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Author Topic: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.  (Read 5709 times)

Nemesis 24

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The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« on: August 15, 2016, 10:45:40 AM »


Written in High Mordentish

It occurs to me that this is long overdue.

I remember my father told me, in between the haze of opium smoke and cheap liquor, one small touch of the intellect that he must have once had in abundance.  He said that we are all of us the product of memory.  Our experiences and how we choose to remember them is what shapes us to be what we are.  That our choices are made for us by the memories that came from before, of our experiences and all that followed us.

Along that very same line of thinking, it occurs to me that I remember wondering what memories led to that very man dancing the hempen rope jig, even as his feet shook and spasmed, and the contents of his bladder and bowels dripped off his shoes.  What led him down the road to that inevitable ending?  What led me down to mine?

I cannot give the origins, only the more immediate.  I know what brought me here, to this place that I am now, and the reason my choices were made.  They have led me here, remembering my fractured lessons of youth, to commit the past to the page.  For I have made another choice, and that is to become nothing.

I've been told that it is important, at least to continue along my current path.  But I am of the belief that to become 'nothing', one must first divulge everything.  Perhaps by removing that which defines me, by casting it unto the page, I will lose that which made much of me what I am.  In so losing that which I am, I can perhaps learn to become something else entirely - something of far more use than I am at present.

Apparently, anyway.  The concept makes my head ache.

So, with the murk brown poison that sickens my liver but loosens my tongue and fingers, distilled by the finest of refuse and waste; with a splint ended quill and ink that smells of old blood turned foul with time, I will record the glorious wasteland that is my life and how it was that it led me to this point.

My name is Jean Renaud.  Son of Richemulot, but a most bastard son indeed.  An embarrassment or so I am told, to the blood from which I come, and considering the end that bloodline found and the manner of how it reached such an ending, I can only presume at how much disgrace must follow me.

To which I say, piss on you, rat bitten scum.  Play your game till you choke on the filth, trapped in your own miseries and blind to realise that they were your cage.  I watched the game being played and saw how it ends.  On the end of a rope, with feet dangling, and shoes stained with shit.



We were too close to Verbrek.  Hindsight is a wonderfully treacherous thing, but it is painfully correct nevertheless.  But the pay was good and we had made the run before, escorting premium good along unpatrolled roads.  I believe they call it smuggling.

I had grown up with the men I fought beside.  It was my father who had raised me but it was my brothers in arms that I learned to become a man.  Learned to sword, trained in the old heavy blade and a shield - how my countrymen would have laughed at a concept so quaint.  Learned to dance a coin across my knuckles, to roll a smoke from horseback, to always have a spare for when you really needed one.  We were a band of bastard sons without need for fathers, and were loyal to the coin second and each other first.
But as I said - we were too close to Verbrek.  The howling wilderness, the den of the wolves.  We were escorting our wagon of questionable goods and it came out of the treeline, right on top of us.  Slavering and snarling, twelve feet tall at the shoulder, grey and bloody.  A werewolf, but unlike any I've seen before or since.

It came from upwind, so we never even knew it was there.  A twenty yard dash from the trees took it but a heartbeat.  And it hit like a hammer, turning the wagon over with a single blow from its shoulder, sending horses and crates tumbling, turning the whole thing over with a crash.

I was riding on the wagon and that was all that saved me.  But not my brothers.  Lagos, Sven, Martel and Rogann.  Nor the fat merchant bastard who had paid us a pittance to take the risk we so foolishly took.   Torn apart while I was trapped and near senseless beneath the wreck.  Unable to do much more than listen, first to the screams of men and horses, then to the crunching of bones beneath jaws that could crack steel.  And all throughout, the snarling, so loud and so raw that it made my heart rattle in my chest, and I near forgot how to breathe.

I still to this day do not know how it did not find me.  I think that it knew I was there, in truth, but either it did not care, or it enjoyed my horror and fear, the sadistic nature of the lycanthrope manifesting in its cruelty as much as its savagery.  It took its fill and tore the rest apart for the pleasure of it.  It left me then, taking but one thing with it - Sven's sword, a bright blade in an ornate scabbard.  A trophy to remember us by.

It took me half a day to crawl free, and longer to tend my wounds enough that I could walk.  And what did I do, in my wracked state of being without mind nor reason?  I decided to track the creature down.

This was a foolhardy gesture.  Not least because of my injured state, leaving a scent of blood on the air and unable to move properly, but because I had no idea what I was doing.  How does one hunt a beast?  A beast with the intellect of a man and the savagery of a monster?  It was a question I did not ask myself, but learned to when grief gave way to reason.

Regardless, I was at the time no tracker.  I was more an incompetent, and it was to my benefit that it was so.  I knew rudimentary skills but not for the task at hand, and so I wandered, towards Barovia, and a place I came to know as Vallaki.  It was a long journey, longer still by foot and injury, but I managed it, and without pride.  For my vengeance was nothing but a hope and a dream, and I could no more track one monster down in a nation overwhelmed by them, as reach up and pull down the moon.  At least, not at that point.

I reached Vallaki, and seeing the gates shut to me I made use of the nearby inn outside the city gates, hoping to catch such refuse as myself.  With what little coin I had, I sat down and prepared to stew in my regrets and loss.

But as it happens, fate played a card.  And it was an ace.  For not long after I sat down, a man in his forties, bearing a long blade that reached from shoulder to calf and wearing a longer coat entered the common room.  He had but one eye, the other covered over by a patch, a cigar grasped between his teeth and an accent so thick with Mordentshire accents that I could near smell the potato fields upon him.  That one eye fell upon me, and in an instant I was weighed, measured, and found acceptable.  He introduced himself and we spoke together on to the dawn, and my life changed forever.

For that man was Hunter Locke, professor, monster hunter, investigator and occultist, and co-leader of the organisation known as the Hounds.  And after that night was done, he became my employer, my friend - and most of all, my teacher.  What he taught me would be what I needed to know - how to identify, hunt, corner, and most of all kill the very sorts of creatures that had caused me such woe - them, and everything else that hunted the blood of men.

It was to be a long and arduous education.
« Last Edit: July 11, 2019, 04:07:35 AM by Nemesis 24 »

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #1 on: August 15, 2016, 11:04:31 AM »
Method of the Kill.

Foreword.

I would like to dedicate this catalogue of work in particular to my teachers, employers and instructors - Professor Hunter Locke and Monica Belmonte.  Without whom I would neither have survived, nor experienced such terrors of madness as one could ever dread to know.  Both of them are peerless in their fields, and knowing more of the world and the mysteries within it than I could ever hope to know, or wish to, and yet both remain true and steadfast - when all others have faded and fallen in their wake.

To Hunter, I say - you are a sodden, drunken madman, and have my respect above near any other.  I have neither the wit nor the skill to emulate you, but I will attempt my own mockery.

To Monica, I say - the greatest mystery I will never solve is how to make you even marginally less angry.  But no other blade is better to have at ones side than yours, and mine shall always be ready if you call.

To Ingrid.  To Henri.  To Fade.  You were lost along the way.  But we remember you still.   

List of Chapters.

Chapter One:  The Werewolf.

Chapter Two:  The Mundane Dead.

Chapter Three:  The Wererat.

Chapter Four:  The Manipulations of the Unspeakable.

Chapter Five: The Malicious Dead.

Chapter Six: The Vampire - The Higher Dead.

Chapter Seven:  The Fey. 

Chapter Eight:  The Maddening Unknowable.

Chapter Nine:  The Dread Hags.

Chapter Ten:  The Departed

Epilogue, and Final Thoughts.


Chapter One:  The Werewolf.


A dissertation of the identification, habits, weaknesses, methods and techniques of the lupine lycanthrope, and how to quell them.

Classification.

The wolf or canine based lycanthrope, more commonly referred to as a werewolf (or man-wolf if one was to use direct translation of the old tongue), is an unfortunately all too commonly encountered hybrid creature located within near all locations of the Core, with particular concentration of their kind to be found in Barovia and Verbrek, the latter of which can only be classed as being overrun with the creatures.

A werewolf, as it shall be called from here on, is like all lycanthropes a type of cursed, monstrous creature.  The method of creation of the creature is similar to that of a disease or a plague, either born with the disease or infected by it.  Infection is transmitted by saliva through bites, but can be treated before it sets in and killed like most infections can be with the correct methods.

However if it is not, then the manifestations of the infection will rise to prominence by the first full moon.  The disease itself appears to be linked to the lunar cycle, for whatever reason, though theories include dynamic magnetism of the tides, as during a full moon the ocean can ebb and rise exceptionally.  Whatever it may be, this lunar influence creates a dramatic and monstrous change in the infected, and this change is permanent from this moment onwards.

The resulting creature is from this point onwards cursed, and no longer either a man or a wolf, but a hideous hybrid of both that attempts to hide what it is.  By the light of a full moon it is unable to do so, and will deploy both human intellect and animal cunning to satisfy the hunger it has for flesh and blood, human or otherwise.  The disease creates remarkable and hideous changes in physiology, as well as mental state, and these changes can and often do degrade and increase as time goes on.  It is not by accident that this state of change is referred to as a curse and not a disease, for no conventional sickness can create such changes as has been found in this instance.

The secondary method of creation of such a beast is, as mentioned above, by birth.  This is often a peculiar circumstance - I have discovered that in a pairing of a werewolf and a humanoid giving birth, that in certain circumstances the infant will not bear the curse itself.  However, in an instance where both parents, either pure born or curse made, bear the infection - the child is always a werewolf themselves.  However, the child may in fact not be a 'child', as much as it is in fact a 'pup', remaining wholly canine.  During puberty the curse will manifest itself fully - often in a slowed down progression, becoming gradually worse each full moon, until it manifests fully, and the creature can take its alternating forms.  The secondary source of the curse cannot in any way be cured, regardless of measures taken after birth.  These beasts often forms packs, or families, and they are the most savage and animalistic of their horrific kind.

