I have an affinity for werewolves. That is to put it lightly. To ask me about the werewolf mythos I have designed is to invite yourself into an hour long dissertation. Sapph tells me he wants to run the new Werewolf game by White Wolf tomorrow. If he does manage to pull it off, it'll be the first of that game that I have played. My mythos is distinctly different. It bears influences from Laurell K. Hamilton, but I have not read enough of her work (two whole books) to take too much from it. I'm developing a pen-and-paper roleplaying game based on my monstrous mythos (one of my friends likened it to Vampire: The Masquerade with one important difference: the masquerade has been dropped). If anyone out there actually knows Latin and can tell me if Semper Nox Noctis (my working title) is redundant, please do so. Anyway, I may let slip portions of my mythos in these posts for the holiday, so be prepared. And now for the point of the post (yep, all the above is fluff). In honor of the upcoming Halloween, here's a poem I wrote last year. Sure, it's a little (or more than a little) dark, but lycanthropy isn't exactly a laughing matter. When you turn into a beast, ruled by base passions, and all you know is hunger, rage, and lust, you'll understand.

Eyes of amber in the night,
Watching blood flow, red and bright,
Fangs as razors, darkly stained,
Rending flesh, its lifeblood drained,
Call to the moon and stake your claim,
Just for tonight, forget your name.
Think not of what you leave behind,
As Beast and monster take your mind.
-- BR, October 2004

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