#the WRAITH LORE THICKENS

[thatonepikminperson]

So, remember Wraith AUs? GUESS WHAT, MY BRAIN GOT ONE

So, this Au is for the Ground and Stars FanPik, but it can go pretty much on any story about Pikmin if y'all get inspired (Go wild home slices) and the huge new thing is Mixed Wraiths (see more below) so I'll just tag it "mixed wraith au" to not overflow the Pom Wraith AU.

In which, I should probably explain the whole Mixed Wraith thing. In short, it's when a Wraith mixes or fuses with another creature, most commonly another Wraith. There is more info on how they work and some new wraith types.

It is based off of that so @splitster thanks for getting me a bit too obsessed over this concept (Read more for the art and stuff)

(More art and Mixed Wraith lore below!)

So, as you can see, stuff has changed. This AU really starts at Chapter 9, the first 8 chapters are basically the same. Pom is now a wraith, and is hiding among the crew as a totally real space person. Pom himself is called what is known as a Mixed Wraith, or the mixture of a wraith and another creature, most commonly a wraith. Pom is specifically the mix between a Plasm Wraith, and a Water Wraith, which creates the Oil Wraith.

Mixed Wraiths are a bit complicated, but simply, there are mainly two kinds. The first one is the mixed wraith, but two streams of consciousness . This type of Mixed Wraith has the consciousness of both wraiths, and they work together to keep themselves safe. (Let's call this Type 1 Mixed Wraith) The second kind is what is known as the Combined consciousness Mixed Wraith, which is the two wraiths that make up the mixed one coming together and making a new Combined Consciousness (Or CC). Of course, these wraiths can take over separately at any time, but they usually just use the CC to get closer to prey. (Let's call this Type 2 Mixed Wraith) Pom is the second type of Mixed Wraith

So there's more wraith lore. There are four main types of wraiths, Liquid, Solid, Gas, and Plasma. Each one acts and behaves differently from each other, and some of which are not total assholes.

(The Liquid Wraith includes things like the Water Wraith, the Honey Wraith or Colored Ink Wraiths. Solid Wraiths include things like the Reflection Wraith, the Gemstone Wraith, or the Floral Wraith. The Gas Wraith includes things like the Oxygen Wraith, Chloroform Wraith, and the Iodine Vapor Wraith. The Plasma Wraiths include things like the Plasm Wraith, the Star Wraith, or the Flame Wraith.)

Wraiths survive with their cores, which are practically their hearts. These are generally the same as the Pom Wraith AU, but if a Mixed Wraith's Core breaks, then the two wraiths/creatures that made it up will separate, taking half of the core with them.

Also, depending on the personalities of the Wraith and the other creature, they might fight from time to time. If the two created a combined consciousness, and they fight, the consciousness is kicked out of control and one or both of them take over. If it gets too unstable, or the Core is broken in half, then the two Wraiths will split up, in most cases leaving any wraith perfectly fine and the other creature dead.

There is also a way to fix a broken core, but those who try to do so will probably be hunted down by several angry Wraiths. (Wraiths look down at this, as they think if you died, you need to stay dead)

Wraiths are also garbage at disguising themselves, like really. Most forgot that ears exist, or they have some sort of wild color for skin, like grey or pink. Though, thank god Pom was able to find a human before he lifted off into the stars.

I do have more wraith lore, but those will be separate post, probably without art because I've already made several pages of this stuff, and it's more fun to draw characters compared to lore (Sorry lol)

Oh yeah, and I do have wraith forms of the Rescue Corps, don't worry. THEY AREN'T SAFE FROM THE BRAIN ROT EITHER! (But they will be for later, as I have to get through a far amount of other posts about this AU first. Sorry about that.) MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ow my back

[5lazarus]

Hi Lazarus! from the hurt/comfort prompts: “Hey, just look at me. Breathe.” Thank you!!

this story got completely out of control, but I vomited up 2.5k words from this prompt! thank you for sending it! I had a lot of fun with this little story, and while I don’t think I managed to bring it to a successful resolution, it taught me a lot about pacing!

to recap, you inspired a whole story idea with the first hug prompt you sent me. I was thinking about what Hawke & friends must have gone through, escaping Kirkwall, and how utterly miserable and emotionally shattered every single one of them must have been. what would that emotional catharsis have looked like? then ellie-elfie sent me a few prompts, which I looped into the story you inspired here, and then ended with this. I posted it on AO3 as Catabasis, though I realize I stopped the story before they go back underground. Thanks again for inspiring this. This was a lot of fun! 

