Van Richten's Guide to Werebeasts - A Psychological Survey

I had always thought - perhaps because I had been told - that werebeasts were nothing more than kill-crazy monsters. No intelligence worthy of the name, just low cunning and evil intent. No greater goals than ripping up a few innocent and eating their flesh. That's what I was 'specting when I joined the group tracking down the werewold terrorizing travelers on the Old Svalich Road. I figure for a nasty battle at the end of our hunt, sure, but I was ready for it. I was armed for a stand-up fight against a foe toughter than any werewolf could possibly be.
It didn't take long to re-evaluate that thought when people started dying: people I respected, people I figured would make it through with nary a scrape. What's more, it wasn't the werewolf what was killing them, not directly anyway. What I'm saying is, they weren't killed by claws or teeth.

They were killed by dropped rocks, and pits, and sharp stakes and other such traps. They were led into ambush and slaughtered. And I came to realize this was no dumb beast we were hunting.

- From the journal of Zef Merrigan

In some distant lands, I am told, certain types of lycanthropes exhibit moral and ethical outlooks that are more or less benign. For example, travelers have claimed that were-bears have exhibited concern for the general weal. Further, though these creatures champion individualism above all else, they oppose those who spread pain and suffering. Judging from still other tales, there are werebeasts in some climes that run the gamut of behavior, from beneficent to indifferent to malevolent.

Such is riot the case within the realm of my experience. It is my considered opinion that virtually all lycanthropes are highly malign (although I must admit the actual nature of their malignity can vary somewhat). To be ever truthful, of course, the nature of my business is such that I am unlikely to encounter any werecreature of a less than cruel nature. As such, I must allow that "good" werebeasts can exist, though I have yet to meet them.

Why are lycanthropes such creatures of evil? My own guess is that they are subject to the same strange agencies that pervert magical wishes and twist the spirits of those who transgress the unwritten laws of moral behavior. Lycanthropy is a dark, malign disease - a perversion of the way life should be - and hence it is somehow akin to evil itself. When someone willingly kills a sentient creature, this is, in my view, an act of evil. Because such acts will ultimately corrupt the mind of those who perform them, so will a lycanthrope's killing slowly warp him into a malign form, whatever his original inclinations.

It has been my experience that lycanthropes native to the lands with which I am familiar (that is, Darkon, Dementlieu, and the rest) are malign in the extreme, regardless of phenotype. If they are born into lycanthropy, they exhibit their malign outlook regardless of the form they take. (This does not mean that a werebeast cannot pretend to have a different moral outlook when in its human aspect, of course.) Such lycanthropes are likely to exhibit a range of ethical attitudes, however. For example, a werebear will be aggressively independent and selfish, while a wererat may be more amenable to group interaction.

The infected lycanthropes I have met in my travels retained their original moral and ethical outlook when in human form. However, when they transfigured into their secondary aspect, they took on the moral and ethical stance appropriate to their phenotype. In my efforts to rid the world of these menaces, I have often been placed in an uncomfortable predicament. Believing a human is good, yet knowing his wereform is evil is a paradox that I have had to resolve within my own heart. Unfortunately, many infected lycanthropes resist all efforts to cure them, for their hearts have been claimed by their dreadful curse. As such, they too must be destroyed.

When infected werebeasts first enter such lands as Darkon or Dementlieu, they retain the personality they had before their journey - or so certain sages insist. In all too short a time, however, these blighted people grow progressively immoral and depraved. Sages claim that this change does not affect the creatures' ethical stance - that is, whether they value the common good higher than individual freedoms - but only their moral outlook.

This process is not instantaneous. Some lycanthropic individuals seem capable of resisting the siren song of depravity for a considerable period of time. Eventually, however, nearly all succumb to the fell blandishments of corruption. Werebeasts born to their malady who wish to resist this change seem able to postpone the inevitable by limiting the number of times they kill sentient creatures. This seems to imply that it is the slaying of intelligent, self-aware victims, and not a simple fact of lycanthropic nature, that causes the progressive decline into depravity.

