#ursanthrope

[glitteryavenuefart]

I honestly think it's really funny that on the rare occasion that people draw or write about Werebears, it's usually a brown bear. Here are some ideas for more interesting Werebears:

Were Brown Bear: They could eat people if they wanted to, but it is too preoccupied with a beautiful cloud in the night sky or a really cool looking stain on the side of an apartment building. It's smart enough to slink in the shadows for the most part but can't resist the high calorie temptation of a convenience store or a fast food place.

Side note: if it's a Were Grizzly. Then they are actively a bastard, and will purposefully knock over your shit and try to bite you.

Were Black Bear: A bit more skiddish than their larger cousins. The Were Black Bear is well aware that a human could take them in a fight. With their opposable tumbs they are essentially large raccoons with anxiety. Could probably wear human sized clothes

Were Polar Bear: Actively hunts people for sport. They could probably use a firearm, might prefer to maul people for fun instead, like a cat with a mouse.

Were Panda: they could maul you but they are more likly to go after your garden. Yet again could probably wear human sized clothes.

Were Sun Bear: They probably get roasted for looking so weird. Could also wear human sized clothes.

[digitalsatyr23]

Hunter and Bear

Setting: Arachnia           Ah, I see you young ones just made it back from the town fair. Have you seen those guild members running about? Did their gleaming armor and beautiful weapons dazzle you? Do you now dream of adventure? Well then, sit yourself down and let me tell you a tale. There is more to that life than gold and glory. You will soon see there is another side to that kind of life. Perhaps if this doesn’t dissuade you from that dream, maybe you’ve what it takes after all?

           There was once a hunter, perhaps you’ve seen their ilk before, whose spearhand was swift and whose aim was true. Such a skilled hunter, he was, that he was famed all across Haerath. He made his home in Bewic, the town just south of The Horns. There in that warm and humble town between the mountains he spent his days either in the guild lodge, seeking hunts for wealth and prestige, or on his land, tending to his fine horses and loving wife. After each hunt he’d return home with some manor of treasure or trophy, hang it upon the wall and drink to his success.

           His wife, bless her soul, was the kindest lass you could ever know. She tended to his wounds, while his second wife, the bottle, tended to his aching heart. If you had seen the kind of horrors that hunter had seen, you’d be drinking yourself into the long sleep too! Nevertheless, his wife did worry for him. Said the drink would be the death of him before any beast, though he didn’t pay her much mind. Having someone that worries about you at home was good enough for him.

           One day, a notice was posted on the guild lodge’s walls that caught the hunter’s attention.

          “There’s a bear ravaging our woods and our crops! Ten drakes to whoever bests the bear!”

           So said the post. Now here was a mission just right for the able hunter! Still, his careful eye saw the notice mentions only one bear that was the problem. One? How could a single bear baffle and terrorize an entire settlement? The notice mentioned the bear hailed from Alder Island, just amidst Black Lake, a shimmering pool known for its onyx stones. A strange feeling gripped the hunter’s stomach, and he prepared for the worst.

           The hunter went to the smithy, gathering arrows, spears, and the great deal of courage he would need for the hunt. Then he went home to grab his armor and family shield, emblazoned with a white stag. Kissing his wife goodbye, he stepped outside. A cold wind brushed up against his cheeks and nostrils, and blades of grass danced under the new moon. The hunter went to the town square and prayed before the statue of Saint Hilda, hoping the saint would guide his hand and keep his wits about him. A blackness loomed around the marble statue, and the hunter’s stomach continued to churn, gripped with dread.

           After gathering his belongings and making his peace, the hunter started to leave town, but not before stocking up on wine for the journey ahead. He would need it. The bears of Haerath were a fearsome lot, and those of Alder Island more so. The great brutes were known to stand twelve feet tall, and their furs could shrug off iron. Above all else, he feared the terrible nature of the alder bears, for even when food is plentiful they eat their young.

           The hunter began his journey, first south then west, hugging a well-traveled trail bordering Bewic’s woods. For seven days and nights he walked, feasting on pheasants and other light game, always leaving a piece in the fire for Foenere, his beloved god of valor. During the day, he practiced his aim on the wildlife and kept his muscles sturdy, and at night he used bark, moss, and insects as he worked a terrible poison. The hunter’s arrows could pierce alder bear flesh, but he knew he’d have to stop the bear’s heart to fell the beast. Anything less and the bear would shrug off the blows.

           At last, the hunter arrived at Black Lake. Night fell across the land as soon as he’d seen the water’s edge. Nevertheless, tonight was a perfect night for a hunt. The hunter slipped on magic boots to tread the gloomy waters and walked the lake’s surface over to the island. Once on the other side, he put his hunting boots back on - dark-tanned leathers and soft of heel, perfect for sneaking and better for crushing.

           The hunter scoured the island in search of the bear. Hour after hour, he circled the great land mass, looking for any sign of trail or refuse that might lead him to his target, all the while constructing traps to ensnare his prey. Much to the hunter’s shock, there wasn’t a single bear he came across on the whole island! Befuddled, he made camp for the night and prepared a meal. After eating his fill, the hunter drank his wine. Now, when in moments of sadness or frustration, many folk find it easier to indulge. And it just so happened that the hunter, on this particular night, drank the remainder of his wine stock. Quite tipsy and belligerent, he cried out for the bear to show itself. Unable to rest due to his anger, he left his camp and continued his search.

           The hunter, in his drunken stupor, forgot about all the traps that he had laid for the bear. With a click and a clank, a bear trap snapped onto the hunter’s leg. Blood dribbled out of the flesh, and a hint of cracking suggested a broken bone.

          Imagine for a moment, the sound of the earth rumbling beneath your feet just before it cracks and lava spits out of the ground in a great boom. That was how the hunter cried out in pain.

          After prying his leg free, the hunter fell to the ground. The world was spinning, and his stomach churned like a barrel tumbling downhill. The hunter sprayed vomit onto a nearby bush, much in the way a dragon might spout flame. Once he regained his senses, the hunter took a spear from his pack and snapped it in twain, using part of the wooden shaft and some wrapping from his satchel to bind his leg.

           Rising from the earth, the hunter took notice of a light further in the woods. How could he have missed this? Not bothered by the circumstance, he limped and groaned on his way over. After leaving the thicket of trees, he came upon a clearing just around an enormous log cabin. Either it was an inn or a misshapen longship stuck on land, but either way he was going to approach it. With a great slam, the hunter knocked on the cabin’s doors. When the door opened, he was met by an enormous naked man.

          “What’s this then?” the naked man asked. “A stranger moseying about my island?”

          “I’m no threat to you, good sir. I’ve been hurt by my own foolishness, and need medicine.”

           The confused lodger let the hunter into his lodge. Sitting down, he saw the lodger begin to cloth himself.

