You head to the old house's dining room, where a large wooden table sits. It's empty, the rest of the Hunters out and about in the world. The kitchen is brimming with the light and heat that activity tends to bring. A scarred Hunter is busy working in it, cooking an extensive meal. You vaguely know her, a young Spaniard by the name of Lola Garcia. The hunter's missing three fingers on her right hand and her right eye from a Gargoyle attack, so she's on recovery and acting as the Lodge chef for the time being.


Tonight's meal, as with most Lodge meals, is very garlic heavy. Traditionally, Hunters have lots of garlic. In the old days, when the Hunters first rose up, garlic was an invaluable tool. Many monsters of the night could easily track a human via smell, so the first Hunters used garlic to disguise their scent and confuse their prey. Of course, it wasn't long before the smell of garlic became associated with Hunters, and they had to change tactic. Still, garlic is still popular among the Hunters as a meal, both to keep up the tradition and for a good luck charm. 


Tonight, the meal is potatoes, lamb and gravy, flavored with garlic. You take a bowl, returning to your seat with the rest of your squad of Hunters. While you didn't feel hungry during the night's exploits, now that the food is in front of you and you get to smell it, you feel just how hungry you are. You quickly grab your knife and fork, and begin wolfing it down. Within a minute flat, your bowl is empty, and you have to weigh up having any bit of respect from your peers against the joy you'd get from licking the bowl clean.


Afterwards, you head to the main bathroom. You shower yourself, a nice treat, washing off the dirt, sweat, blood and grime that's coated you over the night's events. Having the hot water stream over your skin has a cleansing, almost purifying effect on you. You make sure to scrub extensively, trying to wipe off any scent of your "human side" that might be lingering. Afterwards, you get dressed in your best hiking boots and what clothing you have that's warm, tough and flexible, which is admittedly pretty much everything you have. You pack up your shotgun with its shells filled with silver shards as well as a hunting dagger with a silver edge and your revolver. Making sure you have all the survival gear you need, you head out to the truck.


With twenty minutes left in the day, you move to your desk. It's laid out with your papers, your grinder, your filters and a large bag of your personal supply of Marijuana that helps you get through the darkest nights with the worst nightmares, pulling out your record player. You quickly flick through what few Vinyl you have, before going back to the one you most often return to. With (What's the Story) Morning Glory? emblazoned proudly across the top, you smile as you remember your father giving it to you for your eighteenth. Dad actually had a taste for music, and always liked them, as did you. You flip on the vinyl, setting your alarm for fifteen minutes, and sink into your desk chair as the songs play.


The next fifteen minutes is a thoughtless bliss of unforming memories, but soon, your alarm bleeps you awake, and you head out to the others. The group is assembling outside, taking a worn out pick-up. Russel and Wyatt are loading a moose carcass into the back of the truck, while Hans, Father Féval are already getting into the truck. You quickly hurry up, as Russel looks at you.


"Willy! You ready for this?"


"Always am," you nod, as Russel hands you a jar of golden liquid.


You uncap the jar, gently sprinkling the deer piss over your coat. Thanks to werewolves' naturally keen sense of smell, it's best to coat yourself in this disguise, despite how disgusting it is to you. 


"Ha! Perfect! Let's go! I'm driving up front with Frenchie and the German. You can come up front with us or sit up with Wyatt and the bait."


You look at Wyatt, who looks pale and nervous, a hunting rifle in his hands. His father is either indifferent to his son's fears or ignorant of them. Part of you wants to sit in the front where it's warm, but another part of you feels like you should comfort Wyatt.

You get in the back with Wyatt and the bait

"I'll take the back," you say. "Cabin's just going to stink of deer piss anyway."


"Suit yourself," Russel says.


You walk over to the boot of the truck, clambering in. You step over the deer carcass, sitting down next to the young boy, who stares at you.


"Hello," the boy says, extending a hand to you. "My name's Wyatt."


"William," you say, shaking his hands.


"Alright, moving off! Let's go!" Russel shouts, the truck heading off the road. 


You relax, leaning back and resting your head against the metal back of the truck. You lean your head over, looking at Wyat..


"Scared?" you ask.


Wyatt quickly shakes his head.


"No. No, I'm not."