Many believe that lycanthropes are dumb, ravening beasts, with only a modicum of animal cunning and certainly no real intelligence. This is true in enough instances that the belief has become firmly rooted in the minds of man. Yet it is definitely not the general case.

Why does this misconception persist, when anyone who has had personal experience with a lycanthrope can testify to this fallacy? I believe that the misconception is, perhaps, an attempt to minimize danger represented by werebeasts - that is, to deny that they are as significant a threat as they undoubtedly are. It is less daunting to consider lycanthropes as unintelligent, albeit still powerful, animals. How much more terrifying they become when one factors in human-level intelligence... As I have discovered many times in my travels, humanity shows a remarkable capacity for self-delusion.

In their secondary form, that of the beast, infected lycanthropes come closest to the stereotypical view of ravening monsters - particularly during the first few times that they transfigure. When a newly infected lycanthrope changes shape, its overriding desire is to find food. While it may show some level of animal cunning in hunting down its prey. it will rarely exhibit anything akin to true intelligence. Its hunger is simply too vast - its sense of freedom too overwhelming as the beast within is released from captivity - to allow it sober judgment.

The issue of bloodlust, too, is something that comes into play here. As discussed in more detail later in this chapter, newly infected lycanthropes are highly likely to be overcome by this fiendish urge. Thus, the lack of intelligent planning during early kills and the greater propensity to enter bloodlust ensures that an infected werecreature is likelier to be detected at the beginning of its "career" than later on. Based on rather infrequent encounters, I can only hazard that this condition pertains to the first five or six times an infected lycanthrope undergoes transfiguration. Needless to say, the goals and desires of a recently infected werebeast differ from one that has adjusted to its new iifestyle.

If the creature can avoid being detected and destroyed, after the seventh transfiguration or so it begins to show a little more intelligence and restraint in its behavior. Its chance of entering bloodlust also decreases at about this time. Hunger and the lust to hunt are still its dominant desires, but now the creature seems able to analyze and act upon these motivations a little more dispassionately.

While a newly infected werebeast will hunt quite openly (which is, might add, the most opportune time to track and kill these creatures), one that has survived numerous transfigurations will be more cunning. It will make the effort to cover its tracks and to keep its true nature secret. For example, a newly infected werebeast is quite likely to attack its prey - often, sadly, a loved one - in a relatively public place, rending him or her within clear sight of others. An "experienced" (if I may use that term) werebeast is more likely to sneak into the house of its prey at night and drag the victim into the woods. In a private, secluded place, it will devour its quarry with vicious glee, knowing that his or her screams will never be heard.

Obviously, if an infected lycanthrope has survived its first six or so transfigurations, the chances of its continued survival dramatically increase. Once the werebeast begins to apply its intelligence to the problem of survival, the difficulty of hunting it increases tenfold. For this reason, it is vital to start the hunt as soon as a werecreature has claimed its first victim. If the culprit is a newly infected lycanthrope, the chances are much better of successfully hunting it if the effort is made immediately.

There is a wide variation in the goals and desires of lycanthropes that inherit their condition. Initially, when I first became aware of the existence of werebeasts, I suspected that this variation was based along phenotypic lines. In other words, I believed that lycanthropes of the same phenotype shared an overall set of behaviors and views. Over the intervening years, however, I have found that this is not true - or, at least, not universally true. Certainly, there are similarities between lycanthropes of the same phenotype. But, quite are often, the variability within a phenotype is greater than that between phenotypes. The inescapable conclusion is that lycanthropes are individuals first and foremost. Indeed, they show much the same disparities and similarities as do humans and demihumans.