          “Wasn’t expecting company at this time of year.”

          “Is this truly your island? Where have all the bears gone?”

          “There are no more bears. They were driven off ages ago.”

           Bewildered, the hunter took in his surroundings, perhaps to come to grips with his situation. The large man before him was well muscled, perhaps a warrior in his youth. His head was white and bald, though a thick brow wrapped into a beard that was brown of hair. They were in a simple but well-furnished room. Countless animal trophies lined the walls, all silent and staring. A soothing fireplace was to their left, and a great bearskin rug was at their feet. Upon a wall were tattered leather strips dangling from nails. It reminded the hunter of skins that artists would ink familial imagery into, something to remember years gone by. After receiving medicine from the lodger, the hunter spoke up.

          “What’s that upon your wall? Looks like something used to hang there.”

           The lodger stopped in his tracks. A familiar and potent rage welled upon within the giant’s throat.

          “That was a portrait of me and my wife, from years before.”

           The hunter looked around the room more, and noticed a baby crib in one corner. It was a curious thing, barren and quiet.

          “Where’s your wife? Off in another land, or perhaps fallen from a plague?”

           The lodger stared deep into the fireplace, the flames licking his skin and flickering in his round eyes.

          “If you would hear my tale, stranger, then I will tell you what has become of her.”

           Still numbed by pain and drunkenness, the hunter was obliged to listen.

          “Years ago, back when the land was awash in conflict, I fought alongside many men to keep Haerath safe from harm. I left for the war, leaving my pregnant wife behind. Many enemies died by my hand, but even more allies fell around me. When I returned, broken and beaten, I longed for the embrace of my wife and the laughter of my newborn.”

           The hunter thought of his own wife, and wondered how well she was coming along at that time. He uttered a silent prayer to Ererah, the goddess that watches over mothers, that she would stay safe during these cold winter nights. He should have directed his prayers to himself.

          “When I came back from the war, however, it was not my child that I found in that crib. Do you see the skin beneath my hair? ‘Twas thrice darker than my own. I knew deep in my heart that my wife was unfaithful, yet the serene sight of her playing with the babe soothed my spirit. I asked her ‘Wife, where has my baby gone? I see you’ve got another there, who knows from where, but where is the one I left you with?’ to which she smiled and said ‘This is our baby, my beloved.’ and that shook me to the core. What did she take me for, a blind man!?”

           The lodger’s breath hastened, hot fumes coming out of his nose like a boar’s.

          “I asked her again and again, but she refused to tell me. When another man stepped into my home from behind, his skin matching the babe’s as clear as day, a part of me broke. Snapped. Fell away.”

           The hunter wiped his brow of sweat, concerned where the story was going and got on his feet. Even in his drunken state, he could see the new moon from behind the window, and the pink stains in the lodger’s teeth.

          “I gripped the man in my fist, crushing his skull like an over ripened peach. My hand stained with blood, I turned to my wife. I asked her again ‘Where’s my baby!?’. Of course, she merely screamed. Not for long, though.”

           With swiftness and guile, the hunter leveled a poisoned arrow at the lodger’s back. Still amidst his tale, the lodger stared out the window with a hunger in his words.

          “After I slew my wife, the baby’s cries kept piercing my ears, like the wailing dead. I could not bear it any longer, so I picked up the babe…”

           Bowstrings hissed as an arrow was notched.

          “And slammed it into the ground! WOOD! SMASH! CRASH! I stomped on the pitiful thing like putting out a campfire! SQUISH! SQUASH! I turned the thing into a fine paste, I did! Squished it good! My eyes went black that day, black as the moon! I could hear Ahriman call my name! When next I awoke, nothing but bones and blood stains were before me!”

           The hunter let fly his poisoned arrow, striking the lunatic between the shoulder blades. The lodger turned, his eyes occluded by darkness as he cried out in rage.

           It was rolling thunder, it was howling hurricanes. He let out a roar so fearsome it split the sky and parted the earth.

           Flesh split and burst from the lodger, his bones shifting and crackling. Great lumbering limbs grew where his arms and legs once were, and he fell on all fours. A thick, fur-covered backside lead up to a great toothy maw, with eyes black as pitch. The lodger had turned into a mighty beast, or perhaps he was never a man at all? The bear charged the hunter, attacking with scythe-sized claws.

           The hunter smacked the bear paw away with his shield and stabbed another arrow into the bear’s left eye. The beast flailed about as the hunter leapt away and made a run for it. If he could make it up a tree, he thought, he could rain down hell on the beast from the safety of the sky. Bursting from the cabin, the hunter hopped along, ducking and weaving through his entrapments towards one of the island’s alder trees. The bear trailed behind, brushing off the traps like so many mosquitos. He knew the scent from the hunter’s wounded leg, and followed him right to the tree.

           The hunter tried to climb the tree, but parasitic groundcones littered the earth and its bark fell away like dead skin. He continued to scramble, and lodged himself between two tree branches. Arrow after arrow came raining down upon the bear, and it ran off into the woods. The hunter’s heart was beating fast, and sweat dampened his leathers. The night went silent, so the hunter’s eyes scanned the forest floor for signs of the beast, but his eyes failed him, racked with fear and drunkenness.

           Then, out of the darkness, the bear came back on its hind legs, gripping an axe in one of its huge paws. It meant to cut the tree down, and then the hunter soon after. Adrenaline shook the hunter out of his drunken state, and he came up with a plan. Tying one end of a rope to a thick branch then the other end to an arrow, the hunter let fly the arrow from his bow. The iron bit into a tree ten paces away. Thus, the hunter gripped the rope and tried to slide down to the ground. Alas, the bear was too quick for him, and the tree came tumbling down. The rope snapped, and the hunter dangled above the ground like bait on a hook.

           In a moment of desperation, the hunter let go and jammed a spear into the bear’s back as he fell. The bear flew into a frenzy, stampeding across the island, all while the hunter gripped the wooden shaft still embedded in the bear’s flesh. Smash! Crash! The bear rammed his backside into tree after tree trying to shake the hunter off. His strength waning, the hunter stabbed the bear in the neck with his knife over and over, blood spewing forth in streams. Roaring in pain, the bear flung the hunter off with one final throttle.

           The world was spinning as the hunter tumbled to the ground. Racked with pain, the hunter struggled to get on his feet but the bear caught up with him. It spoke, in a rumbling, guttural tone.

“I take you into my home, I treat your wound and this is how you pay me back!? Well, I’ll be taking my medicine back, along with your leg!”

           Flesh parted, and bone shattered. The hatchet burrowed deeper and deeper into the wounded leg until it severed. Blood gushed out like waters from a broken dam, threatening to pull the hunter under. He would have to think fast if he were to survive the night.         