A rough sketch of 'The Beast of Verbrek' as I called it.


Identification:  Physical Characteristics and Markers.
The werewolf, like other lycanthropes, has a variety of forms to assume.  A singular form, of humanoid, or canine, or of a vile hybrid mixture.  All three have singular marking similarities, but for the most part, they are drastically different.

The first form of the werewolf is that of the humanoid.  Physically, this state is nearly identical to the original humanoid form that the werewolf bore before the state of infection.  This is the form of the subterfuge, that the werewolf uses to assimilate itself into society and ingratiate itself to their prey - other, unsuspecting humanoids.  There are, however, key signs of physical identification that remain on their person.

First and foremost tend to be the hands.  The fingernails are often sharper, and longer.  They often are stained, darkened by earth and blood, and roughly callused due to their being used for locomotion in their shifted forms.  Secondly, there is the scent.  The smell that accompanies the werewolf is that of the canine variety - often masked but never entirely.  This odour becomes significantly more pronounced - and more offensive - when the werewolf is wet, and can in fact carry quite some distance.  Thirdly, regardless of what form the beast wears, the eyes are the same.  They never change in colour, and through that they might be recognised if they are particularly striking in colour.

Fourth, a werewolf will keep away from livestock.  The scent that follows them causes animals to shy away from them in fear.  Horses in particular tend towards being extremely nervous and restive around them.  Fifth, the teeth and breath.  The teeth will tend to be both sharper and more pronounced - the upper and lower incisors in particular, and often have foul smelling breath - primarily due to their almost exclusively carnivore diet, that can include carrion. 

Lastly, there are the mannerisms.  The werewolf is, at heart, a canine, and its reactions to certain things are in the manner of the canine.  Confronted with a situation to create anger, they will snarl and lift up their upper lip like a dog might, to bare teeth, the head shifting lower with the body.  When confused, or given a non threatening surprise, they will straighten up and their head shall tilt to the left or right as a dog might when confronted with a curiosity.  And when confronted with food - raw, bloodied flesh - if they are hungry, they will produce an excess of saliva, even drool, and possibly even growl with their growing hunger.

By these marks one might know the werewolf in disguise.  In its purely canine form, it is fairly indistinguishable from a normal wolf, aside from a few key flaws - mostly revolving around its looks and stance.  A werewolf in its wolf form will often be uncommonly larger than a standard wolf - in the older variants they can be enormous, as large as (if not larger) than a thoroughbred stallion.  It will also exhibit strange variations of colour and hair - a person with long hair, for example, might bear an uncommonly large ruff or even a mane in its canine form.  If they have an unusual hair colour, the wolf form will often share it - in dark brown, grey or black hair this is not generally an issue, but a blonde, white or red haired person can create a startling coloured wolf form, and it is often easily recognisable.



A werewolf in its purely canine form.  Note the intensity and intelligence of the stare it presents - and the hunger.

As noted previously, the werewolf will also have eyes of the same colour and hue as the humanoid form.  Though the size may change, the colour will not.  This too can create unusual shades in eye colour, and by this the true nature of the creature can be known.

The most famous form of the werewolf, and the one by which it is most commonly known, is that of the hybrid.  A hideous and monstrous mixture of the humanoid and the beast, blended together to create a terrible visage.  Seemingly as twisted as its appearance, this is the most openly dangerous of the known forms.

The change itself is very quick.  While the first change brought about by the infection might take some time and involves a great deal of grotesque violence on the humanoid form, subsequent transformations are so rapid that they can take place between but a few steps, following the same process as the first change but at a greatly accelerated rate.

During the change, fur grows all over the body, but often with a sparser thickness and density than that of a wolf itself.  In places the flesh of the werewolf can be seen, but it will have a darker coloration, as though it has somehow thickened - contrary to some imagery or myth, the werewolf does not do anything so dramatic nor as visually arresting as tearing its way out of its own skin, but it true that it will shed its fur to return to normal afterwards.  With that said however, the magnitude of the change is extreme.  Muscle and bone structure will change dramatically during the transformation, becoming denser, heavier, and changing in shape entirely.  The facial features are reminiscent of a wolf, but are deformed, with emphasis on a larger jaw structure - which makes speech nearly impossible to comprehend.  The posture becomes hunched, the arms lengthening significantly and the claws also - becoming as long as daggers in some cases.  The ears lengthen and become upright, as the profile of the face and jaw structure lowers and lengthens.

The legs change drastically as well - becoming more akin to the hind legs of a canine in the process, a change that upsets balance.  Though the rear feet grow in size and the claws provide a great deal of push, they are unbalanced, the reversal of the knee creating an awkwardness of movement.  That said, they can, with combination of upper body movement and using their hands to pull them along.  The elbows become slightly maladjusted with regards to hinging and movement however, and this does impede flexibility.  The most powerful form of movement of the beast is its leap - a werewolf in its hybrid form can clear twice its own height on a vertical leap from a standing start.  With even a short running distance the ground cleared by a running pounce is enormous.

The torso undergoes less visible but nevertheless significant changes.  Bones of the ribcage harden, expand and grow, and the layer of muscle of the back, shoulders, chest and abdomen thicken considerably.  So much so that attacks or strikes on these parts of the body often tend to be thwarted by the combined density of muscle and bone. 

All in all, the change creates an efficient, vicious, and powerful killing machine.  One that is strangely and one might say supernaturally resistant to conventional weaponry.  Arrows bounce off the gnarled hide and fur, and blades that are not properly treated with aspects that affect the disease itself - the curse, as it perhaps could be more properly called - are the only devices that can claim the life of the beast with any measure of surety.  It should also be noted that in this form the unnatural toughness of the beast allows it to recover from injury with nearly unfathomable speed - wounds will close quickly, and the beasts themselves seem almost tireless - able to run down a man on horseback with ease, even hours later, with the sheer relentlessness of the pursuit.  To prevent the return or the renewed assault of the monster, the kill must be performed with surety.

The size of the transformed state varies considerably.  As noted before with the fully canine form, the size can in fact vary.  It is believed that size - and status amongst a pack - is determined by age of a werewolf, for it is not known how long that a werewolf actually lives for.  It may well be that they exist for many untold decades, as the nature of the curse also extends their lifespan.  As most werewolves that are known have met violent ends for their hideous deeds, it is hard to say how long one might live for naturally.
The most powerful forms of hybrid stand ten or twelve feet tall at the shoulder.  These enormous predators can carry off an entire oxen with ease, and should they happen upon unprepared - or for that matter prepared and hardened - opposition they will cause enormous havoc - if unchecked and not driven off, it is highly unlikely that they will leave survivors.  The chance of this being managed is, admittedly, slim to none at all. 


Identification: Victim physiology and morbidity.

The primary evidence one has to identify the presence of a werewolf in the vicinity is how it kills, the frequency, and the evidence left behind.

A post mortem examination of both corpses and scenes of a kill will dictate whether an individual was slain by either wild animals, some other monsters, or by a werewolf, mostly because the physiology of a werewolf attack often remains startlingly unique in comparison to say an attack by either a bear or a wolf, or even a pack of wolves.

Use of tracks is possible, but it must be done carefully.  Not only will a werewolf often take to the trees and make use of their enormous jumping ability to prevent leaving tracks when they depart a scene, they will also often take measures to eliminate tracks when they are done - not only that but the tracks of a werewolf are often easy to mistake for other creatures, not least other wolves.  A skilled eye will note the signs of five toed claws however, and work on tracking from there.

Beyond that, if tracks are difficult to locate due to the terrain, there are two ways to identify a werewolf attack.  One involves the presence of a corpse or vestigial remains, the other involves the lack of said remains in the vicinity.  The determination of each type will dictate the manner and number of werewolves. 

Firstly, we must examine the instance where the presence of a corpse is located.   Usually located in remote or forested areas in the countryside, the attack will seldom be found within a structure.  This is not to say a werewolf will not attack an isolated farmstead - particularly in number.  There is no warding nor folk spell that will keep a werewolf from entering a home.  But they do seem to enjoy not just the kill itself but also the chase, and will allow the prey a chance to flee - for no other reason than to run them down.

A lone person will be torn apart, and devoured.  If there are multiple individuals, a werewolf will seldom - if ever - leave witnesses.  Whether this is out of a savage intellect in leaving no witnesses to report the attack, or simply an insanity born of savagery unquenched, I could not presume to fully guess.  Regardless, a werewolf attack will primarily have a single feeding but no survivors.  A werewolf will seldom - if ever - attack unless it is sure of the kill, and once it begins the attack it will usually not stop until either it or everyone else is dead.  If the prey looks to be in a position of strength, they will instead seek either other prey, or a better opportunity to strike, employing tactical reasoning instead of animal cunning.

There are identifying marks of the kill.  Bones will generally be crushed by the jaws - the primary purpose for the long, powerful arms is not to kill, but to hold.  The victim will be forced down by a leaping pounce that bears the prey to the ground and then held in place by the forelimbs, often crushing bones in the process or even metal, as the fearsome strength of the beast manifests.  Generally, the kill is done with the jaws - a jaw that has an enormous amount of bite pressure.   Bones are crushed even as the teeth tear through leather and flesh with equal ease.  In fact, the bite of the werewolf is so strong that it can crush armour or even penetrate it.  There are documented cases of victims having both their helmet and the skull contained within crushed by that enormous pressure.  This pressure creates extreme amounts of 'spray' from the bite - blood will erupt from wounds with great velocity and often carry viscera along with it.

The scene of the kill is often exaggerated in the degree of its savagery overall.  Blood and gore will be well scattered around the corpse itself or the point of the kill.  The velocity of splatter is such to indicate extreme savagery as well as strength, to the point that the scene can only be described as frenzied.  A brutality that is, at its core, the most complete merger of human and animal savagery. 

