I think a werewolf would kick a vampire’s arse. I’m not talking about your mindless hairy beast werewolf trope (nor for that matter, the angsty, Anne Rice type immortal, self-indulgent, super powered vampire trope). I’m talking werewolves in their rawest forms. Raging, reasoning shape-changers.
Werewolves (and most Lycanthropes for that matter, except the were-sofa, but I won’t go there) are probably the most under-realised of the supernatural tribe. So I want to do a story about them. A real story, with 3-dimensional, characterised lycanthropes, presumably battling historical-type undead vampire types.
So here it is – one last time.
Who wants to do a collaboration (virtual or otherwise) on a heroic-but-grim werewolf short story?
Vampire fight saga optional.
For the interested, I have no idea about a plot, but have part of an old, old excerpt here waiting for a literary fleshing out (it needs a fair bit of work, in fact, a lot of work)…
The woman in white crested a small mound and tumbled down the other side. There she came to rest, battered, stained and torn, in the flowing brook. On hands and knees, she crawled across rocks and mud to nestle in a nook at the base of the mound on the other side of the creek. The Vampyr ascended the mound she just tumbled over. Frozen with fear and shock, she curled up tight on the muddy banks of the brook. With gloating eyes, the man surveyed his catch.
His eyes raked across his victim and back down to the swift stream. Flinching unconsciously, he tore his gaze from the water. Hissing, he surveyed the surrounds, seeking a way across the running water. Bound by the fathomless laws that created his kind, there were innate hungers and fears that governed his unnatural life.
“You have more to fear than the stream, unclean one”, a voice drifted from the darkness.
Turning to meet this unexpected foe, the Vampyr peered into the shadows of the woods to no avail. The woman in the tattered white dress lay frightened near the brook.
“Who are you?” called the knife-wielding Vampyr into the night. It’s hoarse whisper freezing the girl’s heart.
No answer came.
Cautiously descending to the stream, the Vampyr advanced towards his prey. Just a few steps away from the flowing water, he looked up to be met by flat grey eyes. Across the stream, a large wolf with eyes of starlight and an aura of purest moonlight held his gaze impassively.
Post a comment if you’re interested.
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