          More running would do him in, so he let fly another arrow but this time towards a trap. For you see, this was not the hunter’s first beast, and he laid many bells and chimes around the woods for distraction. The trap whistled and cried, like that of a fearful babe, and the beast slashed and stomped in a befuddled fury.

          While the bear howled, the hunter took a torch from his pack, lit it, then seared the wound shut, thus the hunter joined the bear in his howling. Noise rattled the bear’s brain, and visions of his murderous deeds flashed before his eyes. He remembered that sordid day, and the way his huge form blotted out light from the outside. He remembered the friend he asked to watch his wife while he was away. He remembered the baby in his wife’s arms had his eyes.

          “I… I know where my baby is now.” the bear muttered to himself.

           Sorrow fell over the bear. He knew in his heart what he had done. He wrenched back, letting out a terrible cry. Not in anger, but in despair. The hunter used his precious time to get back on his foot and brace against a tree. For but a moment, the bear’s eyes looked like that of a man’s.

          “Hunter… I shan’t be conscious much longer. When I hear Ahriman call my name again, I will answer him. And when I do, put me out of my misery.”

           In preparation for a clash, the hunter drew his shield and a poisoned spear. The shield that bore his family’s crest, though small of stature, was near and dear to his heart. Visions of his past hunts and that of his wife filled the hunter’s mind, and he beat on his shield in rhythm to his swift beating heart for courage, then with his good foot he leapt at the bear, spear in hand. The bear’s eyes blackened once again, and it prepared to rush the hunter for one final strike. Both the hunter and the bear howled as Death loomed above them, their fates sealed.

          They were rolling thunder, they were howling hurricanes. The scorpion ensnares its prey in grasping claws and strikes with its stinger for the kill.

           Poison rushed through the bear’s veins, and his heart beat no more.

          “I’ll be taking that fur now, to remember I beat the bear this night, not the man.”

           Working with care, the hunter skinned the beast and the massive corpse changed back into the lodger. Placing the body back in the cabin, the hunter set the lodge ablaze as he left Alder Island, letting the forsaken place burn to ash. Upon his return, he collected his ten drakes, spending five on a peg leg and the other five on something nice for the missus.

          The hunter got up from his chair and left his children to ponder the tale. They hadn’t even realized whose fur they were lying on while listening to him.

[serregon]

I’ve never been big on fankids before but I’m rotating resistant durge and Halsin’s ursanthropic Bhaalspawn kid like a rotisserie chicken. werebears are good by nature, but is their nature strong enough to resist the urge, or did you hand murder grandpa an apex predator on a silver platter?

[machiattoo7]

Alright but wednesday as an ursanthrope??!? HELL YEAH

(Was introduced to the idea from this absolutley amazing fic:

)

I might talk more about this another time, rn im just excited ab it and very tired

Hope yall r having a good time!!

[oshabloodhunt]

"Lycan is derived from latin 'wolf'. Lycanthropy is werewolf specific. Werebear would be ursanthrope, as example." Halji flicks her tail, before continuing, "But Halji assume most do not know latin name for every creature. And plenty creature do not have latin name, so lycanthropy is likely umbrella term now if Halji consider dog's words.'

Lycus is doing dog things in the woods, when he happens upon a really large blood-red wolf. Like the tail is about the size of him kinda really large. That's a big wolf. Anyways, she's just kinda laying under a tree, seemingly asleep until she notices him, and opens an eye.

-@oshabloodhunt

"Hey. What's up with you?"

[oblivienne]

Agnes. The natural nobody.

She's a werebear and loves and respects women

[comewithmeintothedeep]

Monster Lore (Horror) - Mobile

Creatures that originate from legends or media that are either more fear-based or atmospherically grim.

Misanthropes

Lycanthropes (werewolves) are the most common form of misanthropy.

However, there are actually many forms of misanthropy, such as ursanthropes (werebears), caninthropes (weredogs), felinthropes (werecats), and many other less common misanthropes. They’re most commonly mammalian carnivores, though not exclusively as there are also reptilian and herbivorous kinds as well.

Each variant of misanthropy expresses itself differently in the individual, both due to the individual’s personality and due to the animal reflected in them.

There are three types of misanthropes - born, turned, and cursed - and all three have unique characteristics that define them.

No matter the species, all misanthropes have night vision when they turn.

Naturalborn

Naturalborn misanthropes can breed with other naturalborn misanthropes.

While the chances of their children carrying misanthropy is increased when they breed, it is not guaranteed and it is possible for the gene to be dormant in their offspring and for them to not be misanthropes.

While misanthropes can breed with other misanthropes, whether or not the genes carry is up to chance. The chance is highest when two of the same variant of misanthropes copulate and lowest when two of different variants copulate. There is a higher chance of the gene carrying between a misanthrope and a human than two misanthropes of different variants.

Naturalborn misanthropes are more like the traditional anthropomorphic depictions that are common in pop culture visually speaking.

They are more in-tune with their animalistic characteristics and they present themselves in their daily lives whether they’re turned or not.

When they are turned, they are aware and conscious and retain their “selves.” They simply behave a bit more like the animal variant that they are without losing their essential personalities and they remain aware of themselves and their surroundings and memories aren’t lost between forms.

Some misanthropes actually have control over when they shift and what form they take when not active during a full moon. It’s a rare trait, but not completely uncommon. Only naturalborn werewolves are capable of being born with the ability to control their forms, but during a full moon, they remain shifted over the duration regardless of their ability like any other misanthrope.

Turned

Turned misanthropes cannot pass on their misanthropy through breeding.

The only way turned misanthropes can pass on their misanthropy is through delivering a bite that gets infected. With swift treatment, a bite from a turned misanthrope will heal and the individual will be fine.

The scar remains permanently if it does not heal properly and the individual is turned.

While some speculate that naturalborn werewolves are the origin of turned misanthropes, this is not the case. It’s unknown where turned misanthropes truly originated.

Unlike their naturalborn counterparts, turned misanthropes maintain a firm separation between their human existences and their animal states.

They do not exhibit any of their respective animalistic characteristics while they’re human under any capacity.

Once they turn, they hold no memory of their human life and behave exactly as their animal form would behave in the circumstance that they would shift. The same also happens once they shift back. They have no recollection of their experiences while they were shifted. The only thing that they know once they shift back is that they transformed. But that is the only memory they have.

Unlike their naturalborn counterparts, turned misanthropes appear while shifted just as ordinarily as their animal form. There is nothing particularly defining about their animal forms. A turned lycanthrope will appear as an ordinary wolf when shifted and will behave no differently than a real wild wolf.

Cursed

Cursed misanthropes are interesting creatures.

They are not bitten, thus they are not “afflicted.” They cannot pass on their misanthropy under any circumstances, whether by infection or by breeding, despite their instincts driving them to breed.