If there are dead that are not fed upon, they will bear wounds with a combination of claw marks from five fingered hands.  The spacing between each claw will be wide, and usually struck vertically - the nature of the werewolf's shoulders and elbows means a vertical strike from high to low - across the body in most cases - will be the most effective and powerful, and the violence inherent in the creature will demand the most brutal and bloody means of engagement.  The bodies will often bear signs of dismemberment - in this respect they differ from a more natural animal attack, as it is unlikely that limbs will be severed or inner bones or organs will be pulled out of the body.  This is due to the fact that the werewolf has strength and tactile manipulation enough to do so, something conventional animals will lack.

These are the signs of a singular attacker.  A werewolf does not always kill to feed - in fact, in some instances they will feed on livestock - but still kill all nearby humanoids that cannot defend themselves.  But as a general indication a werewolf will devour anywhere from twenty five to fifty pounds of flesh in a feeding, depending on size of the creature.  A larger beast may feed more but as a general rule, the feeding will take place at the site of the kill.  This is significantly different to the efforts and habits of a pack, as opposed to a lone predator.

Firstly, feeding is not a communal effort between creatures.  A kill is not shared, unlike with wolves.  The best prey goes to the most dominant and this will usually be the one who took the kill.  But unlike wolves, who will share prey between themselves and often kill only a singular target, the werewolves employ the natural selfishness of a self centred humanoid instead.  They do not share the kill, the kill more than is necessary, and at the culmination of the feeding - which will often leave far more blood and gore but far less physical remains than a singular attacker - they will then take the remaining corpses with them, to devour at their leisure at their lair.  If there are missing bodies or corpses, with evidence of blood without feeding, then the kills have been moved elsewhere which would only happen in the case of a pack, and of a lair.  In these instances, then matters are far more dangerous, and a pack of werewolves will take significant effort and skill to remove.

A pack of werewolves is often far more animalistic than a single, lone predator.  They are more at home in a hybrid or full canine form, and their hunting habits and feeding habits are reminiscent of a pack or tribe in this regard. They will take prey with them, and the only crucial factor of their hunting ranges is that they tend towards being subversive - making use of their incredible speed in the hybrid form to make the kill at a respectable distance from their lair, if this is at all possible - though a lack of game, or a more developed animalistic tendency means that they may forgo cunning for more reckless predation.

As noted previously, when a werewolf resumes its humanoid form it sheds its excess fur and hair, falling away from the body.  This happens so rapidly that the amount of shed hair can be excessive and quite obvious - a clever werewolf will take measures to hide this, such as by changing back to its more acceptable form in running water.  However, should the shed hair be located, it would create a clear indication as to the nature of the attacker, the direction they were taking, and last but not least, the likely shade of their hair colour as well.  With a lack of living witnesses to find, these pieces of physical evidence are vital to tracking down the monster.

« Last Edit: March 28, 2018, 11:20:40 AM by Nemesis 24 »

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #2 on: August 15, 2016, 11:21:14 AM »
During transformation, the visage of these creatures is at its most monstrous.

Psychology:  Method, logic, reasoning.

The first thing to understand with the werewolf is that you are not, despite appearances, dealing with an animal - at least, not entirely and not wholly.  Nor are you dealing entirely with a humanoid either, as the aspect of the animal is also present.  What you are instead confronted with is a cunning and dangerous mixture of both, put towards the worst possible means of action, and as such you must treat it with utmost caution in regards to their malice and intellect.

The werewolf is driven by several key aspects of mentality that the curse creates.  Firstly, the animalistic tendencies will drive the individual to more base, more primitive notions of mentality - gone are whatever noble tendencies that they might have once had, as the animal instincts of hunger, of survival, and unfettered emotion take hold instead.  They may be intelligent enough to overcome this - a lone werewolf will often display such a tendency, in particular - but the closer that they are to their savagery, the less human they will behave, but will always, in the very most depths of their primal rage, display the problem solving intellect of a higher thinking being.

The second aspect is that of resentment.  This manifests as a direct result of the curse itself - and an almost instinctual rage directed at those who are not afflicted with it.  This could be a result of a pack instinct and an instinctive reaction to something that does not smell or look as part of the pack.  Or, as I believe, it is born from harboured jealousy.  For as the werewolf can never again return to the purity of an untainted, uncorrupted form, it seeks to assuage its wrath by taking it out on its victims.  The hunger for flesh being akin to the hunger to return to the normal life that it once had, by consuming humanoid flesh, it takes on its aspects.  This is a result, I believe, of an inherent psychosis brought about by the curse, and would indicate why the first victims of a werewolf are often its own family, as they lash out in their rage and despair, their minds tainted by the curse itself and driven towards an ignoble, disgraceful version of the self, as the cursed mind of the monster they've become destroys all that they might have once been, in body, mind and spirit.

The third aspect is the deception.  This is a two-fold drive, around the nature of predator and prey. The werewolf is, in pack or as a loner, a predator.  A hunter who kills so that it might devour the flesh of its once fellow humanoids, which beyond all else for reasons given above, tends to be its preferred prey.  But in order to do this, the werewolf must learn to deceive.  If it is a loner that chooses to keep closer to civilisation, this is obviously important, so as to not scare away its prey or attract its attention.  If it is part of a pack, it must take measures to both make its lair difficult to find and to make its predations more difficult to identify for what they are.

But this deception is two fold.  The first deception is external.  The second deception is internal.  The werewolf does not simply deceive others, but also itself, inherently, in its actions.  It carries itself with the arrogance of an alpha predator.  It believes itself atop the food chain by the fact it attacks and devours humanoids.  It justifies its murderous actions by the fact it is doing what is in its nature, and thus justifying that which took place to it.

This is, I would argue, a self deception that is brought about by a deep seated need to establish the werewolf as something more than what it is.  If it were true, it would maintain an arrogance and a cruelty and be assured of its position.  But what a werewolf is, at its core, is nothing more than a dog.  Neither wolf nor humanoid, it is a bastardised mixture, that must hide its true self from society and individuals, that hides behind its inherent weakness of what it is and the fact it cannot in fact be a part of either society fully - neither civilised society nor the wild.  For a little of each side of itself will in fact war against the other, perpetually, no matter how much the werewolf might tell itself otherwise.

The truth of the matter is, the mind of the werewolf is as inconstant as its form.  It is a chaotic, fluctuating being that is torn between two irresistible urges, and in so doing tears itself apart physically as well as mentally all at the same time.  Thus, might one despise them and denigrate them for what they truly are - for all their power, they are no 'supreme predator' as they imagine and claim themselves to be.  They are nothing but a mongrel monster driven mad by its own confusion and hiding from its own despair.  And for that they are to be pitied, if it were not for the fact that their monstrous habits make them so much more worthy of our utter revilement, and contempt.


Habitat.

The haunt of the werewolf will depend upon the perplexity and idiosyncrasies of its nature.  The werewolf can be divided, based on previous descriptions, into either being rural or urban.  Though perhaps a better description of the latter would be to call them domesticated, and the former as feral.

A rural or feral werewolf is generally the sort found in a pack, and tends towards the more openly animalistic behaviour.  The majority of the beasts found in Verbrek and Barovia tend towards this latter variety - and they tend to make use of the wilderness.  While they may keep close to sources of civilisation for the primary purpose of predation, they will not dwell within it.  Choosing instead to be more in tune with the savage, primal nature of their curse, these packs are often made of a mixture of both infected and pure born werewolves.

The preferred lairs of such creatures will tend to be forests, usually close to mountainous regions.  Lairs will be situated on higher ground than the tree line if it is possible - from such a vantage point can the werewolf observe the surrounding countryside better.  They can also be found in deep woods, buried within forests and far from roads and other places likely to have people - but not so far that such things cannot be reached by a swift running hunter.  Almost always however, will the beasts attempt to make their homes in a cave or ruin, creating both a larder and a resting place for their pack, and which they will defend to the death - having nowhere else to run.  The lair itself will, if it is to be perfectly situated, be placed in such a way that it will provide the most chance of catching an approaching scent on the wind - as such, the pack will smell an approaching foe long before they ever see it.

The habitat of the urban or domesticated werewolf is altogether different.  While they will seldom place themselves in a bustling metropolis, they will most certainly make use of smaller, more isolated and less populated villages and hamlets.  They are loners, travellers, and outcasts, and dwell in society for malicious reasons - keeping close to the prey, like the pack, but with a much crueller reasoning as to why.  In the past, I've found that these predators enjoy getting close to their prey in the form of a humanoid - even befriending them in a seemingly innocent guise, sympathising with their plight and troubles.  Even the deaths that they themselves have caused are used as a means to issue false sympathy, in order to cause the greatest amount of trauma and horror when they strike.  This, I would argue, is the more humanoid side of the monsters - but directed in the most purely evil of forms and fashions.  For the most part, they keep moving from town to town - as travelling merchants, sellswords, or far less noticeable individuals.  Once suspicion grows to a certain point, they'll move on, leaving the bodies behind them, and growing all the more skilled at concealing their hideous crimes.

The immensity of the power of those jaws cannot ever be underestimated.

Though they may keep to the fringes or even amongst the core of civilisation, these predators will all share the habit of creating a lair.  In the case of the urban werewolf, the lair will tend towards being either a repurposed cellar or basement, or even the bottom of a well or other such structure.  With their enormous strength the can climb out of near any pit - but the key tell for such places will often be the stench they give off.  The werewolf will sometimes drag its prey to feed upon it in such a location, but even if it does not, the scent of beast and blood will permeate the location utterly, and create a sickly miasma that never quite leaves.  A trained nose will learn that scent and follow it - once smelled, it will never quite be forgotten.  Efforts will often be taken to conceal it - a lair near a tannery, for example, will conceal much, but a werewolf's potent sense of smell will often play against it in such instances, and thus it may well choose a location where its own markings are that much more obvious.