The warm wet of the woods washes away the ash of the last of Kirkwall. Merrill winds them through the muddy woods. She makes them take their shoes off to confuse their tracks, despite Anders muttering about hookworm and Varric’s hatred of dirt, and routinely casts a spell to shift the leaf litter back over their prints. “It’s going to look like elves were travelling, if they’re looking at all,” she says. “Not four humans, a dwarf, and Dog.” Dog barks merrily at the mention of him and Fenris shushes him. “In Seheron, we had caligo lagoenae,” Fenris says. “Can you do something similar?” “Fenris, I don’t speak Tevene,” Merril says shortly. Hawke puts their hand on her shoulder. She is still irritated over the grammar argument in the cave, and Hawke knows she has refused to learn Tevene as a point of principle. Bethany’s said that the best way to learn old magic is to read the magisterium’s journals. Merrill has said the only elves who know Tevene are slaves and slavers, and she would rather not. She continues, “Do you know it in Common? Or is it a spellword?” Fenris snaps, “Don’t patronize me,” and now it is Anders’ turn to step in and diffuse the situation. “I can work up a fog,” he says. “But you’re better at nature magic than I am, Merrill.” They don’t bother asking Bethany, because Bethany is best at curses and massively destructive rift spells. Hawke smirks to themself. Their family always makes a splash, wherever they go--good thing Merrill knows how to cover it up. Merrill weaves and thickens the humidity of the already cloying woods into a thick fog. Bethany summons a small flame and leads them forward, Fenris at her side, checking for signs that his underground left. Aveline sighs. “Creeping through the forest with a thick fog, as if that’s not suspicious.” She shakes her head. Fenris made her change into a light leather armor and leave her guard’s uniform behind. She looks close to the worn woman that Hawke met, all those long years ago, with the security of Kirkwall of her back. She still clutches her sword. Hawke is sorry they made her throw away the Amell family shield. They cannot help but suspect Fenris took some pleasure out of ordering Aveline out of her uniform. They’ve wanted to do the same for so long too, but they know the only way to balance their friends is to step out of the way. Aveline is an idealist, perhaps even more than Anders is; she finds her disillusionment in her own way. Hawke mutters a curse as they step into a particularly noxious puddle of mud. They’ve pushed her further down it, certainly. “Dunno how you stand this,” Hawke says. “The mud. The bugs. Fungus. Do you ever think you’re going to get infected with, like, mushroom people?” “Mushroom people,” Varric mutters. “That’s a good one. Better than lizards.” “No, really,” Hawke protests, scraping the mud of their feet on a tree. Merrill, irritated, waves a hand and the mud hardens and falls off. Hawke blushes: right, that’s a very clear mark a person was there. “Sorry. But, we’ve all seen some strange things in our time in Kirkwall. Amulets that turn into strange witches who can turn into dragons and eat darkspawn. Trees that turn into angry men-spirit-elf things that guard tombs. An actual ancient elvhen god, living in the sewer.” “You know, it’s not so clear Xebenkeck was one of my people’s gods,” Merrill says testily. “She is referred to as both a Forbidden One in our lore and a Forgotten One in the Chantry’s interpolation of the Tevinter text, and--” “Pedant,” Hawke says fondly. “But given all the weird shit we’ve had to fight, I feel like we’re due for some mushroom people springing up on us.” Merrill says, “That’s not how the Fade works. This is land still roved by the People. Think about it like a garden. A good Keeper prunes back the rot and the overgrowth, and leaves space for growth. And burns it out, when necessary. Kirkwall hasn’t had a good Keeper in a long time.” “Or First,” Fenris says nastily. Merrill says, “That demon took Marethari, Fenris. Not me. And if you’re not able to understand that, I don’t understand how you’re able to tolerate Justice and Anders and not what I did with Audacity.” “Because Justice isn’t a demon,” Anders says angrily. Merrill sighs. “I haven’t the time to argue Chantry propaganda with you. You can lead a halla to the water, but you can’t make him drink. I don’t understand how you can hate the Circles and still impose the way they shape the Fade--” “Oh, come off it, you’re worse than Velanna,” Anders says. “Even you have to admit, that time Hawke dragged us into the Fade, that demons mirror Andraste’s teachings