The central aspect of any lycanthrope's philosophy is survival. Since survival requires the creature to eat raw meat, and since its preferred food (regardless of its origin or moral outlook) is humanoid flesh, hunting intelligent prey is at the heart of all its behaviors. However, this does not mean that a lycanthrope that has inherited its illness will be the conspicuous, ravening beast that newly infected werebeasts often are. (Certainly there are some true lycanthropes that seem to enjoy openly terrorizing humans and thus attracting attention to themselves, but they are rare. I postulate that this is particularly true because such creatures would bring down the wrath of every werehunter in the region. As such, these lycanthropes are few and far between.)

It is possible to argue this point by analogy. Humans must eat to survive. (Granted, they do not have the dietary restrictions of lycanthropes, but set that consideration aside for the moment.) Does this mean that a human's every waking moment will be spent concentrating on finding his next meal? Does this imply that humans think of nothing but food? Of course not. The same logic holds true for lycanthropes, whether hereditary or infected ones that have adjusted to their disease.

Indeed, for many werebeasts the greatest motivation in their lives is that of continuing the deceit that they are normal humans or demihumans. I have personally encountered several lycanthropes that have crafted such cunning, complete masquerades that maintaining them interfered with their ability to hunt. They would undoubtedly have found it easier to feed if they had relaxed their attention to detail in their ruse. Yet they did not do so.

It has been posited that lycanthropes maintain a human facade to assure continued access to convenient sources of food. In the numerous cases I studied, this theory did not hold true, for the cost of maintaining a deceit frequently proved detrimental to acquiring food on a regular basis. Thus, these creatures must have been enjoying some other benefit gained from their deceits. I believe this benefit is a kind of personal satisfaction, a knowledge that they are capable of deceiving - and thus proving they are smarter than - the humans surrounding them. So important to such werecreatures is this satisfaction that they will suffer obstacles to their hunting to maintain it.

This kind of demonstrated "superiority" over humanity seems to be a common motivator among werebeasts. Yet it is by no means the only one. Some of these fell creatures seem to share many of the same drives as humans and demihumans: wealth, comfort, power. Such lycanthropes tend to pursue wealth and comfort in much the same ways as mankind, through means honest or criminal. If they choose the latter, their unnatural powers provide them with significant advantages over merely human thieves.

It is interesting to note that true lycanthropes' definitions of wealth and comfort vary depending on phenotype. For example, werebears or weretigers relish a large house, with lots of space and privacy. Wererats, in contrast, prefer small, labyrinthine dwellings, cluttered with shiny baubles. In terms of artwork and other aesthetic elements, the items chosen by lycanfchropes often reflect their underlying personality. Thus, the art preferred by a werewolf might well seem brutal, almost cruel, to humans. (One must not forget that most werebeasts are intelligent enough to understand this and will subvert their aesthetic tastes to maintain a facade, if they desire.)

Lycanthropes define "power" in either much the same way as humans do or quite the opposite. I have learned of werebeasts who pursued (and attained) public office. I have also encountered others who led human bandits, and still more who organized thieves' guilds, surrounding themselves with followers who were unaware of their leader's true nature.

One surprisingly cunning individual - a wererat - accrued great influence in a village by leading the locals' efforts to counter the depredations of the "mysterious beast" that was terrorizing the region. Although these efforts neither identified nor destroyed the beast (which was, of course, the wererat itself), they did minimize its impact on the citizenry, merely because the wererat scaled back its attacks as soon as it gained the position of power it had sought. Fortunately, few lycanthropes seem to be quite so cunning and enterprising. Unfortunately, most lycanthropes simply take the guise of a "mysterious ravening monster" to remove anyone who attempts to block their advancement.

Regardless of phenotype, the vast majority of true lycanthropes have as a major goal the spreading of fear, pain, and suffering. Werebeasts seem to derive pleasure from tormenting mankind. While some werebeasts are quite blatant in this and go so far as to instigate "waves of terror" in which many innocents are slaughtered, others enjoy more subtle machinations. Through carefully escalated acts that start with mildly disturbing events and end with out-and-out atrocities, lycanthropes can create an environment of growing fear and paranoia, paralyzing and eventually destroying an entire community.