Misappropriation:  Flaws and mistakes to avoid.

There is little to no room for error when facing one of these abominations.  This should be established at the outset, that making an error of judgement in either recognition and preparation will not allow for a second chance.  This is neither a game nor a simple hunt.  This is a contest and a duel to the death, against a foe that is physically stronger, faster, and larger than yourself, that can smell you long before either of you see one another, and has the ability to shrug off near all manner of injury.

Surprisingly, the first mistake made is usually the most obvious one to avoid.  As has been mentioned already, but shall be once more for added emphasis, the werewolf is no simple animal.  As bloodthirsty and as frenzied as it might be, as monstrous as its form might be and its behaviour, the truth of the matter is that within that hideous form is the mind of a humanoid, with all its intellect, cunning, drive for self preservation, and a measure of cruelty that is far beyond what any animal can possibly conjure.  Even the most sadistic cat with a mouse for play is as nothing compared to the sheer depth of malice that is employed by the werewolf.  It kills not just for food but also for pleasure, to satisfy its hideous hunger and to justify its own wretched existence.  It is insane, yes - but never foolish.

Never forget that the werewolf is intelligent and will not act blindly such as an animal might.  It can reason, plan, strategise and deploy tactical reasoning.  It will almost always have advance warning of an approaching individual due to their heightened senses, which plays directly into their clawed hands by way of being a lethal ambush predator.  In either their monstrous or humanoid form, they will have the advantage as in they are always on guard.  They are always prepared, always ready, to either strike or flee.  While others around them dwell in ignorance as to the monster amongst them, they do not. 

This intellect allows them to also assess, speculate and plan not just how to show its hand but also when.  Confronted with an opponent that might cause it actual harm, the werewolf will not be so foolish as to act in spite of it.  That cold reasoning will take hold once again and they will adjust themselves accordingly.

Should the identity of a werewolf be known is potentially when they are at their most dangerous.  As they will do almost anything to protect that identity, they will engage with utmost ferocity and swiftness.  If one learns the identity of a werewolf, the most important thing to do is to not reveal it until the time is right.  Too early, and it will silence you.  Too late and it will be gone into the night and out of reach.

The last and most terrible mistake one could make when confronted with the werewolf is mercy.  To show mercy to this monstrosity is an error born of naive hope and frightful ignorance, be it of faith or emotion.  The werewolf does not understand mercy.  It will never show any.  It will never give any.  And as such it should never be allowed any.  Kill it where it stands, though the form may shift and become innocent, remember the beast within.  Remember always, what it will cost to let it live on - not least of all being your own life.


Weaknesses and vulnerabilities.

The werewolf is famous enough, that it is fairly common knowledge of what it is vulnerable to.  So much so in fact that certain flora has been named as that which affects or plagues it.  By knowing of these three crucial weapons that are to be used, the hunter might know how to prevent themselves becoming prey in turn - without these means of arming oneself, any attempt to capture or kill these creatures is simply suicidal.

The first measure is to protect oneself.  As mentioned, the bite of the werewolf - should one survive it - is infectious.  However, there is a certain plant that carries a potent counter to the affect.

This plant is known by the names of aconite, monkshood, or wolfsbane.  It is a deadly repellent to the werewolf, who finds the taste, smell and presence of wolfsbane unbearable, and altogether poisonous.  One must always keep this plant on ones person - and learn to identify it.  It is has dark green leaves, and large blue, purple, white, yellow or pink flowers that have the vague shape of a helmet or hood.  Growing in mountain meadows or other well draining but rich soils, and the leaves are made up of five to seven segments, each of which is thrice lobed with coarse, sharp points.  Of all parts of the plant, the roots are by far the most poisonous - so much so as to be avoided unless with absolute care.  The leaves are also extremely toxic, but when bitten by a werewolf the only possible cure.  Grinding the leaves into a poultice of honey and wine and placing directly into the wound can potentially prevent the infection setting in if applied within twenty four hours of the bite happening.  In an emergency, ingestion of the leaves can be attempted - but this will cause sickness of nausea, vomiting and diarrhoea.  There will be a burning sensation over the face and mouth, and the abdomen, and the heart will race - there are antidotes which will clear the poison out of the system, but if administered too late, the individual will die regardless.  Of course, if administered too early, it will not kill the infection itself.  Timing is crucial - as well as inspection of the bite.  An infected bite will show signs of acute purpling around the point of the bite as it poisons the flesh, and only when that has wholly faded back should the antidote be administered at all.

The second weapon one might use is fire.  As any who have been hunted by wolves and survived well knows, the presence and use of fire is perhaps the one measure of defence that might stave off survival against being devoured.  This fear carries from beast to monster - a werewolf will shy away from the use of fire, its animalistic instincts overcoming its monstrous hunger and savagery.  Though the intensity of the fire will need to match the ferocity of the beast, and this in itself will often create a problem.  A simple lantern or torch will cause hesitation but only momentarily.  But a raging inferno will give them more than that.  Likewise, flammable liquids cast upon the werewolf and set alight will cause the beast unbearable agony and torment as even its remarkable and terrible durability will fade in the face of such, and it will immediately go into a frenzy  of agony and madness.  In such instances whatever clarity or reason one might have will simply disappear as animalistic instinct takes complete hold.  Crude incendiary devices, ready for quick deployment, can create an opportunity - but never forget the power of the werewolf's leap.  A high flame can in fact be cleared by a high vertical leap, and if given time to gather itself, the werewolf will deploy such a tactic and simply bypass the defensive measure taken.

The final weapon is the most famous.  That of silver.

Silver, for whatever reason, is purest anathema to the werewolf.  Whereas even the truest of steel might simply bounce off that iron strong hide that they have, a weapon even coated in a layer of silver will slice through unnatural skin, flesh, muscle and even bone with astonishing ease.  The metal itself seems to actually burn the flesh of the beast - the mere touch of silver, in whatever form that the monster might bear, is an excruciating agony that causes an explosive reaction.

Weapons can be coated in a thin layer of silver, or made entirely of the metal - but the latter such weapons will prove to be both expensive and fragile.  A silver treatment is difficult to apply and costly, but with practice and a skilled blacksmith the properties of silver can be imbued into a weapon.

Arrows, bolts, and even shot of musket or pistol can be made of silver, and these will satisfy the necessity for distance from the target and damage to be caused.  For while damage caused by silver is very slow to heal, to leave silver present in the wound of the monster causes it unbearable pain.

There are other uses of silver that will be discussed later, but the absolute necessity of silver as a weapon against these monsters cannot be overstated.  Venturing forth without it will likely be the difference between life and death.


Tactical Methodology:  Locating and tracking the target.

Having identified, classified and recognised the werewolf for what it is, we must now begin the process of elimination. This then, is where one begins to turn the predator into prey.

First, the task is to identify the fact that there is indeed a target.  Using the information already provided one should have ample means of doing so - the scene of the kill, the evidence left behind, and the sign to follow.  Once evidence of the presence of a werewolf has been established, short of eyewitnesses that have survived, then the hunt can begin properly.

The first step is to identify the type of the attacker - a loner, or a pack.  Each requires a different method of hunting.

As noted previously, a loner can be identified by the amount, frequency and range of its feedings.  An urban loner will hunt from its base range, and keep its predations predictably distant from its own lair.  This individual will, however, have certain tells that can be spotted and reasoned.  Look for individuals who are newcomers to the area, or have always lived a fairly isolated life.   

One of the more ghastly ways of locating is the identification of the first victims.  It is a hideous tragedy that all too often, the first victims of the werewolf are those that are closest to them - spouses, parents, and children.  A survivor of such an attack must be treated with suspicion, and watched carefully.  But this has, in the past, been a most vile gambit of these creatures.  In order to throw off any chance of suspicion upon themselves, they establish a victim as the perpetrator.  Keep an aware mind, and a careful mind.  And when possible, begin the process of elimination.

Always wear rings made of silver.  If you should choose to wear gauntlets or gloves, a silver coin should be sewn into the palm of each hand.  The size does not need to be large, but the presence must be.  Whenever one approaches such an individual as to be suspected, shake their hand.  And keep note of those that flinch.  The very touch of silver is painful to them, and they will be unable to hide it.  If they choose at that moment to change into their other form to attack, you will have a couple of seconds to retaliate - at such point it would be wise to have a plan of attack, the most logical of which being a silver weapon - a dagger will do - to deploy with your other hand, the heart, throat or eye.

If the individual does not accept the hand shake, or has gloves themselves, continue to observe them.  Note not just the physicals of the individual based on the descriptions given earlier in the piece, but also their behaviour.  Remember that the clever predator gets close to the prey.  With no other monster is it more apt to remember the phrase of a wolf amongst sheep.

As noted before, the urban werewolf will either be a loner or a more insidious presence within a society.  Should it be a loner it will be difficult to locate by simple fact of its attempts to remain out of public eye.  However in a small village, such invisibility is usually impossible, as natural rural gossip will follow every single individual.  A newcomer or someone who keeps to the fringes is an obvious target, but watch carefully those who work hard to create a presence that is of a more benevolent, generous and helpful appearance.  For even as you are hunting the monster, it too will be watching you in kind.  It will perform, pretend, and, as its nature, deceive.  Be aware, be wary, and trust no one.

Smell is always vital.  The scent of the werewolf never truly leaves it in whatever form it is in, but may become less.  The scent of breath will be fouler, the mannerisms and movements tells as well.  Remember all that was given in their description and use it.

A werewolf that goes to ground is much like a rural or pack werewolf.  They will flee into the wilderness, and make use of it.  This, their natural habitat, is where the hunt will be turned around.

They have better eyesight at night, and better sense of smell at all times.  Avoid moving alone, and never believe for a moment that your stealthiest efforts will deceive them.  They will know you are coming, near each and every time.