"I was. My first hunt, I nearly shit myself. Threw up in the bushes from worry, sharpened my knives so much they were almost useless and, if I'm honest, nearly blew off my dad's head when he came to get me. You feel a bit like that?"


Wyatt smiles weakly at you.


"I'm a little scared," the boy admits. "I've hunted deer, wolves, even, but this is a whole different level."  


"You should be scared. Fear keeps us alive. Fear is what holds us together."


Wyatt nods as if you've said something profound, but you're half sure he's barely listening as he tries not to piss himself.


The truck pulls off, barreling down the road. You lean back, the truck heading deep into the woods. Your shotgun feels heavy on your shoulder, shaking your head to free it of any sleepiness. It's a silent journey, you not being the type for any inane chatter, especially before the hunt and since Wyatt's trying to keep from puking, a chat seems unlikely.


It's a long, boring drive. You watch the trees pass by, shrouded by shadow. It's a waiting game until the drop zone, as always. You focus on nothing at all and let your mind drift to avoid getting yourself psyched out.


Suddenly,  you feel yourself slam against the side of the truck as the car swerves. There's the sound of tires bursting as you're catapulted up, hands grabbing for your shotgun. The car slams off the road, hitting the embarkment as you find yourself momentarily free-falling, flying out of the back of the truck. You let out a terrified scream, flying through the air, before the world goes black.

You consciousness fades...

You open your eyes as blurry vision returns to you. You're surrounded by dirt and darkness, but your eyes slowly begin to make sense of your surroundings. You're lying on the cold dirt, next to the road you were just driving along. You blink, feeling a rush of pain go through your numb body. Your skin is grazed and cut up and your flesh bruised, but you don't seem to be in too bad a condition. Certainly capable of walking and fighting.


You force yourself to one knee, your eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. Your is shotgun lying close by you, and feel a breath of relief. You stand cautiously, checking to make sure nothing's broken one more time, before grabbing your shotgun. After making sure it's still loaded, before surveying the situation.


The trees to the side of the road are broken and crushed indicating where the truck must've gone off the road and down into the ravine below. Your eyes are slow to notice it due to it's black paint, but you see a pair of spike strips lying across the road. You stare at them in amazement for a moment, fingers clenched on your weapon.


This doesn't make sense. Werewolves never take human servants, and they're not tool users when transformed. They wouldn't put the spike strips down... unless they knew you were coming... and prepared beforehand. 


FUCK! This shitshow's about to get a lot worse. You're dealing with a worse enemy than a pack of maddened werewolves.


Struggling to the edge of the road, you stare down the steep ravine to where the truck lies. It's heavily crushed and damaged, beyond repair. You can hear screams down there, indicating that there's survivors. You doubt any of them are in any condition to defend yourself. But looking down at your current condition, you stand a chance.

You head down and rescue your team mates

You have to protect your companions, and get them out of there. You can't leave them behind. You hold your shotgun tightly in your hands, before moving forward and darting down the decline. You slide down on your boots, hurrying down as fast as you can. You almost fall into a tumble, but manage to steady yourself, finding yourself on the ground near the wreckage.


You look to the truck, and you can see a mutilated corpse strapped into the driver's seat, and realize Russel didn't even get out of the car. The screams off deeper into the woods don't give you hope for the fate of the others.


"Stay back! Stay back!" a young, terrified voice screams from behind the wreckage.


Swearing, you burst forward, your gun held tightly in your hands. Rushing around the roasting bonfire, you find Wyatt, collapsed on his back, desperately trying to shuffle backwards.


Standing in front of him is a bestial creature you've faced many times before. A werewolf. The creature stands with black and gray fur matted with the gore of a previous kill. The creature growls, revealing a row of vicious teeth that could easily tear through a man. 


Your instincts kick in, and you drop to your knee, raising your gun and opening fire. The gun bucks, silver bursting forward and tearing through the werewolf's flesh. The creature howls, as you fire another shot, blowing the creature's head off as its body crumples. You watch as the lupine body begins to morph, shedding air and twisting as it turns into a naked, bloody human corpse, its head completely missing.


"Oh Jesus, oh Jesus! William, they got my dad. They tore him up, and they took Hans off into the woods! Shit, we have to go help him! We have to go save them!"