I suspect that some werebeasts consider this kind of terrorism to be the highest form of "art".

I alluded to this topic earlier, and I include it here to present a counterpoint to the two previous sections on lycanthropic outlook and goals and desires. Bloodlust is the characteristic of lycanthropy perhaps most familiar to the average person, and it is by far and away the most frightening one. It is an uncontrollable rage into which a lycanthrope can fly when hungry, or when presented with the sight and smell of freshly spilled blood or fresh, raw meat.

Lycanthropic bloodlust can be compared to the rage of a berserker or a feeding frenzy among sharks, where the creatures lose all inhibitions and forget all caution in the desire to feed. During bloodlust, werebeasts lose all inhibitions. They fly into a rage that is horrifying to behold, falling with incredible fury upon anyone and anything unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity. During bloodlust, all lycanthropes become the heartless, ravening monsters from folktales - and then some. They will attack and attempt to slay anyone nearby, regardless of whether it is prospective prey or an erstwhile ally. They will fall upon that person and then feed to satiation. If the werebeast in bloodlust is well fed (that is, if it has been eating its normal food requirements over the past few days), it will eat only its regular amount... plus, perhaps, a little extra, if it has been denied food over the last several days (if it is suffering from progressive starvation or food debt as described in Chapter Two), it will eat enough to eliminate this food debt totally... and again, perhaps a little extra.

The primary stimulus for bloodlust is proximity to a source of food, combined with the sight, smell, or taste of fresh blood. Hunger, predictably, exacerbates the problem, as does the proximity of any other lycanthrope that has already entered bloodtust. The chance of losing control is also increased if the werebeast is seriously wounded; apparently, pain diminishes the creature's self-control. There are other aggravating factors: puberty (for true lycanthropes), and the unfamiliarity of the lycanthropic state (for newly infected werebeasts).

Infected lycanthropes can enter bloodlust only when they are in their secondary form. True lycanthropes are much more likely to enter bloodlust in their secondary or tertiary form, although if they are severely wounded they may also succumb while in their primary human aspect.

Once it has entered this state, a lycanthrope will remain in bloodlust until it has eaten its fill. Then it will slowly regain control. This effort may be immediate or may take several minutes. If the bloodlust continues after the creature has eaten its fill, it will not gorge. Instead, it will continue its slaughter, but it will not feed on the bodies of its victims.

Obviously, bloodlust is a hideous thing to witness. Lycanthropes - intelligent ones, at least - fear its onset, since it can easily destroy years of effort in building up a subterfuge. I shudder to write this, but I have heard that certain lycanthropes have learned how to initiate bloodlust willingly. I do not know how much credence to put in this claim, having never personalty encountered a werebeast capable of this act. Having witnessed - and barely survived - a bloodlust engendered by a young lycanthrope, I can only cringe at the idea of confronting a wily, adult werebeast that chooses to enter bloodlust. [If DMs decide that this is possible, the ability to initiate bloodlust at will should be very rare indeed.]

Speaking generally, infected lycanthropes are solitary creatures, looking out for their own individual interests. (The only exception to this rule seems to be when they come under the influence of a true lycanthrope.) Werebeasts that are born to their disease, however, can be quite social creatures.

In general, a lycanthrope's outlook toward others of the same phenotype will depend on its ethical view of the world. Thus, some werebeasts will be solitary, while others will be more social. Most, perhaps, will fall somewhere in the middle. Let us examine, for example, creatures at the two extremes: werebears and wererats.

Werebears have a highly individualistic outlook on life. They are more concerned with their own freedoms and prerogatives than they are with the rights and concerns of others. They are naturally solitary creatures, not given to seeking the companionship of their own kind except when it is time to mate. Werebears are extremely territorial and will frequently resist the incursion of others into their domains. (Werebears are also highly intelligent, so one masquerading as a human in a village will certainly not automatically respond to the arrival of another werecreature by changing form and attacking.)