They are a strange amalgamation of traits associated with both turned and naturalborn misanthropes while exhibiting their own unique characteristics.

Like naturalborn misanthropes, cursed misanthropes exhibit animalistic traits associated with their animal counterparts. Some may even exhibit subtle physical characteristics associated with their specific animal form.

But more like turned misanthropes, there is a degree of separation between their human form and their shifted form. They remember nothing either from their human form while shifted or from their shifted form while human.

However, unlike turned misanthropes, cursed misanthropes are not even aware of the shift at all. As far as they can tell, it’s either a bad dream or a simple sleep disorder.

Their shifted form is more like turned misanthropes, where they appear to be just a bigger version of their specific animal. However, unlike turned misanthropes, the longer they remain cursed, the more monstrous their shifted forms become. And depending on the nature of the curse, other qualifications may be met to accelerate the curse.

On a long enough timeframe, the curse may affect their human form, as well. Behaviorally, they may start behaving more like their cursed animal form. And after a long enough time, if the curse is not lifted, they may remain permanently trapped in their shifted form until they die and the curse can never be lifted. Once the curse has progressed fully, they cannot die of natural causes. They can only be killed.

Depending on the nature of the curse, it can drive their shifted form to do many unsavoury things. The most common of these is simply bloodlust, a need to maim, feed, destroy, and even mate. A target of their tendencies, such as humans, may also be specifically defined.

The curse can be lifted, but it is difficult as the terms and conditions of the curse are not made privy to the unfortunate victim and unless someone is willing to help them try to reverse engineer how the curse works and what can be done to lift it based on the effect it has on the individual, it’s unlikely that the individual will ever be aware enough of it before they either completely succumb to it or are killed.

It’s unknown where these curses originate from. Some speculate vengeful witches or spellcasters. Some believe it originates from the individual messing with spiritual or otherworldly places and objects they shouldn’t have, like a fae circle. But regardless, individuals never know that they’re cursed until it’s too late.

Thankfully, cursed misanthropes are extremely rare.

While naturalborn and turned misanthropes can both be killed like any other creature, a cursed misanthrope can only die by using blessed silver once the curse has completely progressed.

Vampires

While vampires became popular and more public following the mid 15th century, they have actually existed for a very very long time.

One of the most, if not the most famous, vampires was Vlad Dracula III of Wallachia. Also known as Vlad Țepeș or Vlad the Impaler.

Many of the myths surrounding vampires are exaggerations or simple folklore.

Vampires don’t instantly die in sunlight, but their skin is sensitive to the sunlight not unlike an allergic reaction. Through prolonged exposure, a vampire could be killed by direct sunlight. Their eyes are also sensitive to sunlight due to vampires not only being nocturnal but also being an evolved predator species, resulting in their eyesight being slightly different than a human.

A vampire cannot enter a residence without being verbally invited in. If that invitation is revoked while the vampire is in the residence, the vampire will be forcibly expelled by an invisible and unknown force.

If someone spills grains, a vampire must count each and every grain that is spilled. They are physically incapable of resisting the impulse.

Garlic cannot kill vampires, though many find the flavour to be incredibly strong. Akin to a strong spice. However, interestingly enough, when garlic is ingested, it acts as a blood thinner and thus, makes blood easier for vampires to drink. It’s likely that garlic warding off vampires was a rumour started by vampires to make humans easier to feed on.

A vampire’s favourite blood type is that which matches their own.

Vampires cannot die of starvation. They are immortal and under ideal circumstances, can live for hundreds, even thousands of years. However, when a vampire hasn’t fed for a long enough time, they go mad. And after a certain point, the madness is irreversible and the only way to free a vampire is to kill them.

While a wooden stake through the heart can kill a vampire, it’s incredibly dangerous and limited as it requires one to get in close range and for the vampire to be weak enough. It is also not the only way to kill a vampire. Vampires can also be killed with blessed holy weapons and fire.

Vampires possess abnormal physical strength compared to humans. They can run, move, and attack much faster than a human could and can lift about three times their own body weight.

They cannot appear in cameras or mirrors.

Vampires can actually eat human food, but it’s human blood that nourishes them and keeps them properly fed. Animal blood can be a substitute, but not completely and not for long. It also doesn’t taste as pleasant. A vampire will starve without a steady diet of blood.

They are also inherently sexual creatures as seduction is a common hunting tactic and is more or less baked into their culture and their nature.

Naturalborn

Naturalborn vampires aren’t as common as they once were in the dark ages.

Vampires have an incredibly fickle reproductive cycle. They can only become fertile during specific phases of the moon’s cycle and orbit every few years. And even then, there are specific fertility rituals when it comes to copulating and producing children. Which is good, because vampires can’t accidentally get pregnant or make someone else pregnant.

Many naturalborn vampires either lived during the dark ages or their families have existed since then. As such, especially due to their immortal natures, they are resistant to change and don’t react well when a paradigm shifts or their worldview is challenged.

And because many naturalborn vampires lived during the dark ages or have direct relatives that lived during those times, many hold strong prejudice against humans ranging from feelings of superiority, seeing humans as nothing more than livestock, or worse, pests or pets to be eradicated and controlled.

During the reign of the Catholic Church, burnings were common. Vampires, witches, innocent women and children, Pagans, anyone that the Church could label as a ‘heretic’ was burned at the stake and killed during crusades. Vampires looked upon this with revulsion, especially when observing other humans not only participating, but cheering. They simply believed what the Church told them and condemned their friends and families to death as they burned.

So, seeing as the humans decided they wanted to behave like mindless livestock, vampires only saw it fit to treat them as such.

And that was successful and popular…for a while.

But now, in the modern era, this worldview is no longer necessary as mainstream Catholicism is no longer as popular or in fashion and burnings have long ceased. Yet, vampires of the old ages still hold onto their anti-human prejudices except for a select few.

Naturalborn vampires have access to many special abilities that turned vampires don’t. Abilities that seem like magic, such as levitation, shapeshifting, pyrokinesis, telepathy, foresight, and many many others.

Naturalborn vampires also age incredibly quickly. They become fully-realized adults twice as quickly as humans do, but once they mature, they age at an incredibly slow rate. They can appear young for decades.

Turned

In order to turn a vampire, a human’s blood must be completely drained from their body. Once that has happened, a vampire then injects specialized venom directly into their heart to start it, again. This prompts their heart to start pumping vampire blood, effectively changing the physicality of the human and turning them into a vampire.

However, utilizing vampire blood can also yield other types of creatures. If a human drinks vampire blood, they become a ghoul. If you water a plant with vampire blood, it becomes a mandrake. If a dog drinks vampire blood, it becomes a hellhound. And so on and so forth.

Turned vampires can’t gain the same abilities that born vampires can, only really retaining the super strength and super speed.