Werewolf tracks are striking - clawed hands and feet create a fairly unique impression, and they will also leave scored claw marks on trees as they pass as they make use of them to pull themselves along.  In this respect, their mass, strength and size will play against them, as they will leave clear sign behind them - often counting on the fact that no one would dare to follow them.

A werewolf who wishes to remove tracks will head for rocky ground, or take to the trees.  They will leave claw marks and broken branches for the latter however by sheer effort of climbing and impact.   When the marks on the ground fail, look up.

There will be three ultimate conclusions to the pursuit, whichever way one chooses to carry it out - be it on foot, or horseback, with a team of hounds to track the beast, or any other means.   First, the worst case scenario.  The quarry will turn unexpectedly during the pursuit and stage an ambush whilst the hunter is not prepared, causing havoc to a hunter moving headlong without considering consequence.  This will often happen because the hunter is moving too fast or too close, and the werewolf acts out of perhaps desperation or even sheer annoyance.   Other times, the intellect of the beast comes into play and it will lure the hunter to a trap or prepared location where it can dispose of pursuit - a clever werewolf will almost always have such a measure in place, an area it can run to that will give it the advantage it needs to eliminate pursuit.  As such, one must never over extend when pursuing, and learn to recognise dangerous terrain.  Areas that limit movement or ability, such as swamps or particularly close forest and undergrowth are exceedingly dangerous to the hunter, as the werewolf will make use of its power and speed to overcome such obstacles that will trap the hunter.  With such scenarios, the hunter must be aware of the terrain and if confronted by such, decline the risk.  Never confront the opponent on terrain that favors them without proper preparation beforehand.

The second conclusion is the counter-ambush.  A clever hunter can in fact cease the flight of the werewolf and tempt it to attack instead - feigning wound, injury, or general confusion.  If the werewolf observes this, it may choose to capitalise on its advantage, deploying itself accordingly.  This move is, as anything involving werewolves, a risky one to take, but a counter ambush can in fact be one of the most sure methods of killing a werewolf.  One of the best scenarios revolves around leading the werewolf to the hunters own prepared ground - luring the beast to a pit trap or net can give the hunter just enough time to make the kill.  This is a move that requires patience, performance and cleverness, remembering that the quarry has plenty of the latter themselves, and will recognise such being used if the hunter is not careful.

The third conclusion is a different one in that it involves pursuing the quarry to its lair - usually a cave system of some kind, or a long forgotten ruin.  This should be the inevitable scenario of pursuing a pack - and this is because to pursue a pack and encountering either of the above two scenarios has but one conclusion, the death of the hunter.

A pack should never be chased recklessly or pursued.  They have numbers and power on their side and they will make use of them.  Even if you are certain your numbers greatly outweigh their own, such a pursuit is beyond foolhardy, as an ambush or attack by a large pack of werewolves can quickly overwhelm a larger force.  If you are not certain of their numbers against your own, then the forest floor will be the grave to your scattered bones.  Instead, movement must be taken with extreme caution and patience.  The core thing to remember in this instance is that you are not trying to chase the enemy down, but to simply find them.  If you find the lair, the home of the pack, then you must pursue a careful approach to ensure that the foe does not escape, to maximise your potential of the kill.

A lair of a werewolf is easy to recognise.  Game do not venture near it, nor within a mile of it.  Bones will litter the undergrowth in a wide radius around it.  Shed fur from transformations will be also found amongst the undergrowth, and the scent of a canine will get stronger the closer one gets to the lair itself.  The cave mouth will be concealed, but only to a certain point, and may show signs of tools being used, or even crude fortification.

Above all, learn to recognise the silence.  The hackles on ones neck shall rise, the sense of knowing that you are being watched.  For if you draw close enough to a lair that you can see it, rest assured that the inhabitants can see you and they will be watching.  It is at this point that the hunter must deploy all their weapons, skill, and above all luck, to secure their quarry, and put an end to the wretched existence of the beasts within.

Now it is time to employ the method of the kill.


Tactical Methodology:  The Technique of the Kill.

First, one must gather their weaponry.  Keeping in mind that which a werewolf is vulnerable to, one must arm themselves accordingly.

There are some weapons that are conventionally effective, but less so when confronted with the werewolf.  Due to the toughness of hide and muscle, and the unnaturally fast healing ability of the werewolf, most ranged weapons will neither penetrate deep enough, nor shall they long remain in the wound.  A particularly troubling arrow or bolt will be yanked clear of the flesh quickly, and upon doing so will not trouble the beast at all.

The torso is tough and resistant to damage, the bones of the chest so overlarge and tight packed that getting a gap between them is difficult.  The monster itself is also fearfully strong and highly mobile, with a great deal more power, speed, and range of movement.  Should it bring its weight to bear on the prey, that individual will have but a moment to effectively counter the strike.  Beyond that there is no chance.

Knowing this, then the hunter must find a way to limit the offense of the beast, the effectiveness of the attack, and its ability to resist the attack itself.

For my personal preference, I find that some of the most effective weapons are ones I've designed myself. 

The 'sliphead bolt' is a crossbow bolt that uses a silver headed bolt with a four barbed head.  Fired from a range of no greater than thirty feet, the bolt will penetrate the hide of the werewolf deeply and settle itself into the flesh.  The touch of silver itself is agonising, and the werewolf will almost certainly try and yank the bolt clear.  However, the 'sliphead' will not allow for such.

By using a pressure based system of inserting the shaft into the bolt head itself, when the shaft is pulled upon, it clears the bolt head entirely with only minimal pressure.  This leaves the bolt head within the wound, and more importantly the silver.  The presence of silver within the body has been observed to cause the muscles of the werewolf to seize and spasm as agony overwhelms it, an agony it cannot relieve itself of.  A barrage of such bolts fired by multiple individuals should aim for the extremities, the throat, eyes and lower torso.  The lower torso in particular is vulnerable, as the internal organs are particularly sensitive to the touch of silver.

If one were to dip the bolts in the tincture of the wolfsbane plant before hand, taken directly from the roots and the most toxic part of the plant, then the poison itself will spread through the system of the werewolf and leave it crippled.  At this point one should continue to shoot it with said bolts until it is dead.  It is recommended that beheading is done to make sure.  If the creature changes shape during this time, continue shooting.  It is naught but a ploy to garner sympathy, when it deserves none.

Personal recommendations commend the crank handle style crossbow.  It allows for a faster reload to continue firing.  But keep in mind that this tactic does not allow for rapid shooting regardless.  Nor does it allow for misses.

If confronted by one or more of the beasts in an enclosed environment, make use of choke points.  Here the use of heavy shields as barricades will protect  against the assault and prevent the beast from using the extent of its weight and power.

Regardless, at one point or more in time, you will find yourself in close proximity to one of these monstrosities if you choose to hunt them.  It is at this point that nothing will be more important than a clear mind and a steady hand.  Do not panic, and do not falter.

The attack of the werewolf is straightforward and makes use of power, weight and speed, and the charge or leap.  By these actions, its attack is direct and a forward rush.  A sidewards roll or step can evade the attack - an attempt to try and meet it head on requires an exceptional and perhaps unreasonable expectation of strength.  But upon sidestepping the attack, the hunter must deploy quick counter strikes to the foe.

Aim for the back of the legs.  Remove the ability to leap, to move quickly.  Slow the enemy down and use that lack of movement to cut them apart.  If you cannot evade the charge, target the knees or use a braced position of the blade to let the beast impale itself upon your weaponry.  If you cannot kill the foe, let it kill itself.

When all is said and done, crippling the enemy is the key measure that will allow you to kill it.  With its fast healing, endurance and power, killing a werewolf will require a merciless, concentrated and above all measured assault to first weaken the beast, then bring it down, then end its life.  Approach the foe as a thing to be deconstructed, piece by piece, muscle by muscle and bone by bone.  Identify the weak points and exploit them.

In their caves, the enclosed nature of the cave works against them.  Mixing the wolfsbane plant with green plant growth and setting it on fire will create a miasmic, poisonous smoke - it is possible to create wicker globes of reeds for example, and fill them with the mixture.  Setting it aflame so that it creates a smoke and throwing them into the lair will choke, poison and weaken the inhabitants.  If the assault of smoke is kept up, the beasts will generally attempt to flee the lair - at which point one should deploy nets, pistol, musket and crossbow shot.  A surprisingly effective measure is to weave silver wire into a net - it is rather intriguing to witness how despite how desperate and trapped the werewolf might be in that situation, it cannot bear the touch of silver.  It is, however, more prudent at this point to employ silver weaponry and kill it, rather than observe it.  Never forget that which it is and what it deserves.

Another measure is to employ incendiary devices, such as those derived from certain alchemical mixtures that become flammable upon contact with air.  Thrown upon a charging werewolf they can not only halt the charge but also cripple the beast, particularly if aim is good and the monster is caught in the mouth.  My preferred method of deploying such mixtures is to ensure that they are also infused with the essence of wolfsbane during their creation.  Through this, the fire is not only hazardous but also deadly poisonous to the werewolf, and will infuse and afflict its flesh even as it burns.

Whenever possible, work in pairs, a combination of ranged assault and close formation combat.  A shield wall line, for example, using spears, heavy shields and with overlapping defense, can force the werewolf back, even in number.  Supported by crossbows making use of silver bolts behind the front line, you can whittle down numbers effectively, decisively, and execute accordingly.  Weighted nets deployed from the flanks will also remove potential for movement and escape.

As dangerous as the werewolf is, as intelligent as it is, when cornered it becomes more and more animalistic, relying on its strengths to overcome the foe.  It is then at this point that one must make those strengths a weakness with superior offense, defense, and tactical deployment.  They neither expect it, nor are they prepared for it entirely - the self deception that defines them tells them that their savagery is the stronger weapon than humanoid intellect, skill and cunning.  They are incorrect, and it will be the death of them in the learning of it.