on the seven deadliest sins.” “Only because Andrastians outnumber us now,” Merrill argues. “Because when I dream with my clan, we see spirits inherently different--which implies that there is no set form, as you say. What’s the line between Justice and Vengeance, anyway? Between Pride and Fortitude, Audacity and Courage? Fenris, you must have seen how Seheron feels differently than, say, Minrathous, or Kirkwall, or even Wycombe and the Friendly Homes. Where the Fade touches the Waking World--” “They’re going to go on like this for hours,” Varric says. “And I don’t understand shit. Sunshine, why don’t you ever join in?” “Both of them are far too proud to be fun to argue with,” Bethany shrugs. She pushes the lick of flame over her head and nudges it onward. It warms her tired face. Hawke thinks that she looks like their mother, as beautiful as her too, and Leandra would be furious to see the mess their children had made of their lives, on the run again. But she would be happy that they were alive. They troop through the forest, wet and muddy and irritable, and eventually even Anders runs out of things to argue about. Hawke grows comfortable in the smell of Merrill’s petrichor spells. Though the mud is admittedly unpleasant, they like the feel of wet grass sticking to their feet and legs. The woods are loud, Merrill’s magic feels like a hug from her herself, and they feel like they may just get through this. The ground grows rocky as they climb into the Vimmarks. Varric, though he hates inclined surfaces, argues that it is safer to stay in the mountains and follow a winding path past Ostwick rather than risk crossing them and skirting so close to Starkaven. “Prince Charming won’t think we’ll go up,” he says. “Trust me. One thing Sebastian knows about me, is how much I hate hiking.” They set up camp in rock shelters Merrill picks out. She knows this part of the route better than Fenris. Rain sets back in at night. Hawke wonders if Merrill inadvertently summoned it, with her fog spells. It is hard to gauge what a mage can do, because their friends regularly do the impossible. Varric has plucked arrows out of the air, Fenris can pass through walls like a lyrium-infused ghost, and Aveline took down the eldritch horror of a rock wraith in the Deep Roads. The feel of the caves is fantastic. The air tastes good, somehow, fresh and hungry, and the walls are inscribed with runes, layered through the ages. Some of them Merril can read, and she and Fenris sit down with a notebook and they go over them together, Merrill saying the words aloud and Fenris trying to write them down. Anders sits next to Hawke as they watch them. They are all tired, but the tension has been easing the further they get away from the city. They are not sure any of this can be resolved, but right now, they are too tired to fight. “Has Fenris been teaching  you his dialect?” Hawke asks. “Merrill tries with me, she’s very particular about it. Says my accent is adorably shit.” Anders says, “Justice knows Elvhen. I--sometimes I know it when he says it, sometimes I don’t. It’s easier when the Veil is thinner, but gives me a headache.” “Huh. So spirits speak Elvhen.” Hawke turns to Bethany. “How does that work?” She is the Fade expert, out of the trio, though Bethany disengages with grace whenever Merrill disagrees with her. Bethany shrugs. “Dunno. Maker’s first children? Anecdotally I’ve heard that elvhen mages are more susceptible to the Harrowing--” “That’s not true,” Anders interrupts, “that’s because of templar bias and the way they’re discriminated against--” “Let me finish, Anders,” Bethany says, irritated. “As I was saying. There seems to be a stronger pull between elves and spirits, and Merrill thinks is has to do with Dalish cosmology, though that wouldn’t make sense because Orsino--well, no one has actually studied it. And now no one will, not with what’s happening with the Circles. If they don’t just kill us all.” “Fiona won’t let that happen,” Anders says, face hard. “The Liberati have enough of a majority to push for a vote.” Bethany snorts. “Didn’t know you were that engaged in Circle politics.” “I voted,” Anders protests. “Until it was no longer useful for me.