In direct contrast, wererats are highly social, gregarious creatures, with respect to their own kind, that is. They demonstrate this enjoyment in ways that seem strange to most humans. The creatures are almost continuously in competition with each other: for mates, for standing within their community (and their "adopted" human community as well), for wealth, and for other tangible benefits. By human standards, this competition is not friendly; it is more sly and conniving than anything. Most humans would describe multiple wererats living a ruse in the same community as enemies, or at the very least ardent rivals. Yet, to the wererats themselves, this behavior does not illustrate any ill will; quite the opposite, in fact.

Weretigers and werewolves are examples of lycanthropes that fall in a middle ground. The former phenotype forms strong bonds within a "pride", or extended familial group. A pride will establish a territory and consider other weretigers that enter this region as rivals or even enemies. Interlopers are occasionally invited to join a pride, at which point such rivalry ends.

Werewolves are, generally speaking, loners. Yet under certain conditions they evince strong social behavior. For example, like their natural lupine cousins, werewolves can form packs (extended familial groups, generally larger than weretiger prides). Members of a pack will usually forget personal differences and work together if the pack is threatened, whether through the actions of locals or through the invasion of another pack. Yet, when there are no such direct threats, a werewolf pack is characterized by machinations, politics, and backbiting that makes most human political maneuvering look tame by comparison.

The leader of a pack is the strongest individual, usually judged through personal challenge and combat in animal or man-beast form. Other positions of authority fall to those who have the wherewithal to take them and hold them. Challenges and internecine squabbles within a pack are occasionally fatal, but this does not diminish the vehemence with which individuals pursue them.

It is important to note that characteristic behaviors hold true no matter what form the werebeasts involved are in. For example, two werewolves who are both masquerading as human merchants might extend their pack - based rivalry into the marketplace and engage in vicious price wars.

It is vital to realize that the above discussions are generalities only. Lycanthropes are individuals; even though they may be genetically predisposed to certain behaviors, they have the freedom to choose their own paths. Thus, though most wererats are social creatures, it is not impossible to encounter a solitary example of its kind. Similarly, atypical werebears may form a tight-knit social group. It is my belief that one who blindly trusts to trends and generalities is as foolish as one who categorically ignores them.

Generally speaking, lycanthropes of one phenotype tend to shun those of another phenotype. They are liable to ignore the others' actions unless those actions would bring direct harm or disadvantage to themselves.

This said, I must again stress the unreliability of generalities. Some werebeasts show extreme antipathy to lycanthropes of different phenotypes (whether they act overtly on this antipathy is another question, of course); others show the opposite behavior and actively seek them out. It is impossible to predict the behavior of any individual werebeast. Further, there seems to be no phenotypic correlation with this behavior range: in other words, no phenotype is more or less likely to diverge from the norm. In this matter, then, phenotype is of no significance, while individual personality is of paramount import.

I have sometimes thought that collaboration between lycanthropes of different phenotypes would be beneficial, perhaps even favoring natural selection, and thus likely to become more common. While this has not proved to be the case over the decades I have studied lycanthropy, I am not yet ready to discard my hypothesis. Perhaps the increase in interphenotypic collaboration is so slow that I have been unable to measure it. Or, more disturbingly, perhaps collaboration is so successful that, where it occurs, the werebeasts involved are never detected and thus never destroyed...

Even when lycanthropes feel the strongest of antipathies toward each other, they will rarely abandon their own subterfuges to act on their hatreds. Even the most virulently hate-filled werebeast might suffer the presence of another, simply because taking action against the intruder would put itself at unacceptable risk. In all but the rarest cases, lycanthropes are highly pragmatic: they are practical enough to put enlightened self-interest ahead of any personal animosity.