Some might say that the above tactics I have given are cruel, and merciless.  Crippling and killing the monsters in a brutal fashion with little honour in the method.  To this I say, clearly you have never faced one yourself.  When confronted with savagery, one must deploy reason, and use such reason that is cold, clinical and without the weight of compassion or empathy.  Remember always that to these creatures, you are but prey.  Remember always the harm and horror that they cause.  It is, truly, an ugly, brutal thing that needs to be done.  But that is the truth of it, in the end.  It needs to be done. 

The means in this case are less important than the results.  For this is a world full of monsters, and if civilisation is to survive, they must be destroyed without compassion, because for all the centuries before this one, we were given none.  I see no reason to spare any in return.
« Last Edit: February 10, 2017, 09:24:36 AM by Nemesis 24 »

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #3 on: September 10, 2016, 01:45:55 PM »

Continued on.

Professor Hunter Locke is a man of enormous intellect, nigh unrivalled knowledge in his field, exquisite skill with a two handed sword - but an almost staggering lack of patience to go with it.  One wonders if it is a result of being forced to endure any number of events in the past that have tested that patience to its limits - having seen and accompanied the man on many adventures, I'd wager that it is in no small part related.

As such, he has a rather unusual method of offering prospective employment.  Normally, an individual must submit a demonstration of skill and knowledge.  In the case of Professor Locke, he is first and foremost a teacher, and thus it is less important to him what you already know, as opposed to what you are willing to learn.  Or for that matter, learn for yourself.  A student who asks nothing but questions may not always listen in return, but particularly in the case of Professor Locke, they will most assuredly irritate.

Most of my lessons then were ones of observation, correction and evaluation.  In truth, nearly everything was a lesson, whether I asked a question or not.  The constant pressure of being tested was as grating as it could be rewarding, and admittedly I learned by doing as much as I did by being corrected.  In this sense the student is encouraged that most vital tool of all, to think by oneself, for the situations where otherwise existing knowledge cannot be found.  The most dangerous weapon one bears is the mind, and how it wishes to be turned.

His partner and co-founder of the Society of the Hound is an entirely different matter.  Monica Belmonte is a mixture of savagery and beauty, all wrapped up in bloodlust, an untameable heart and an unbreakable bond of family.  She is, in short, a difficult creature to understand at the best of times.  But if one is actually both patient and intelligent enough to listen to her lessons - and I emphasise this, listen and remember - and to ask the right questions, her knowledge on the darkest aspects of the night is unparalleled.  But you must listen well, and memorise even better.  She tolerates no fools and has no patience for those that do not heed her.  One must earn her respect and never ask for it - but must attempt to do so knowing that they probably never will, save for a special few. 

To get a better idea of the pair of them, one should see them in combat.  Both use the greatsword, the blade in the case of Monica so large it is surprising to see the skill which she wields it - and the strength.  But her style of combat is a thing of rage and fury, uncompromising and unafraid, and terrifyingly brutal.  To see Hunter fight however, is a style of artwork that can only be called efficient.  Placing himself just so to avoid the strike, with a casual grace that seems nothing less than being lazy. And yet, even with that simple shrug and slight movement, he is able to avoid danger and respond with a precision and a strange sense of stillness to his actions.  I've sought to emulate that technique since I first witnessed it, to overcome my adversaries - no matter what form that they might take.


Regardless of such ruminations, this style of combat also extends to how they learn lessons, but one thing that they are both firm believers of, is the strength of the practical lesson.  Locke wasted no time in bringing me to mine.


We were in a tomb before long.  Full of books and bones, not nearly all of them staying still upon the ground.  Hunter wished to know my skill with blade and thus there I was.  It was a new experience for me, and the first lesson - how to kill that which is already dead.

The first thing you learn to recognise is the smell.  It's why beasts tend to note when something unnatural is near, and act differently - they rely upon and have a stronger sense of smell than we do.  But some scents remain in the nose no matter what.  Bone powder, and rust.  Rotting wood and leather, mould and crumbling stone.  Old blood, blackened and rotting inside animated cadaver.  It's thick enough to get lodged in your nose for weeks, but once you smell it, it never seems to go away.  Eventually you'll learn to recognise it no matter where you are.

Over time, I learned to recognise other things by scent.  Raw animal scents, and human remains.  How old blood was from how it smelled, how much of it there was.  Grave dirt, with the faint reek of the mouldering dead.  The strange absence of scent where there should have been some when what you had before you was not what you perceived it to be.  The unnatural smell of air burning with enchantments.  The sour scent of dark magic and the raw, unrecognisable but always there smell of necromancy.

In that tomb, I learned what the smell was.  I learned what the dead felt like when I cut into them.  I learned how they moved, what they sounded like, what they looked like, and what they fought like.

But the smell.  The smell stayed in my mouth for weeks.  I don't think I'll ever be rid of it.


Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #4 on: May 06, 2017, 11:29:01 PM »
Chapter Two - The Mundane Dead.


Where we identify the methods and morbidity of the animated dead, their creation and destruction.

Classification.

The mundane, or lesser dead, are living dead monstrosities that exhibit several crucial factors – they are driven by base, simplistic impulses, they are able to manifest by will of another or spontaneously, and they infest the graveyards and tombs of this wretched land.  In some places far more so than others.  All of the lesser dead are known by the fact that they are entirely corporeal, and cannot reform their bodies upon destruction.  Shells of their former existence, they haunt the world they came from with their rotted, ruined vestiges.

In this instance, when one speaks of the mundane dead they are referring to either an animated corpse or skeleton, though the complexity and attributes of each can in fact vary, and with that variance can the threat and nature of the creature also change.  But regardless of that, each of these two categories of lesser dead share the above similarities – they are unable to communicate speech, they exhibit no normal, living behaviour, and they act with a singular, united purpose.   

There is a third group of these lesser undead, that is known as the ghoul.  Ghouls have a distinct difference to the others of their kind as marked above, as they exhibit intellect, though extremely limited.  They also exhibit some living behaviour – notably, hunger, and primarily for humanoid flesh.  They do not particularly care if this flesh is living or very noticeably dead, and as such they are often found dwelling with the other forms of undead mentioned above.  Though these creatures exhibit intelligence, they are still classed as lesser undead primarily because they show nothing beyond a simplistic, animal nature to their habits.  Though the other creatures that inhabit this category may show even less, it is suitable to put these animalistic creatures into a similar alignment.

These three kinds of undead creature are either self manifested or summoned.  For the purposes of the summoned, we may also refer to them as the created.  Either naming suits.  But depending on where the dead lay, what is done to the corpse, the method of its dying and indeed, the method of its living before death, all of these things will determine if one of the lesser dead will manifest themselves into their hideous unliving existence.  The summoned, or created however, are those brought into being by an external will and influence – a will and influence that is nothing short of absolutely malignancy.


Identification - Physical Characteristics and Markers.

The first of the lesser dead is the skeleton.



These are, very simply, an animated skeleton that lacks muscle structure and tissue.  All semblance of the flesh in nearly all cases is entirely gone – eyes, base muscle structure and internal anatomy has all long since rotted and decayed, leaving only the structure to which they were once attached behind.

It is difficult to describe how such a thing could pose a threat.  Without muscles, there should be nothing to power the creation, let alone hold it together.  Without eyes, it cannot see an individual.  And yet these beings do perceive, and have a strength to them that is far beyond what simple bones without ligaments can achieve.

This may well be because of whatever force it is that animates these mouldering bones.  Whatever it is that causes the skeletal undead to rise, also gives them an intangible sense of force surrounding them, and perception that has nothing to do with corporeal sight.  It is wondered in fact that what they perceive is the living themselves – the life that was theirs, and is instead in others.  It would perhaps explain just why these animated marionettes are so incredibly aggressive towards the living that draw near to them.

The skeletal dead have many forms.  They are almost always humanoid – no doubt because the majority of the population of the Core, past and present, is human.  But occasionally they can be clearly derived from other, less familiar forms, such as beasts or rarer races.  They often have some semblance of clothing, armour, or other tatters of their life and death upon them, in whatever form they rise in – in most cases they bear whatever weapons they died or were interred with when laid to rest.  Rotted and rusting armour and weaponry for the most part, but nevertheless effective when coupled with their unliving characteristics.

Sometimes the forms of these skeletal undead have other, far more monstrous additions to their frame and being that revolts the mind still further than the simple fact that one is beholding a moving skeleton in a mocking semblance of life, with glistening internal organs present within the torso despite the rest of the flesh having dissolved long ago or other impossible abominations.  Some command rudimentary command of magic and flame, able to manifest such force and power despite lacking a tongue to form the phrases.  Indeed, despite lacking any means of creating a voice, one cannot help but notice a sort of disembodied, clacking shriek emanating from these creatures when they strike, but this may well be the rasping sound of bones moving against one another, dry and grating.

The second form of the lesser dead is the animated corpse or as it is known in more dramatic terms, the zombie.



A zombie is, simply put, a dead body in a lesser or greater state of decay that is nevertheless mobile and almost always, aggressive.  It is mindless – seemingly even more mindless than a skeleton, remarkably – and moves with a slow, ponderous gait.  Limbs seem to work incorrectly, with feet often dragging and arms hanging limp until they come closer in range.  The vocal cords still exist, but without need to breathe, or indeed seemingly even the means to remember properly how to do so, the creature can form no other vocalisation other than a gurgling, bubbling groan.

The visage of the zombie is utterly ghastly.  Rotting flesh with a waxen consistency, blackened, rotting blood oozing slowly out of open wounds.  Exposed muscle and internal organs, ruptured eye sockets, and maggots seethe in the flesh.  The smell is, as to be expected, beyond belief, as a rotting humanoid corpse carries a stench that is as recognisable as it is utterly vile.  This scent tends to carry over long distances with a breeze, and as such is one of the first warnings one might receive that a zombie or group of them is on the move.  Even without such, unless a direct force is manipulating them and their actions, they often make incomprehensible, hacking groans, forced out of rotted lungs and throats, a sound no living voice could utter.