If a human is turned young, they will resume the same aging process once they awake as a vampire. Turned vampires also age the same way born vampires do once turned even as adults.

Born vampires spend their entire lives knowing how to be vampires. Learning how to be vampires. How to control and ground themselves to their senses of selves. But turned vampires are often turned and then abandoned to fend for themselves. As a result, many succumb to the vampire hunger madness when they begin to starve, refusing to accept their new reality and refusing to feed on human blood.

It can be difficult for a turned vampire to adjust to their new life, but it comes down to two things. A regular and consistent diet and a grounded sense of self. Once they adjust, they can live normal and healthy lives as vampires.

Hunters

Vampire hunters are a more recent phenomenon, when speaking in relativity to vampires themselves.

The first and arguably most famous line of vampire hunters was the Hellsings. The Hellsing family line was even respected by vampires.

Now, there are several families of vampire hunters.

Vampire hunters are actually physically different from humans. Their blood makes them very different. They were meant to combat vampires on a physical level in order to fight and eradicate them during the dark ages when vampires were the most active and prolific.

Not all vampire hunters have hunter blood, but those with hunters blood are faced with unique challenges.

Not unlike turned vampires, vampire hunters often have a moment where they discover themselves and their lives are thrown into chaos. When in the vicinity of a vampire, they are overtaken by the urge to kill the vampire and fight them.

Lone and new vampire hunters are killed very quickly so that they don’t become a threat before they can join a vampire hunting organization. They give off an energy signal that vampires and other nightcrawlers can pick up on and the less control a hunter has over their instincts, the easier they are to track.

Hunters are also capable of tracking vampires as well by this method and more.

While many hunter organizations outside of the Hellsings simply focus on hunting down and killing vampires, the Hellsings did so much more than hunting. They dedicated all of their resources to understanding vampires and other nightcrawlers completely. Some Hellsing family members have even taken vampire lovers because of how well they understood them.

Vampire hunters are the only things that can rival a vampire’s speed and strength.

Like turned vampires, hunters need to be taught to control their instincts by grounding them to their senses of self. Once they master themselves and have a grounded sense of who they are as individuals outside of their hunter’s blood, they can become true hunters far greater than many modern day vampire hunters.

Bloodless hunters do not have the advantages of blood hunters, but can be just as effective with more training and knowledge. With the right knowledge, discipline, and training, anyone can fight and kill a vampire.

Dhampirs

Thankfully, humans and vampires can interbreed and create half-vampires. Creatures with strengths from each of their parents that make them formidable opponents for either humans or vampires to face.

These half-vampires are known as dhampirs.

Dhampirs compared to vampires are much stronger and not held back by their limitations. Dhampirs are not sensitive to sunlight, don’t need to drink blood in order to survive and can survive off of human food, and they can appear in mirrors and cameras.

However, compared to humans, dhampirs are still immortal in a general sense. They age quickly and cease to age once they reach adulthood and cannot be killed by anything but holy weapons and a stake to the heart. They can, however, starve to death despite that no longer being a concern due to their lack of need for human blood.

Though, despite this lack of need, it does still nourish them.

They also possess the same level of strength and speed that vampires do.

Depending on whether their vampire parent was a naturalborn or turned vampire, they may potentially inherit some of the powers their vampire parent had.

Unions between blooded hunters and vampires are more unstable, as both their bloods and instincts tend to clash together. This does make them hypersensitive to their surroundings as well as to other nightcrawlers. More so than both hunters and vampires alike.

Ghosts

Ghosts are exactly what they sound like. Spirits of the dead that linger on Earth.

They linger in incorporeal forms that are near undetectable to humans and cannot be seen, heard, or felt. There are specific circumstances, either the ghost is close to the person, the ghost is particularly malicious or has intent to possess, the ghost is trying to communicate, or the ghost is attached to the building and/or residence.

There are a variety of reasons why ghosts linger, but there are two main reasons. Either they are trying to take care of unfinished business or they died in a particularly traumatic way and have to come to terms with it before they can move on beyond the mortal plane.

Ghosts may choose to attempt to speak to, touch, or show themselves to humans in order to get their attention or even their help. Whether they’re heard or not depends on a variety of factors, such as closeness, attachment to the building, proximity of the body, etc.

Spirits often have very strong emotions and their emotional states can be very easily influenced by their circumstances or their environments. They are most easily influenced by volatile emotions such as anger, spite, resentment, vengeance, jealousy, obsession, fear, and so on and so forth. These heightened emotional states may cause them to act out irrationally and cause unintended harm to humans.

One thing in particular that affects ghosts is repression in life. Whatever repressed emotions or feelings that someone had experienced while alive increases tenfold as a ghost to a level that cannot be ignored. Many repressions are often indicative of the time periods one was in or the lifestyle they lived.

Repressed sexuality and lust are by far the most common repressed emotions ghosts have experienced in life and they very often take these emotions out on unsuspecting humans. Oftentimes in their sleep or in their dreams.

Some ghosts cannot move on from their deaths and desire to become corporeal once more. Thus, they may bond themselves to a human and two things may happen.

A ghost may attempt to permanently possess a human and take over their life completely.

Or a ghost will seek out a sexual relationship with a human.

If a ghost pursues the latter, the human will not realize what the ghost is using them for. Ghosts feed on the life energy of humans which allows them to become more corporeal and have more power in the physical realm. This means that ghosts essentially use humans like batteries when they have sex with them.

The more times a ghost makes a human orgasm, the more of their energy they sap.

Eventually, after a long enough time, they will soak up enough of a person’s life until they fall ill and even die, leaving the body as a perfect vessel for their soul and given the relationship required, the ghost would bond immediately to the body.

Wraiths

Have you ever seen a shadow move out of the corner of your eye? Have you ever heard strange sounds coming from your closet or from under your bed?

Tales of the boogeymen are simply to scare children. But the true name for these shadow creatures are wraiths.

Wraiths are beings of pure shadow. They do not exist or live in the sun. Or even on this plane of existence.

Instead, they live in a world parallel to ours that is bathed in darkness and twilight. This world can only be accessed at night through very specific doorways and paths. Wells that seemingly go on forever, the spaces in closets and underneath beds.

Despite the horror stories surrounding these creatures, they’re not by default violent or evil. A lot of the time, they’re simply chaotic.

Their shadowness is expressed in different ways. For some, it’s viscous and fluid like slime or mucus. For others, it’s soft like coarse fur. And for some, it’s more gaseous and wispy like a spirit.

Whatever the case, when a wraith makes itself home in…well, a home, they often take the shape of that which the human fears most, or at least the closest they can imitate as a living silhouette.

However, considering that wraiths tend to lust after the humans they share a residence with, this is remarkably fascinating.