From my experiences, most lycanthropes seem able to recognize and identify others of their ilk, regardless of what forms they take. This explains, perhaps, why werecreatures who meet in man form in, say, the local market, do not react and attack. Perhaps this recognition is based on smell; yet, then, why would dogs not detect the difference? Or it could be visual cues too subtle for men to recognize. Most likely, however, is the supposition that lycanthropes exude a kind of "psychic taint" that others of their kind can detect. After all, in so many other ways it seems that Evil recognizes its own.

A resident werefox I once knew sensed that a newcomer to town was actually a lycanthrope in disguise. I admit to believing the werefox was in error, for I had detected nothing out of the ordinary from the stranger. But not only did the werefox know the man was an interloper, she knew too that he was a weretiger of excessive cunning. Sadly, I still did not believe the fox, and she paid for my disbelief with her life when the weretiger decided to invade her territory. By then, of course, I believed my confederate. Try as I did, however, the weretiger eluded all my attempts to hunt and kill him. He escaped one night, and I have never seen him since.

Compiler's Note: This off-hand reference to the werefox poses many questions. For some reason, he doesn't mention, Dr. Van Richten obviously knew of this werebeast's existence, but did nothing to eliminate the threat. Perhaps he only discovered the werefox's true nature when it came to him with news of the weretiger, arid the werefox was killed by the second werebeast before the good doctor could act on his own.

That was my first glimpse into understanding how keen the senses of werecreatures must be in order to recognize someone not quite of their kind, regardless of what form they are in. On more than one occasion, this belief has been upheld and even fortified. Yet, on others, the creatures have seemed absolutely unaware of another's presence or specific phenotype. Does this mean that some werebeasts have the power to make the determination while others do not? I cannot say, but I maintain that this ability is a highly dangerous quality for, if a lycanthrope is able to detect the presence of others of its kind, how unlikely is it that it will not be able to detect a werehunter?

In its most basic terms, the relationship between lycanthropes and humans (or any humanoid race) is one of hunter and the hunted, predator and prey. Yet there are some interesting twists and complexities to the relationship that belie this apparent simplicity.

First and foremost, all lycanthropes I have encountered consider themselves undeniably superior to other races. As discussed in Chapter One, most of these creatures consider themselves to be the next logical step in evolution beyond humanity. Even those who do not fully embrace the evolutionary view believe that their ability to change shape and their immunity to nonmagical weapons make them definitely superior.

Still, many lycanthropes evince a need for mankind as more than handy prey. These are the werebeasts whose goals and desires extend beyond finding their next meal. Those lycanthropes that do feel a need beyond that of food are hardly ever creative; they can produce nothing, neither works of art nor items of practicality. Their rapacious natures inhibit, distort, and finally destroy whatever finer impulses might run through their veins. Instead, they must depend on humanity to provide for their material needs. Similarly, those werebeasts that desire repute and notoriety are dependent on humans simply because they need a means to achieve that end.

Werebeasts that infiltrate human society generally do so for multiple reasons. The first, of course, is to surround themselves with a food source. The second, however, relates to security. A lycanthrope that successfully maintains its subterfuge is safer from hunters than is one living in the wilderness, or so I have concluded. If the disguised werebeast has properly infiltrated the society, it will have a group of "supporters". These people know and deal with the lycanthrope, yet are unaware of its true nature; they will, consciously or unwittingly, help defuse any suspicion that their associate is actually a ravening monster. A lycanthrope that has successfully infiltrated a village or town will use its neighbors to defend it from threats, particularly if a group of werehunters arrive in the region. Note that the longer a werebeast has been living in society, the less likely the locals will be to entertain suspicions against it. Although there are other reasons for this, one of the central motivations is that few people like to entertain the possibility that they may have been very wrong about someone. This unwillingness to consider the unpleasant has caused the death of more than one hapless villager.

Although it is attractive and reassuring to think so, werebeasts have no monopoly on evil or ill will. There are those individuals who would not hesitate to knowingly throw in their lot with a lycanthrope. Fortunately, this situation is rare. But, when the condition does arise, the suffering and woe it can promote is considerable.