You hear a loud howl, looking over to see a trio of werewolves appearing out of the woods. At the front, a large creature with frost white hair and pink eyes. The creature begins prowling towards you, its jaws open as it licks its lips. The creature lets out a growl, as the other two werewolves pause, holding back as the creature approaches you. Clearly this one's a leader of some sort, and it wants to take you down by itself as some fucked up pursuit of honor or to show its pack mates its prowess. 


You don't have time to think. It's time to act.

You hold the beast off while Wyatt escapes

You raise your shotgun, firing at the Albino as it charges towards you. The silver shards fly forward, but the creature rolls to the side to avoid the shot, before leaping forward. The Albino tackles you, knocking your weapon aside as it flies through the air. The beast slams into you, tackling you and sending you smashing into the earth. The werewolf's weight lands atop you. Its jaws snap down, tearing through your flesh as it bites into your shoulder. You scream, the Albino gulping down your hot blood and flesh.


The Albino pulls its head up, releasing your torn flesh from its jaws, before looking down at you, your own blood dripping from its jaws onto your chest. It looks at you for a moment with an almost curious expression, tilting its head.


"Come on! Fucking kill me! Kill me, you fucking bastard!" you growl. "Finish me off!"


The Albino looks down at you for a second more, before turning. The Albino looks to its two pack-mates, before howling into the moon. As if answering the creature's call, the two werewolves burst off into the woods after Wyatt. The creature stares back at you for a moment with its blood red eyes, its tooth-filled mouth almost seeming to grin at you for a moment, before the creature bounds off into the woods. 


You lie there, bleeding onto the earth as you try to think. The werewolves are acting with high intelligence, even for werewolves. They laid an ambush. They figured out when he hunt was happening, what your paths were and when you'd be coming. They laid out spike strips, so this isn't just the bestial monsters within coming out, they were planning this in their human forms as well.


You don't know what's happening, but you know that this is just the start. These monsters have a terrible plan that you can't just let happen.


A wave of darkness hits you, and for a moment, you feel like sinking into the ground. You try to fight it, but part of you wants to lie there and embrace the peaceful darkness.

You wait for death

You lie across the dirt, blood wetting the soil as it turns to mud. The darkness slowly grows at the edge of your vision, moving forward as it engulfs your sight, and you find yourself pulled into the darkness. 


Suddenly, the pain bursts through you as you begin shuddering in pain. You begin to scream, a sound which shifts into a pained howl of anguish. You can feel your body twisting and breaking, bones snapping and reforming as your limbs are stretched out longer and harder, your body shifting and reforming rapidly. Your face tears apart as it grows and reforms into a snout, as your teeth begin breaking and reforming. The hair rapidly bursts through your skin as it rapidly grows, coating your broken and reforged body into that of a werewolf. The pain tears at your mind and soul, and you're unable to focus on anything other than your instinct to escape it.


Slowly, the pain begins to subside, but you find your mind incapable of reforming, still incapable of focusing in any regard. You shake your head with a growl, feeling the air blow through your fur, the smell of nearby prey, the crunching of soil under your paws. But most importantly, you feel the powerful call of the moon above you. 


Yes... that's it. It calls. Suddenly, instinct takes over, and you find yourself sprinting through the woods, howling into the sky.


An array of howls answer back, and you follow the call.

The Call of the Moon

The Call of the Moon


You find yourself standing with your brothers, two dozen werewolves standing around the Alpha, howling towards the sky. The energy is ecstatic, running through the group as the Alpha answers your calls with a roar so ferocious and powerful that you're left in awe. This is your time! Fenrir calls! It is hunting time!


War. Victory. Power. Blood. Hate. Anger! Hunger! Feed! HUNT! KILL! EAT!


The Alpha pauses for a moment, as a still runs across the pack. Its eyes lower from the bright, powerful moon, and towards the direction of the humans. You look towards that direction, and can sense what lies that way. 


Noise. Smell. Smoke. Lights. Humans! Flesh! HUNT! KILL! EAT!


The Alpha howls, tearing off into the forest to lead the nights hunt. Answering his call with an answer of your own, you follow after.


Now, it is the time of the beast.