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hawke says. “I’m gonna go talk to Varric instead.” The days proceed much like the rest. People talk. Hawke listens. They learn that Isabela, Anders, and Merrill have all met the hero-wardens of Ferelden before. Merrill comes from the same clan as Warden Mahariel, though Sabrae split before the Blight. Anders still corresponds with Surana, who lives in Amaranthine to avoid the stress of warden politics and to support Warden Tabris, who Isabela hooked up with in Denerim. Isabela also slept with the Left Hand of the Divine, they discover, and the King of Ferelden’s lover. “Though we couldn’t talk him into bed with us,” she sighs. “Though Zevran and Tabris and I really tried. He just--I think he got overwhelmed by all the anatomy. Poor boy.” Hawke snickers. The days go on like this, aching their way through the Vimmarks. These are the paths the Dalish take, and escaped slaves, and occasionally mages. They find marks of all three groups overlapping, though Bethany casts enough obfuscation hexes to keep them from intersecting that she collapses in her bedroll at the end of each day, shaking. Likewise cleaning their tracks begins to take a toll on Merrill. She withdraws into herself, focusing on relentlessly hiding their trail, and not even Varric can get her to laugh. “I’m tired,” she says. “And I need to focus. Please stop.” Hawke decides they need a rest day at the border of Hercinia and Wycombe. Fenris knows a cave system that will take them directly to his friends from Clan Lavellan, who promised him refuge the last time they saw him. He claims it will only take two days, but it will be two days without sunlight, and Hawke remembers how depressed Varric got without the sky. They camp in a treehouse built into a grove right below the mouth of the cave. Everyone is quiet, for the most part, curled around the fire. Aveline hums as she patches a shirt for Isabela, and Anders goes through his medicine bag to reassure himself they have enough to heal them through to Wycombe. Varric stares into the fire. “When I write about this,” he says, “I think I’ll keep this for myself.” “Why?” Bethany asks. He purses his lips, thinking. Hawke wraps their arms around Merrill, who is already half-asleep, and enjoys their friends. It is always fun to watch Varric think, he’s the cleverest out of all them, except maybe Merrill. Merrill buries her face in their arms, and they look down, concerned. She is upset, and there is nowhere private to ask why. The fire casts shadows over his face. Varric looks old. They all do. It has been a hard month. He says finally, “Because there’s no romance in it. No one wants to read about the Champion and their friends all fighting, and not really coming to any consensus besides that they want to stop fighting and be safe. There’s no moral in it, nothing uplifting. Just that people fight, viciously. That we make mistakes we can’t fix. And we just have to live with it. It’s not compelling. Not like our story in Kirkwall, which is more about Kirkwall. Who are we without the city in the background? I don’t know. I think I’ll end it in the docks. Or maybe with us watching the city burn. So people can assign us closure. Choose their own happy ending, because I don’t know what ours will be yet.” Isabela says, “Nothing special, just pieces.” She stretches again. “Keep talking like that and you’ll end up a Qunari. Our story doesn’t need a moral, Varric. That’s not how life works.” “I know that,” he says. “But that’s not the point. The story isn’t life. So I can make it work however I want.” Merrill pushes herself up in Hawke’s lap and whispers in their ear, “If they all start arguing again I will either scream or cry, I haven’t decided yet.” The journey has taken its toll on her. Hawkes examines her closely and sees the shadows like smudges under her eyes. She’s paler than usual, and she starts shaking. Hawke inclines to the edge of the treehouse with their head and quickly they move as far as they can from the others. Bethany looks at them questioningly, but they shake their head sharply. Mercifully they are left alone. Bethany is a good sister. She knows exactly when to look the other way and cause a distraction--and that she does, wheedling Varric to read a piece from his book. As the others laugh at the mess Varric has made of them, Hawke turns to Merrill. They ask, “Are you alright?” The fire casts light into Merrill’s eyes like a cat’s. When she looks at them, her eyes shine and Hawke cannot help but remember how otherworldly she is. She bridges both worlds, the Dalish and the human, but sometimes the old magic wills out. Merrill says, “Clan Lavellan doesn’t like me much. Because of Marethari. I don’t get along with their First. And I’m not sure how their Keeper will respond to me.” “Then they’re idiots,” Hawke says, “and we’ll keep moving. Send Aveline to resupply in town, and move onto Rivain. Dairsmuid or Llomerryn, or that Dalish town Isabela talked about.” Merrill is shaking