They were the clothes that they die or were buried with.  Tenaciously, they will hold on to whatever weapons were present at their deaths – even going so far as to collect them immediately upon animation if they are nearby.

The zombie is, however, mindless.  They cannot be communicated with, they cannot be reasoned with, no matter how far along in decomposition that they might be – a freshly dead corpse risen again and a years old one behave identically.  Surprisingly, that rate of decomposition tends to slow upon their animation, so a zombie might remain an even partially fleshed corpse years, maybe even decades after being created.  The smell may increase or weaken with time, but what does not change is the mindless, unthinking aggression of the animated corpse itself.  It will aggressively attack, ignore injuries that would kill a normal man, and continue doing so even while being dismembered, until the energy that powers it is finally broken, by causing enough disruptive damage to the corpse – usually by means of enormous physical force and trauma to break the hold, or by smashing the skull.  Removing limbs however does not stop nor slow it, aside from the fact it may be unable to walk.  A zombie without arms still has teeth, and will not hesitate to use them.

The last of the lesser dead is the wretched creature known as a ghoul, or ghast.  It is, even more so than the rotting corpse of the zombie, the foulest of the group.



Ghouls are completely wretched individuals who while alive ate the flesh of another humanoid.  This curse of existence will not only create the foulest of individuals alive, but will also on death lead to one of the most wretched creatures to ever exist.  The ghoul is a disgusting, foul smelling abomination, the body twisted and bestial from the effects of its vile curse.  It is of all the three kinds described here the most driven, because its entire existence is defined by the very act that cursed it – as it craved for the flesh of humanoids in life, it is now driven entirely by this desire in death.

Of the three types, ghouls also have the most remarkable difference of appearance.  The flesh does not rot, but changes.  The teeth and fingers change to rotted fangs and talons.  The flesh changes in consistency to harden and shrivel and the skin turns a rotted, foul colour as the body becomes more gaunt and the appearance and stance feral.  The mind of the creature is somewhat present, but the transformation causes a shocking alteration towards animalistic tendencies – running on all fours and having a crouched stance.  Disgustingly, ghouls are often naked, as they remove their clothing or it simply rots away.  The withered, starving countenances that result – often with a hideous approximation of glee as they attack in mindless hunger – are amongst the most loathsome to behold.  Yellowed, shrivelled eyes and lipless, leering grins pain a madmans portrait, vile in every way.

The ghoul is perhaps the most dangerous of the three kinds.  Its claws are poisoned with a paralysing venom, that can freeze even the most hardy soul in place.  Once locked into place, the ghoul pack descends and will eat the still living – but unable to move or even scream – victim alive in a hideous feast of gore that is nothing short of absolute horror to witness, let alone experience.  The ghast, the most foul sort of ghoul, is even worse in this respect – ghasts are a stronger form of ghoul, perhaps due to the fact that they are animated at a later stage after death.  For whatever reason, they are surrounded by a truly noxious cloud of filth, that once breathed in can poison or disease the lungs, rapidly stealing away breath.  This weakening effect makes the victim vulnerable to the minions that it inevitably gathers – a ghast is almost always surrounded by its lesser kindred, as the wretched things tend to prefer to swarm.



Identification - Victim Physiology and Morbidity.

The victims of the mundane dead are generally easy to identify, however the difficulty is inherent in their actual location, and quite often, the fallen victims remaining so for any serious length of time.

Generally, however, a victim of an animated corpse can be identified by the violence of the death, the defensive wounds exhibited, and most of all, by the way that the corpse is left in the aftermath.

The violence that is spoken of is generally identified by the amount of damage done to the corpse.  The animated dead will continue to attack even a mortally wounded victim with mindless, unyielding ferocity until it is dead.  As they themselves are an unthinking, unreasoning creature, this generally means the amount of damage is nothing short of excessive.  Skulls crushed under relentless fists or rusted weapons, while the victim is already dead or dying.  Stab wounds that are far beyond what is necessary – dozens of wounds that take place after death.  Blood splatter on the ground will show that the victim was already fallen when it happened.

There will also be finger and tooth marks – flesh torn away by hands and teeth driven by unnatural, unspeakable strength.  For as slow and ponderous as many of the dead can be, they are also mindlessly savage, and feel no pain in themselves.  This makes their attacks and actions difficult to predict as they act with no sense of self preservation, and will cause harm to themselves without hesitation to reach what they are trying to attack.



If the victim is slain by a ghoul, generally the body will not remain in one piece, or at the sight of the death – or more often, paralysation.  The ghoul will drag the victim to its lair which is inevitably quite close by.  This is generally the home of an entire pack, and the pack will then devour the fallen swiftly and horribly, leaving naught but chewed, gnawed upon bones and scraps of clothing, as the ghouls rapidly devour the corpse to the bone, cracking even these open to get at the marrow.  There is little subtlety in this – blood and drag marks will be left as evidence, and also bodily waste, as the paralysed victim of the ghoul pack will often lose control of bodily functions in their state of outright terror, as by this point it is surely too late, and the horror of being devoured alive becomes manifest.

The most unusual aspect of the victims of the animated dead, however, is surely the fact that the dead do not remain entirely so for long.

Unless the victim is completely destroyed by a ghouls feeding, those slain by animated corpses such as zombies or skeletons will soon find themselves animated in a similar manner – either self manifesting, or by a malignant will.  Thus, while the scene of the killing may remain, the actual victim of it will not be.  This becomes quite evident if there is no evidence of the corpse being dragged away from the scene, which will be easy enough to tell due to the sheer level of violence and blood.  But if there is a lack of a corpse and the sign of that corpse being moved by any agency other than its own, it is a clear indication that the corpse has become animated under whichever agency, and moved on by itself.  A lack of drag marks but instead the presence of small, bloodied and shuffling footsteps – so indicated by the smears on the floor and the congealed blood left in the scuffs – is an excellent if gruesome indication.

However, during the discussion on habitat, we will come to understand why this is unlikely to be noticed by the most casually observant eye, due to the location of the animated dead – or at least, where they tend to be found.
« Last Edit: May 06, 2017, 11:51:44 PM by Nemesis 24 »

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #5 on: May 06, 2017, 11:49:27 PM »
Psychology - Method, Logic, Reasoning.

How does one evaluate the unthinking?  How does one quantify the sheer mindless irrationality of the animated dead?  Even the ghoul is motivated by something as simple as unrelenting hunger, and nothing more, but the others in the classification are so simplistic in their motivations as to be almost alien.



For the most part however, whether they be guided by malignancy or self animated, or driven by their own mindless hunger in the manner of the ghoul, the lesser undead are simply described as being completely relentless.  They do not need anything, nor want anything, but are driven instead by an aggression so pure as to be almost breathtaking.  Unlike any reasoning, thinking creature, they do not care or seek to preserve their own unlife, and will attack over and over again until they or their target is destroyed without hesitation or pause.  They will even destroy themselves – walking into certain destruction – in an attempt to reach their target, caring nothing for their own imminent unbeing.  This breathtaking lack of self preservation will overwhelm the unwary, and is so unlike the thinking and reasoning of a normal person as to even take the prepared off guard.

Any thinking creature behaves with at least a modicum of self preservation.  The mundane dead do not.  They are, in effect, a manifestation of the will of another who created them or sheer, underlying malice itself.  This makes them dangerous more than anything else – they may lack speed, they may be entirely deficit in martial skill or tactics, but when faced with an opponent that does not even think to defend itself or even tire out, nearly every possible combatant to whom such things matter will in all likelihood be forced into a reactive role.  This is also true of the ghoul – though the ghoul may in fact be able to communicate, using simple words to speak – but these seem naught but a remnant of its previous life.  The words spoke revolve around hunger, and are delivered in such a simplistic, base fashion as to be less conscious deliverance as much as mimicry.

In this matter then, the paramount rule of law of the mundane dead must be respected.  The living need to stop, to rest, to think, to eat, to breathe, and to plan.  They need shelter, time, and recuperation when injured.  The mundane dead do not.  Thus it shall be – against such an opponent that will never slow down or simply stop attacking, the living must either match that aggression, or meet the unthinking with strategy to eliminate such relentless, unceasing and uncaring audacity of offense. 


Habitat.

The habitat of the mundane dead is often dependent on the method of manifestation.  The 'created' dead can be found practically wherever the one who summons and commands them might do so.  The self manifesting dead will appear in places where death – in whatever of its myriad forms of decay and destruction – are found in profusion, be it a battlefield, tomb, graveyard or crypt.  In each instance however, both locations are generally known for being isolated, away from public eye and for the most part, entirely avoided by the populace as much as possible, particularly during the night time hours.
 
This description however tends to fall short of the reality.  The abodes of the dead are marked by the undeniable sensation of "presence."  There are few words that are better able to describe the miasma of cold, still, dead air, stale to the nose and full of dust that has a taste of bone and iron.  The scent of death will be on the air – new death, rich and ripe and thick with cloying, throat choking and stomach heaving nausea, dripping with the horrific scent of corpses, and old death, of old blood and old bone and unmoving air, stale and cold.  There is a taint to the air, like old grave dirt in your mouth, and to taste it on the tongue feels like running ones own against a gravestone.



The smell is the most telling nature of the place, but other signs remain.  Ghoul lairs are places of scattered and splintered bone, and tracks of hands and feet moving through dust.  Zombies and skeletons remain immobile, for months or years at a time, until they need to move.  There is also darkness – a pervasive, cloying gloom that torchlight falters against.  Mists and fogs form where there should be none, and silence – overwhelming, gnawing silence.  That which need not breathe nor beat its heart, lend credence and weight to the term, 'silent as the grave.'  Indeed, one can find themselves imagining sound where there are none – a silence pervaded by unnatural cries, the clink of chains, the groans of those in torment, but faint, so very faint and far away.  But should one ask another in company if they heard the same sound, they will often say they did not – and hear sounds themselves.  This unnatural perversion of what is and what is not heard sets the nerves on edge and raises the hair on the back of ones neck as surely as the scent and chill.  When one walks into a place where the hackles tighten, and goosebumps rise, and the air turns still, beware, beware.  There is reason for it, reason your instinct recognises, even if your conscious mind does not.  The dead are near you.  Learn to trust your instincts in such matters, or you may well join them.