I am thinking specifically of a small settlement that used to exist in northern Nova Vaasa, a large village known as Mel Fira. Some decades ago, an ambitious wererat moved into the village disguised as a human merchant. Over a period of months, he picked out those residents of Mel Fira who were evil of heart, who were willing to bring woe to others to satisfy their own desires. To these individuals, the wererat revealed its true nature. If these individuals would work with it, the werebeast promised, they would enjoy wealth and personal power beyond their imagining. According to my sources, only one person out of the dozen approached refused the offer; of course, the lycanthrope killed her on the spot.

The wererat's band quickly took control of the village. The government was already corrupt, but this band raised matters to new heights of depravity. Throughout this period, the wererat brought more of its kind, also masquerading as humans, to Mel Fira. Apparently, none of the members of the creature's original band knew the true nature of these "new arrivals", believing instead that they were other human comrades of the wererat.

Although the townsfolk were unaware that there were wererats in their midst, they did not long remain ignorant of the presence of lycanthropes in the vicinity. Mysterious disappearances and deaths were on the rise, and various witnesses reported seeing twisted, almost-human shapes that could only be werebeasts. The wererats were careful, however, sharing the kills they made. Each creature needed only about two pounds of meat a day, and enough prime flesh to sate several wererats could be "harvested" from even the smallest human victim. The werebeasts were also careful not to spread their lycanthropy, which would undeniably prove the nature of the threat to the town.

The village government, under the sway of the wererats by this time, constantly acted to sow dissension and confusion, to allay people's fears, to cast doubt on the belief that the deaths were the acts of lycanthropes, and to prevent the villagers from taking any concerted action. Any strong leaders who arose among the uncontrolled populace "coincidentally" fell victim to the "mysterious monster" threatening the village.

Finally, someone suspected what was occurring and managed to get word to a small band of adventurers who were currently traveling through the region. This group, which included several magic-armed warriors, quickly saw the true situation and identified the original wererat and its human followers. They did not suspect that there might be more of the creatures in Mel Fira, however.

The hour of transformation is at hand... I feel the bite of my own teeth as my mouth distorts and fangs emerge between, suddenly hard lips. My hands tremble as they twist and curve into claws that make a mockery of human fingernails. My skin prickles and crawls with an unholy terror as bristles ofjet hair emerge across my body.

And - O! - the stench of it all! The choking, putrid smell that is beyond description! The charnel smell of dried blood and burnt hair corrodes my nostrils as my face contorts into that of a werewolf. The rank smell of transformation haunts my waking hours, and it invades my dreams as well. I cannot rid myself of the fetid odor: it is driving me mad.

The waxen moon rises above the line of trees surrounding, sheltering me, and I fail to all fours. The hour of evil is at hand, and I must succumb to what is now my nature. I know now the shape of madness, of ravening insanity, and it is me!

The final act of this tragedy took place in a general town meeting, at which the visiting adventurers accused the central figure of being a wererat. Rather than denying it, the creature transfigured into its man-beast form. Simultaneously, some eight or so other "townsfolk" also transfigured, causing absolute panic. The ensuing chaos culminated in a fire that virtually razed the village. Many townsfolk died, as did several human associates of the wererat, a couple of lycanthropes, and all but one or two of the adventurers. Most of the wererats escaped into the surrounding wilderness, but not before attempting to infect as many innocents as possible with their dread affliction. Mel Fira effectively ceased to exist that night and has never been rebuilt. The region where the village used to stand is considered one of ill omen, if not cursed. Although I have no firm evidence, I fear that the wererat that started the entire debacle escaped with its life. It may well be repeating its actions in another village.

The point of this story is to illustrate the vulnerability humans possess. Most men revere, and will gladly follow, any creature that proves itself more powerful than they. This theory also applies to demihumans and those of humanoid origins. Since a wereboar, for example, is considerably more intelligent and powerful than an average goblin, the lycanthrope would have little difficulty taking over leadership of a band of the small humanoids, should it so desire.