harder now. “No.” Hawke takes her hands, but she pulls away. “I wish it were that easy, vhenan. But there won’t be anywhere to go. Not with the Dalish. Because of me.” “Hey,” Hawke says. “Just look at me. Breathe. That’s not true. Look at me.” Merrill’s eyes flash back to blue. “We got this far, okay? And I’m okay with--I didn’t grow up as nomadic as you, but I can do it. It could be fun. I liked moving, as a kid. Bethany and I are used to it. And if we can get another ship, well, that’ll make things easier. And you know Isabela’s going to get us on a ship at some point. I know everything is changing. If the Divine calls that Exalted March...well, you remember what that dragon lady said.” “Asha’bellanar,” Merrill corrects, lips twitching. “And it was a prayer to Mythal that revived her, there’s something in that.” Hawke sighs. “Well, you remember what she said.” They close their eyes and focus on the words, which has haunted them since--partly because the delivery had been so terrifying. They quote, “‘We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment...and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.’ And, well, we’re lying up in the sky right now, so I think we’re doing alright.” Merrill smiles despite herself. “How do you remember that?” she asks. “I don’t even remember it like that.” “Varric wrote it down,” Hawke confesses. “And it sounded so cool I memorized it. It’s good advice.” Merrill turns to the fire, where Aveline is holding a book with a luridly pink cover over the fire while Anders and Isabela cackle and Varric jumps, protesting. She says, “I know I shouldn’t have let Keeper find out about Audacity. She thought I was weak, but I knew her pride, I knew her arrogance. And her fear, since Tamlen died. I should’ve written to Mahariel, who could’ve convinced her. Or gone to the Applewood--but I didn’t. And though I lost my clan, I still have you. My aravel.” She gestures to their friends. “Walkers of the lonely path, who never submit.” She smiles sadly. “I think I fell into that abyss, Hawke. And now I’m starting to float up.” Hawke takes her hand and kisses it. Her nails are bitten to the quick. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” they say. “Can you teach Anders that spell?” “No, vhenan,” Merrill shakes her head. “It’s--it was part of my duties as First, to clear the tracks of the aravel. I can’t teach a human that. I love you all, but that is for myself.” They accept that, and all the ways Merrill pushes herself too hard, and hand-in-hand they get up and rejoin their friends at the fire. There is a touch of mania to the conversation. Everyone is utterly shattered, but they do not want to go to sleep. No one knows what the next day will bring, and they are clinging to the routine they have set up. Hawke blinks and pretends that they are at the Hanged Man for a moment, but the bar has run dry, so they are all stuck being sober and chummy with each other. It doesn’t work. It feels dishonest, and the woods smell too good. Finally, Aveline takes charge. “We need to rest. Especially you, Merrill. Those spells couldn’t have been easy. We’ll get up before dawn and head out then.” Fenris speaks up. “And Clan Lavellan will hide us, for however long we need.” He looks at Merrill steadily. “First Lavellan promised me that. They will not abandon their vhenallin. And she owes me a favor, anyway.” Varric says idly, “There’s a story in there.” Bethany groans. “Not more stories, please,” she says. “Aveline’s right, we do need to rest. This part’s nearly over.” She banks the fire to keep it burning low through the night and they set up their last camp before the descent. Hawke is struck by the faith they have in them, going through their nightly routine. They have been two weeks on the road, camping through the woods, and though they have spent it mostly at each other’s throats, they have made it through. So little has been resolved, and there is still so much unknown. As Flemeth predicted, they stand balanced on the precipice of change, and they know they are about to launch themselves off that cliff. But they have their friends to slow that crash, and by this point, who knows? Maybe the witch will turn them into a dragon. Settling into their sleeping roll, Hawke cannot help but grin. They faced down the Blight, the long march to Kirkwall, the Deep Roads, their mother’s death, and the start of a revolution. What could possibly happen next? They whisper to Merrill, “I feel like this world is dying. It’s monstrous.” They smirk. “Monstrously exciting. Can’t you feel it? A new world is trying to be born.”

