drug scene. It seemed like a solid story, so I stayed with it. The nice thing about humans was they gave us so much social camouflage to hide in. Read more →
The next week was a boring series of motions. The Guildmaster refused to throw any hunting jobs my way. All I could do was sit in my townhouse and mope. The local media tried to get a hold of me the day after the explosion. After a few hours of “no comments,” the reporters left me alone, thanks to the kin in the local law enforcement agencies letting little juicy bits of “information” leak out. The cover story was that the private investigator who owned the car, namely me, probed a little too far into the
not to have any known lycanthrope roots. Usually one or both of the parents or grandparents of a lycanthrope are also a lycanthrope, and occasionally it shows up in cousins, but I have no known relatives that are also lycanthropes. To a society that values it close family connections, I am perceived as an intruder. Tradition states that the only surname I could have been given was the name Badmoon. My pack name was given to me after I completed the training for the Hunters Guild. To my Guild brothers, I am known simply as Ranger. I don’t know why the instructors at the camp gave me that name, but it seemed to suit me. Read more →
If you have read this far, then you probably have guessed what I am. Who I am is probably still a mystery. It is said that all lycanthropes, or werewolves as human stories call us, have three names. The first is the name the lycanthrope was hiding name, given by his parents at birth. The second is the lycanthrope name given to him at Initiation by the lord of the county. The third is the pack name your pack gives you. My hiding name was Marcus Edward Graven, III. It has been a long time since anyone has called me by that name. My lycanthrope name is Marcus Phoenix Badmoon. By tradition, I the first name of both my hiding name and my lycanthrope name remained the same. My middle name was given to me because I played dead during my Initiation, and then appeared to come back to life at a rather opportune time (i.e., ambush). The Badmoon surname is the one that has given me trouble for my entire life as a lycanthrope. I am the first lycanthrope in
, the learning time between the Rites of Discovery and Initiation. Tradition dictated that this was the time that the pups were to be secluded from the packs. It was the time for them to learn of our traditions and the necessary skills they would need in order to survive in our world. In the past, the three other lycanthropes and I standing guard would not have been there. Necessity had changed that part of the tradition. During this seclusion, the pups and one of the pack’s elder members of the Order of Spirits, or shaman (a term recently borrowed by the Order), were to come together to share the stories of our past, learn how to survive the dangers in our world while camouflaging within the human, and indoctrinate the pups into the ways of the packs. To tell our stories and legends, the shaman would use their mystical powers to create small pictures of the past from the flames of the campfire to help in their teaching. The flames were dying down as one of the shamans was finishing another tale to his pupils.
Read more →
For the pups of the pack, it was