Lycanthropes typically consider humanoids to be even lower forms of life than humans, which are already inferior to themselves. There is no reason, however, why they cannot suppress their distaste and condescension if it suits their purposes. Humanoid followers do not offer the same potential for cunning and guile as do human devotees, but they do represent excellently expendable troops that can be used (and used up) in combat.

It is sad but true that it is almost more difficult for a real person to become an accepted member of a town than it is for a werebeast to infiltrate the same society. Most townsfolk or villagers are highly suspicious of strangers. Initially, both "candidates" - a real human and a werebeast in human form - are on an even basis. Few normal humans are as socially adept as most true lycanthropes are, however. A human expresses his own personality, and it is a fact of life that not everyone is going to like that personality.

Lycanthropes, too, have their own personalities... but, almost from birth, they have learned to suppress their true manners and emotions. They have learned to watch the reactions of the humans around them and to tailor their delivery to make those reactions as palatable as possible.

A werebeast dissembling as a human might make an ambiguous comment about elves to the human farmer it meets. When the farmer expresses distrust of all nonhumans, the werebeast echoes the sentiment, tailoring the intensity of its opinion to match the emotional climate of the farmer. Since werebeast and farmer now have something in common - bigotry toward nonhumans - the lycanthrope is well on the way to earning the farmer's trust and even friendship. Obviously, this technique must be used in a subtle manner, particularly in group situations, where not everyone will share the same outlook. The basis remains the same, however. Lycanthropes are masters of this skill.

One characteristic I have noted among natives of more remote locales is the tendency not to ask questions whose answers might be disturbing. These people prefer not to reflect upon mysteries, the bases of which might be too frightening to contemplate. (Frankly, this is an attitude I find altogether frustrating and impossible to understand.) This tendency to shy away from "things man was not meant to know", to paraphrase what one old man shouted at me once, easily works to the benefit of lycanthropes. Once an individual - human, lycanthrope, or something else - has earned a level of superficial trust and acceptance, it is frequently free of any subsequent suspicion. People will not pursue nagging doubts, preferring instead to ignore them. An annoying, and often deadly, human trait I'm afraid, but one that the werehunter must keep in mind when dealing with townsfolk.

It is, perhaps, fortunate in some ways that there are always new arrivals to Darkon and other lands. Most of these new souls have not learned this tendency to shy away from unpleasant possibilities. Without such individuals who still maintain a natural level of curiosity, lycanthropes would have an even easier time infiltrating human society than they do already. Perhaps their fresh outlooks can excite the jaded townsfolk into a higher regard for safety and fife.

Perhaps the most successful lycanthropic infiltrators in society have the ability of which I am about to describe. Apparently, or so I have been told, certain true lycanthropes have been able to learn the skills and abilities normally allotted only to those people who have dedicated themselves to pursuing an adventuring career. In other words, certain lycanthropes have learned the skills specific to trained warriors, rogues, mages, and perhaps even priests.

This possibility terrifies me, I must admit. I draw solace only from the fact that I have yet to encounter such a skilled werebeast, which leads me to believe this potential is exceptionally rare. I pray that my thinking on this is clear and not clouded by the human tendency to ignore unpleasantries.

"You call us the beast", the lycanthrope said, stroking its handsome human face. "You say we are dark, twisted reflections of you. Is that not so?"

"Yet we see things differently", the creature continued, musingly. "We see ourselves as the next logical progression, the next step above humans. Tell me, " it said, leaning forward, "you have the beast, the rage within your soul, do you not?" It waited not for my answer. "Of course you do", it stated. "'Overpowering rage, ' is that not a common human phrase? That describes when the beast within you is beyond your control.

"Such is not the case with me. I am the beast, the beast is me. Arid thus it is always my will, not an inadequately leashed beast, that is in control. " He smiled.