[haliteatiger]

I know werewolves are the main focus of your story but are their vampires? If so how do they function physically and socially?

Wow! Second ask in two days! :D Prepare yourself for a wall of text!

There are vampires, yes! But their lore is a bit unfinished since they won’t have anything to do with the current story. So far there are three different types:In CoA, there's a thing called a "Vampiric Wraith", which is a kind of bodiless entity capable of slowly wearing down a human's will to live over time. Being harassed by a wraith is similar to demonic possession in that the individual will begin to suffer similar symptoms (night terrors, hallucinations, various poltergeist-like phenomena, etc.) that worsen over time until they're either driven insane or completely waste away, allowing the wraith to take possession over their bodies. Oddly enough, suicide might be preferable over being slowly consumed by a wraith as one might still manage to escape with their soul in tact as opposed to being utterly consumed.

Once the wraith has taken possession, this individual is then considered a vampire. Vampires are feral by human standards. They are mostly incapable of human speech but can communicate in a form of "infernal" for lack of a better word. Basically, it's a language only non-human, bodiless entities can understand. Some have demonstrated some capacity to learn human language, however, but as they're main focus is to sate their never-ending hunger and can be rather aggressive in doing this, they tend to not be very good conversationalists. Vampires slowly transform over time, but remain largely humanoid. They gain fangs, thickened nails not unlike talons, enlarged irises/pupils, thinning hair, and crepuscular, translucent skin. These changes will slowly take place over a period of weeks. Their appearance coupled with their incredible endurance has earned them the reputation for being undead (Also since the corpse appears to reanimate after the person has died. This process can take up to three days to complete and there's speculation that the period of rot and brain death involved actually lends to their feral behavior.) Vampires do heal quickly but, due to their squalid lifestyle, are prone to infection. They're often associated with disease and pestilence as their wounds, if infected, seem to remain in a suspended state, very slowly worsening over time as if in conflict with their preternatural regeneration, until it either kills the vampire outright or they somehow happen to reverse it. The more a vampire ingests - typically blood of course, hence their name, but they can eat other things, namely flesh - the more likely they are to heal from these wounds and any subsequent infection. Luckily for themselves, vampires do not appear to feel pain and can continue to function even if they may appear mortally wounded. This alone can make them incredibly difficult to kill on top of being supernaturally strong and are fast enough as to almost be considered teleporting. This is partially why impalement is considered the best way to kill a vampire. Not only because it can prevent the wound from closing and thus healing over, it can also hinder their movement (or keep them in place if that's the idea) long enough for them to simply starve to death. As mentioned before, they can heal quickly, and under ideal conditions, their wounds can actually close pretty quickly, so it's unlikely that they can bleed out. Of course, this does depend on the kind of wound itself and if it later becomes infected.

Vampires are fairly intelligent for what they are and are capable of planning ahead. They can also adapt their hunting strategies depending on their location. While some may sneak into a place repeatedly to quietly sip from a victim(s), some may kidnap their prey outright and hold them hostage, torturing them mentally and physically until they eventually expire. While this is clearly a form of entertainment for them, it's believed they also do this to encourage an atmosphere of suffering and draw more Vampiric Wraiths to an area. The only thing a vampire loves more than drinking blood and tormenting its victims, is making other vampires. They are not in any way a sexual species, however, and only reproduce via this sort of parasitic possession.

Ironically, for all their supernatural abilities and the very fact that they exist, vampires are not built to last and can die of "old age" in about 10-15 years. But there have been some special ones that have lived longer than this. They go by different titles depending on location, but colloquially they've been referred to as "Alpha" vampires, "Lords", "Barons", even "Princes". While they're exact lifespan is unknown, they can exist in an area long enough to gain a reputation over quite a number of years. These ones tend to possess an intelligence that most others lack, are capable of human speech, and can even become clever enough to pass for human in the dark of the night. They are still driven by the same basic urges, however, and will likely never evolve beyond a certain point. There is some belief that these vampires are created under specific conditions such as the human, having been possessed by the Wraith, actually giving into their influence, or if the Wraith manages to take control of the body before it even expires, thus saving it from any damage accrued by decomposition. These types of vampires are considered the most dangerous for obvious reasons. They tend to live the longest, are the most successful hunters, and are also the most successful at making more vampires. Typically, if you end up with a Nest of vampires, wraith or otherwise, you can expect to find one of these being responsible. 

Other than these types of vampires, there are also vampiric werebats that I have yet to find a name for. They're incredibly rare, exist largely in dynastic, family groups that have long mingled with human society, and are pretty much what you'd typically expect for the usual Anne Rice or Bram Stoker-type vampire. Only they're actually werebats! (Credit goes to a friend for coming up with these, however, and is allowing me to use them for CoA. I'm not sure if they have a place in the current story, however.)