Some wraiths are more bestial like wolves, bears, or other such beasts. Some are more aquatic and abyssal, sporting tentacles and the like. And some really are more like human shadows or like ghosts.

Wraiths whenever they share a residence tend to bond to the human once the fear is dissipated. This can lead to the wraith following them as their own shadow.

This can lead to a temporary sort of control, as the wraith, now a shadow, can take control of the human’s body and make them do things just by moving.

Wraiths are malleable in form. Despite having a preferred form, they can change at will while still remaining a silhouette.

Intercourse with humans is very common. In fact, it’s preferred as they cannot reproduce with each other. However, in the human world, they also cannot reproduce with each other.

Because they live sexually repressed lives, intercourse with them can be incredibly rough and overwhelming, wraiths rarely being satisfied after one round. Oftentimes, they’ll have sex until daybreak when their human is exhausted.

While relationships with wraiths are typically without lethal or concerning consequences, some cases of abductions have been reported.

Closets and the undersides of beds are portals to their own shadow realm. And, it’s the only place humans and wraiths can successfully reproduce. As such, a very rare subset of wraiths spirit away their humans into their shadow world, never to be seen again.

Though, time passes significantly faster in the shadow realm. Entire lifetimes can go by in the shadow realm that only equate to mere minutes in the day world.

In the shadow world, physical needs are suspended. It is not a physical world. It is more abstract and ethereal. An eternal void where light does not pierce it. Sight is nonexistent. You have only your other four senses.

And if a wraith has taken you, you will likely spend the rest of your life in a perpetual state of intercourse. You don’t need to eat or sleep. Your human form is still intact, but so long as you exist in the shadow realm, you behave as though you’re a part of it.

Great Old Ones

These are beings far far far beyond what our feeble human minds are capable of even beginning to fathom.

They are older than the universe itself and are bigger and more powerful than anything imaginable.

To these beings, humans are practically nothing more than dirt under their feet. Nothing more than insects. They have physical forms, but even they are so inconceivable to humans that the sight of them causes them to go incurably insane.

Many humans have tried to summon them and as a result, they have lost their minds.

They are referred to with godlike reverence, but they are even older and more powerful and abstract than that.

Many cults form around and surround the various deities. Many of them perform sacrifices to the great old ones for their favour. To bring about the world they desire that the great old ones reside in. Dimensions so abstract and infinite that nothing can be sane when exposed to it.

Rituals can be performed to withstand the maddening effect these beings and their adjacent influences have on the environments around them, but they are not permanent and need constant maintenance and upkeep.

The most famous of the great old ones is Cthulhu and in a sense, he has become the mascot for these deities. A large hulking creature with batlike wings and a octopuslike face. Like a giant green octopus dragon in a caricature of a human form.

Of course, the great old ones can take any and all forms they may wish and they vary wildly. Even their powers are so great and infinite in their effects and uses that to place a single label on them would be a disservice.

Quite simply, the great old ones are far far far beyond what humans can reasonably perceive to the point of inducing incurable madness.

However, some great old ones or being adjacent to them take a liking to humans. They find them cute, entertaining, and amusing. Some even form attachments to those interested in the occult or those offered as sacrifices to them.

In any case, in the rare instance that relationships between humans and great old ones do form, they rarely last very long.

Sea Monsters

Despite the nomer, sea monsters do not exclusively live in the sea.

There are many species of lake and even swamp monsters. The only consistency is that they all reside either in or near bodies of water.

Sea monsters tend to be on the larger side and have a lot more variety to them. They can range from large tentacled monsters, sea dragons, sea serpents, or the traditional humanoid fish creatures seen in pop culture.

Lake and swamp monsters tend to be smaller, though typically still larger than humans.

Many lake and swamp monsters are humanoid in nature, though the degree at which their ‘monsterness’ overshadows their ‘humanness’ varies wildly. It’s very rare that two monsters look the same.

Some possess certain powers, like songs that lure humans to them, glowing eyes that hypnotize them, the ability to shapeshift, wtc.

Though, most of them are innocent creatures just existing in their ecosystem undisturbed until human intervention interferes.

Many are either chocked up to tourist folklore or cases of mistaken identity with other creatures that live in these areas, such as snapping turtles, crocodilians, and large fish.

Some monsters are malicious and lure humans to kill and eat them, some for mating purposes, but many tend to prefer avoiding humans rather than approaching.

Human/monster pairings do exist, but sea monsters tend to prefer their privacy and solitude and don’t enjoy a lot of attention if they can help it.

Most of them lay eggs and the process for which they do so varies wildly depending on the species.

Zombies (TW: Dead Dove; Do Not Eat)

Zombies are the walking dead, shambling reanimated corpses that walk the earth in search of living human flesh to devour.

Created by a strain of infectious disease that is transmitted through blood and fluids either ingested or injected into an open wound, zombies are almost mindless. Almost.

Most of the undead are mindless and simply search for flesh to devour, however those that are turned while still alive still possess some degree of awareness and are actually capable of remembering and comprehending themselves and the world around them.

However, this is only possible if the undead are fed. Even though they can’t properly digest anything and will vomit the gore up as a black rotten sludge, it satiates their hunger and allows them sobriety until they grow hungry again.

While they can’t properly communicate verbally, at least completely, they can communicate nonverbally to whoever is around them.

Most zombies cannot feel pain and are left only with their sense of hearing, as it’s the last sense to go when one dies. Zombies that are turned while still alive rather than after dying themselves retain most of their senses and even the ability to feel pain.

When zombies wake, their most prevalent need and emotion is hunger. After a long enough time and with their needs satiated, then comes anger and wrath. Then, after the wrath, comes sadness and fear. And then, acceptance.

Some zombies, unfortunately, also feel an intense sense of lust or a need to copulate after the anger stage.

It’s important to note that intercourse with the walking dead is not recommended under any circumstances as the consequences are many and the risk of infection and potentially death is incredibly high.

Zombies operate almost entirely on instinct and muscle memory, and as such, are typically unable to take into account physical control and any sense of inhibition. As such, they will not be gentle as their only thoughts will be satiating their immediate needs.

If they penetrate anally, ripping and tearing of tissue will almost certainly be a definite and contracting infection is practically guaranteed.

If they penetrate vaginally, the chance for tearing is much lower and, provided there are no open wounds, scratches, bites, or ingestion of any fluids, you will not contract an infection.

The chance of pregnancy, however, is relatively moderate as they still have stores of sperm from when they were alive and will release it in copious amounts. Miraculously, the pregnancy will not be out of the ordinary as the genetic material is still alive and usable.

However, once the store is spent, the undead cannot produce more sperm, and they will start to ejaculate blood. It is at this point that the chance for infection is practically guaranteed.

