across the melee in a voice that cut through the furor effortlessly. “Thats enough!” he bellowed, “Try to carry any more and you won’t have a hand free to fight!”  He turned, mounted a nearby horse, and seated himself firmly in his saddle. “Back to camp!” he cried, waiving his left hand, which I noted was missing the two smallest fingers.  The soldiers flowed into the forest, following their leader, a few of them hesitating just long enough to kill or disable the man he was fighting.
    After the soldiers left, townspeople started to flow out of all the houses, buckets in hand to fight the fire.  We labored, passing buckets from hand to hand, person to person, until dawn spread its light over our town.  The light tore at my eyes, which were already burning from smoke and lack of sleep.  Now that the fire was out, we turned to digging graves as the town priest set to preparing the bodies for burial.  I was detailed to help the priest wash the bodies as they were brought in from the street, which was muddy from blood and spilled water.  Despite routinely taking down deer by ripping their throats out with my teeth, the sight of my childhood playmates and men I had known my whole life lying lifeless on the floor of the church caused my very soul to grow cold.  The gashes in their flesh gaped open like obscene red mouths.  Some had their heads or hands sewn back onto their bodies with crude stitches, like patchwork quilts made of flesh.  After the dead were counted we found that we had gotten off lucky and had only lost ten men, but each of their deaths were like a lash upon my soul.  As I stood in the church, watching the carpenter who built coffins as a sideline taking his measurements, I vowed to destroy the man with the blue cape and his band of ruffians, forever ridding the earth of these evil men who stole and killed for their own comfort.

 
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