[entomancy]

(Fic) One thing we can agree on

Title: One thing we can agree on (Wattpad)

Setting: The vampire nonsense / Vegas Masquerade

Warnings: Gore.  I am having fun with my crayons.

Words: 1401

Summary: Flashback into the 'Moonlight Flush' part of the timeline. Which is the framing of the events of ~twenty years ago in the Vegas Masq. setting (which set up the current ‘rules’) as an urban fantasy police procedural; where Joplin would have been the secondary main / intro to the supernatural world and Belton the Season One antagonist who ended up Sort Of Befriended(ish).

This would have been in approx. Season Three, when bits from Joplin's past come back to bite him (er, again, I guess), and involves the first time he'd actually had to team up with Belton against a larger problem.

The larger problem being: more werebears, but asshole ones.

Indulgent, but I enjoy Belton being a dramatic irritation, and ~27yr old Joplin's permanent state of exasperation. And I wanted to explore an important (?) difference in the way the vampires and were(s) of this setting work.

(Also neither tumblr nor Wattpad has any sensible way to use footnotes, so there's one just... there, in the middle. Like this is FFN cira 2003 or something.)

---

The real difference between vampires and werewolves is how they bleed.

Clearly it isn't the only difference.  There are the big, obvious - hairy - ones; and you could spend lifetimes comparing technicalities of characteristic amongst the supernatural set, searching for links or diversions or even a root cause. How magic plays in.  How inheritances work, or the fundamental incompatibility of cross-siring.  How sunlight, direct or orbitally reflected, could possibly trigger the different effects that it does.

But for Denis Joplin, as he'd scrambled to make sense of the extraordinary left turn his last decade had careened into, somehow the thing that really seemed to underline it all was the way they bled.  Maybe because he'd always had such a damn knack for getting into situations that showcased it.

That last round of gunfire had really screwed up his right arm.  He'd wedged himself in place against the thick struts of a heavy-duty shipping container - splattered almost as much now with crimson as it was with spraypainted Cyrillic – and tried to breathe quietly.  The enormous bastard wielding a goddamn helicopter canon had fucked off to yell 'roided nonsense into a different part of the warehouse, so they probably had a few minutes pause before he realised his targets had dodged.

Not dodged as well as Joplin'd have liked, but there y'go.  You worked with what you got.

Most of the bullets had gone straight through – since he wasn't an armour-plated van – but he could feel a few wedged points of pain even within the jellied miasma of broken flesh that hung unpleasantly from his torn shirt.

"Jesustapdancing­-" he bit down on the mismatched curse as he grabbed his messed-up limb with his other hand and twisted, pushing it up against himself and the steel wall behind, and tried not to go blind.

It squelched.

"Don't like that," he muttered, then glanced up at the wet snort of amusement from just down the container row. "Hey, he nailed you to the fuckin' wall about as well as I've seen; don't get lippy."

Not that his extremely temporary partner was in much shape to be more actively sarcastic.  The brunt of the recent salvo had hit taken Belton pointy-ear to hip, ripping the big grey fuck open like a side character in chainsaw splatter, which – somehow – made the look of dazed amusement on the bits of his face that weren't hanging off even more aggravating than usual.  He shifted position, bringing his torn-up arms out in front of him as if holding something narrow and invisible in both hands, and –

Joplin blinked.

Pull... yourself...

"Oh fuck off," he growled – and it was a growl, a sound that started deeper than his chest actually went and brought the pull along with it; a bestial reverb that went beneath his bones.  Joplin gritted his teeth – which felt about ready to start moving in his jaw as it was, aching with something beyond nerves – and had another unpleasant feel around where his elbow used to be.  It helped if everything was in the right place.  Last thing he needed right now was having to rebreak a limb because he'd managed to shift over all wonky.

That'd have to do.  Very pointedly not making eye contact with Belton as he did so, Joplin Changed.

There have been a lot of renditions of a lycanthropic* transformations over the years, and there have even been some that have come close to the actual reality of seeing it happen. The exact visuals tend to vary person to person, but however it looks, the world bends – just a little, at the seams – as something that was only ever the thickness of breath away steps forward.  Joplin always thought it felt like stretching should do – an all-over, unfurling release of physicality, like every fibre of you stopped hunching its shoulders all at once.

________________________________________________________________

* There's an argument that 'ursanthropic' might be a more technically correct term when the reader is considering Denis Joplin himself – or even the bellowing figure currently firing 30mm rounds into what will turn out to be a container of tinned garlic pallets – but the linguistic side of paraphylogeny isn't a popular field.  'Actually, it's wereBEAR' is only a helpful correction under certain circumstances, and this isn't one of them.**

** Yet. ________________________________________________________________

The arm took a bit more effort.  A transformation that added several feet in height, width, and summed-up hair length didn't exactly have a problem fixing a half-mulched limb, but there was clearly an additional process going on.  He wondered how people had explained what it looked like before timelapse film had been developed.

It... healed.   Torn vessels sealed over; bone shards scraped and swelled together within muscles that bulged crimson-purple as they knitted close.  Tissue bloomed, bruise-blossom hues racing through tattered skin and dragging raw pallor behind them; black-bloody tears welled up pink and grey and pink again, threaded with ribbons of tendon herded into place by a lightning flash of sudden scars, gone as fast as they appeared.  Then the fur broke surface like desert flowering, and a heartbeat later there was nothing to show for the damage that a slight extra paleness in the iron-grey pelt, as Joplin flexed his bulked-out fingers carefully.

Belton clapped.  Just once, with a softness that hands tipped with inch-long claws shouldn't be able to achieve, and it was the most sarcastic fucking sound Joplin had ever heard.  He bared his considerable teeth in a silent snarl and waved his own padded hands towards the old bat.

Hurry.  Up.

Belton's black eyes crinkled at the edges, and then he pulled himself back together.

The real difference between vampires and werewolves is how they bleed.

Belton's blood was dark, with a strangeness to its consistency that would have baffled splatter analysts on a fundamental level, but it also didn't tend to stay where it landed.  None of him did.  Metal gleamed naked against the pitted concrete as pools of inky crimson pulled away from the bullets that had torn them loose, flowing back along their own path like a retreating tide - rivulets of reversing gore that snaked and whipped back up their origin form, trailing back into ruptures that folded seamlessly shut around them.  Belton stood up, even as his chest cavity was still closing, and gently pushed his hanging jaw back into place, smoothed like fresh clay.

Vampires don't heal – you see – so much as 'rewind'.

He held Joplin's gaze, half a heartbeat longer than he needed to, and grinned.

There was a spotless bullet held between his rows of teeth.

"Oh, fuck off," Joplin repeated – before he was drowned out by a guttural roaring, and the sound of a minigun barrel being smashed through something unfortune enough to be inside its turning circle.

"Little pigs, little pigs!  I hear you!"

Both men visibly winced.

"See, someone with that little self-awareness just shouldn't be this much of a problem," Belton muttered, flicking the bullet aside like a cigarette butt. "It's genuinely a bit embarrassing."

"Yeah, well," Joplin whispered back, as he scanned the roof, taking in the environment with an eye to traversal options he hadn't had five minutes ago. "I won't tell if you don't."

Another roar burst the air, and Belton started edging down the row again, clearly doing his own version of the calculations.

"Pity he doesn't take after your side of the family, really."

"This isn't a family situation," Joplin snapped back, readying himself to move when the oncoming footsteps got a bit closer.  If he could get around, then maybe he could deke out the...

He glanced back, about to signal a go, and realised the old vampire was still looking at him, one of those impossible-to-read expressions on his weird bat face for a second, before he spoke softly.

"See, that's the thing with monsters.  It's always going to come back to blood, one way or another."

A shiver danced down Joplin's extended spine, strong enough to stir the fur.  That was a bit close for comfort – and from sodding Belton?  He shrugged dismissively, only partly to himself.

"Yeah, well, this ain't gonna be the worst it gets.  Try not t'get cut in half again."

Then the shipping container exploded in a nightmare of burning metal.  Belton went right; Joplin went up; and everything else went on from there.

----

[detective-with-one-arm]

Misanthropy Headcanons (Wereverse)

So, because I have some thoughts, here are some casual lore stuff I’ve thought of for the wereverse.

Misanthropy:

Lycanthropes (werewolves) are the most common form of misanthropy.

However, there are actually many forms of misanthropy, such as ursanthropes (werebears), caninthropes (weredogs), felinthropes (werecats), and many other less common misanthropes.

Each variant of misanthropy expresses itself differently in the individual, both due to the individual’s personality and due to the animal reflected in them.

There are three types of misanthropes - born, turned, and cursed - and all three have unique characteristics that define them.

No matter the species, all misanthropes have night vision when they turn.

Naturalborn Misanthropes:

Naturalborn misanthropes can breed with other naturalborn misanthropes.

While the chances of their children carrying misanthropy is increased when they breed, it is not guaranteed and it is possible for the gene to be dormant in their offspring and for them to not be misanthropes.

While misanthropes can breed with other misanthropes, whether or not the genes carry is up to chance. The chance is highest when two of the same variant of misanthropes copulate and lowest when two of different variants copulate. There is a higher chance of the gene carrying between a misanthrope and a human than two misanthropes of different variants.

Naturalborn misanthropes are more like the traditional anthropomorphic depictions that are common in pop culture visually speaking.

They are more in-tune with their animalistic characteristics and they present themselves in their daily lives whether they’re turned or not.

When they are turned, they are aware and conscious and retain their “selves.” They simply behave a bit more like the animal variant that they are without losing their essential personalities and they remain aware of themselves and their surroundings and memories aren’t lost between forms.

Turned Misanthropes:

Turned misanthropes cannot pass on their misanthropy through breeding.

The only way turned misanthropes can pass on their misanthropy is through delivering a bite that gets infected. With swift treatment, a bite from a turned misanthrope will heal and the individual will be fine.

The scar remains permanently if it does not heal properly and the individual is turned.

While some speculate that naturalborn werewolves are the origin of turned misanthropes, this is not the case. It’s unknown where turned misanthropes truly originated.

Unlike their naturalborn counterparts, turned misanthropes maintain a firm separation between their human existences and their animal states.

They do not exhibit any of their respective animalistic characteristics while they’re human under any capacity.

Once they turn, they hold no memory of their human life and behave exactly as their animal form would behave in the circumstance that they would shift. The same also happens once they shift back. They have no recollection of their experiences while they were shifted. The only thing that they know once they shift back is that they transformed. But that is the only memory they have.

Unlike their naturalborn counterparts, turned misanthropes appear while shifted just as ordinarily as their animal form. There is nothing particularly defining about their animal forms. A turned lycanthrope will appear as an ordinary wolf when shifted and will behave no differently than a real wild wolf.

Cursed Misanthropes:

Cursed misanthropes are interesting creatures.

They are not bitten, thus they are not “afflicted.” They cannot pass on their misanthropy under any circumstances, whether by infection or by breeding, despite their instincts driving them to breed.

They are a strange amalgamation of traits associated with both turned and naturalborn misanthropes while exhibiting their own unique characteristics.

Like naturalborn misanthropes, cursed misanthropes exhibit animalistic traits associated with their animal counterparts. Some may even exhibit subtle physical characteristic associated with their specific animal form.

But more like turned misanthropes, there is a degree of separation between their human form and their shifted form. They remember nothing either from their human form while shifted or from their shifted form while human.

However, unlike turned misanthropes, cursed misanthropes are not even aware of the shift at all. As far as they can tell, it’s either a bad dream or a simple sleep disorder.

Their shifted form is more like turned misanthropes, where they appear to be just a bigger version of their specific animal. However, unlike turned misanthropes, the longer they remain cursed, the more monstrous their shifted forms become. And depending on the nature of the curse, other qualifications may be met to accelerate the curse.

On a long enough timeframe, the curse may affect their human form, as well. Behaviorally, they may start behaving more like their cursed animal form. And after a long enough time, if the curse is not lifted, they may remain permanently trapped in their shifted form until they die and the curse can never be lifted. Once the curse has progressed fully, they cannot die of natural causes. They can only be killed.

Depending on the nature of the curse, it can drive their shifted form to do many unsavoury things. The most common of these is simply bloodlust, a need to maim, feed, destroy, and even mate. A specific target of their tendencies, such as humans, may also be specifically defined.

The curse can be lifted, but it is difficult as the terms and conditions of the curse are not made privy to the unfortunate victim and unless someone is willing to help them try to reverse engineer how the curse works and what can be done to lift it based on the effect it has on the individual, it’s unlikely that the individual will ever be aware enough of it before they either completely succumb to it or are killed.

It’s unknown where these curses originate from. Some speculate vengeful witches or spellcasters. Some believe it originates from the individual messing with spiritual or otherworldly places and objects they shouldn’t have, like a fae circle. But regardless, individuals never know that they’re cursed until it’s too late.

Thankfully, cursed misanthropes are extremely rare.

While naturalborn and turned misanthropes can both be killed like any other creature, a cursed misanthrope can only die by using silver once the curse has completely progressed.

[patchodraws]

Last batch of Horizon character drawings for now! (Part 4/??)

Gaige Hilario, Berserker, 23, Hazard Noi Melikov, Combat Engineer, 30, Hazard Luis Rodriguez, Ursanthrope, 33, Harbinger Steph Nashi, Aguarius Mage, 17, Harbinger Sid Delarge, Crime Lord, Unknown, Hostile Draven Mallark, Vidaris Mage, 40, Harbinger