Misappropriation - Flaws and Mistakes to Avoid.

When confronted with the mundane dead, the inexperienced often panic.  An animated corpse in any form is a disquieting, often disgusting sight, that disorientates and revolts the sensible mind.  The smell, the sensations, and the sheer unwholesome wrongness of their countenance evokes fear, and often times prompts the individual to flee.  Such blind panic will not save them, however, for fear without any ability to reason is the death of any who suffer from it.  As we are living, thinking beings, the cold hard strength of logic and pragmatic application is our staunchest defense against such blind recklessness.

The mistake of the experienced revolves around the simple concept of hubris, and pride.  When confronted by the shambling horde, the individual is confident of their talent and skill in the art of destructive confrontation.  The mundane dead are often poor fighters – they lack the nuance of skill of true duellists, delivering an unrelenting assault that is not exactly skilled, but attempts to make up with sheer levels of ferocity.

The mistake of pride, however, is one that discounts the sheer frailty of human nature.  As was stated previously, instincts of self preservation are entirely absent, as are any purely physical limitations in terms of exertion.  Simply put – you become tired.  They do not.  They continue to attack, and attack, and attack, without pausing for air or breath, and they will continue doing so indefinitely.  Not only that, but a well placed thrust to a body that would say, cleave the heart or otherwise cripple the foe has no effect on the dead.  If anything, it is viewed as nothing more as a minor inconvenience (if they were capable of being inconvenienced, minor otherwise) that will not make them nor force them to pause in their offense.   Even something as significant as a weapon thrust completely through the body, or struck so deep that it will actually become stuck, will not affect them.  They will continue to attack, to bring numbers to bear, and a dozen blows at once is much harder to avoid that one clumsily swung one.  Even the most heavily armoured and armed knight on horseback may be dragged down by enough men on foot armed with nothing but clubs, and mobbed to death. 
The dead are no different in this respect, and can in fact be worse.  More troubling still is the sheer durability.  Without need to breathe, a mundane dead can crawl out of a lake or pool, even if they must walk directly from one side to the next.  There is something otherworldly and exceptionally ghastly about seeing the walking dead rise from a still, silent body of water without a sound or sign, simply having walked across the bottom of that water to get at what they seek to destroy.  But it also illustrates that such beings as this have an enormous capacity to surprise.  A capacity that one must always be on the alert for, and the realisation that safety is a perpetual illusion.

The more insidious dangers of the dead can be found in the wretchedness of their nature.  As the touch of the ghoul can paralyse with its poisoned claws, even if one is to survive it, or withstand it, it can instead bear awful, disgusting disease instead.  The teeth and nails and rusted weapons of the dead can bring infection in the wounds they create.  Always ensure to clean such wounds with wood alcohol, and make use of effective tinctures to cleanse the blood and wound itself.  A distilled mixture of the essence of the whitelady flower swallowed, or of the direct application to the injury of the pairing of adders tongue leaves with crushed grey puffball toadstools, boiled with equal parts of water and poured over the wound will eradicate such diseases, cleansing the blood of such vile poisons.  Without such, one can expect a painful, lingering death, in such agony as cannot be sufficiently described.

An individual mundane dead is a danger.  A mere scratch from a ghoul could end your life, a blow from  rusty axe or sword kills as surely as a sharp one.  But the true danger is not just in numbers but the fact that all of the enemy must be eliminated – or you will be.  Even attempting to flee can end in failure, if they continue to rush after one – the very nature of your living body will slow you down and weaken you.  But you can be assured that the dead are still coming.  They will never stop.


Weaknesses and Vulnerabilities.

Though the mundane dead have many intimidating features, the fact remains that the very unthinking nature of them gives their opponent the advantage that they need.  Though they may be unyielding in their attempts to destroy the living, they are not subtle, nor are they clever, and they are easy to deceive.  Simplest efforts of misdirection and deception will overcome them.  They can be easily led in traps, and prepared locations – should the skeletal types choose to deploy arrows, they will continue to fire even if they cannot strike their target, and can be made to exhaust arrows.  They will even channel themselves into locations where their numbers will matter not at all, choked into single file and thus, broken.  When fighting the mundane dead, one must deploy such tactics, utilising the terrain, and taking advantage of their relentless nature.  When one cannot overcome, one must learn to neutralise, by changing the nature of the battlefield.  Think, as your foe is unable to do so.

Each of the mundane dead are vulnerable not to damage to vital organs, but sustained and at times massive amounts of damage to the corporeal form.  The corporeal form is durable, but it is also the link that keeps whatever force that powers the corpse sustained.  Should the form take enough damage, that link is thus disrupted – the intensity of the link is what often times determines the amount of damage required.  In some cases, a simple crossbow bolt delivered to the skull will render the animated once more inanimate.  In the case of others, it takes the near complete destruction of the vessel, severing limbs and then disabling those severed limbs that will continue to attack, crawling across the ground by primitive locomotion.    It is thus recommended that all mundane dead are treated in the same fashion, and eliminated with the utmost levels of violence.

With the skeletal undead, the most effective weapon is one that is heavy, blunt, and obtuse.  A sword that is built around thrusting will find itself rattling in a ribcage that entirely lacks in organs to damage.  But a hammer to the skull is, as they say, a hammer to the skull, and without a casing of flesh to guard it, the bone is rendered brittle – and breakable.  With the ghoul, near any weapon suffices, but as they must close distance with their target, they have particular problems with ranged weaponry.  With the zombie, one may make use of any weapon.  All of them tend to have an equal level of effectiveness – the flaw inherent is that the use of them is often needed to be exceptionally profound, with levels of dismemberment and destruction that can frankly be exhausting to execute.  When one can, one should always seek to minimise the threat of the zombie by sections.  A zombie without hands cannot grasp a weapon.  A zombie without arms cannot strike clumsy blows.  A zombie without a jaw, or head, cannot bite.  And a zombie without feet cannot walk.  Defeat the foe piece by piece until you are certain it is not a threat.


Tactical Methodology:  Locating and tracking the target.

To locate the mundane dead, one must simply walk in any direction under the cover of darkness, in any of the less civilised parts of the world.  One does not traverse the 'old Naopte' as the locals of Barovia call it, without finding these dread manifestations.  In places of burial, in old battle sites, in forgotten crypts, in old abandoned ruins, one will find the dead.  They can be in other locations as well, summoned forth by the vile and unspeakable for forbidden purposes.   It is speculated that indeed, there are more animated dead in the core than there are living souls in it, for a corpse can be utilised towards a dread purpose with seeming ease, and the cursed earth within which they are buried seem almost eager to vomit them forth once more.  Though the good people of civilised lands might deem it otherwise in their infinite wisdom of things that they have not bothered to attempt to perceive, my own experiences in wandering the wastes of backwaters leads me to think that this may indeed be true.

As has been noted previously, the habitat of the mundane dead can be noted by the subtle sensation that it bears, the scent, and the stillness.  Should it be a lair of ghouls, then graves shall have been dug up to get at rotting flesh, and splintered bones will be scattered, the marrow chewed out from them.   Ghouls tend to congregate in places where carrion can be found – graveyards, charnel houses, and fresh scenes of slaughter.  They are the crows of the walking dead, seeking decaying flesh that they might feast, moving through darkness and shadow to find it.  Should they find a source that constantly supplies their unspeakable hunger, they will nest within it or near it, and use it until it is exhausted, or until they are bold enough to move on to living prey.

There is no subtlety to the mundane dead, no careful planning nor self preservation.  Their strongest defense is simply the fear that they evoke, the encourages the living to stay out of their path and out of their habitat at all costs.  For above all, the most dreadful fate that awaits one slain by the animated dead is the knowledge that one shall be made to join them – a truly ghastly fate of hideous proportions.  What then becomes, of the soul and self?  Is one trapped then into such a semblance of unbeing, an unwilling passenger to a corpse that has become a prison, screaming in silence?  Can then thus those words we hear in whispers in their presence, are the maddened pleas begging for release from non-existence?  It is pure speculation.  But of such phobias and superstitions are the already substantial fears of the dead made ever more manifest, and though they may be backward, and primitive, the folk of such backwaters as Barovia know an important lesson  - go not where the dead walk, lest ye join them.  Where people will not go – the dead will surely walk instead.




Tactical Methodology:  The Technique of the Kill.

As has been discussed in the reasoning of their weaknesses, to destroy the mundane dead, direct application of force by means material or supernatural are ones most valuable asset.  Though the level of force directed may vary, the application of it never does.

The weaponry one might use against such foes can be as mundane as a simple club, but it is undeniably a consensus that objects and metals blessed over by those of a holy faith have the most effect against the living dead, striking harder and truer, and causing far more damage, rendering them inert swiftly.  I would argue that this may well be a placebo effect, and by such faith are otherwise hesitant and shaking limbs bolstered to strike with the full force that they are able, buoyed up by the notion that they are blessed to fight such foes.  Be that opinion as it may, it is worth noting that to scoff at such notions is a foolhardy one, when one is in fact confronted by such monstrosities as walking corpses.  So while sceptical, it would be a hypocrisy to entreat for an open mind while not holding one's own open in kind.  Somewhat.

Skeletal dead, despite the strange power implicit in their limbs, are nevertheless vulnerable to crushing blows from heavy, blunt objects.  They are also slow, clumsy, and misdirected.  Should one employ their blows to the extremities, they will not defend themselves.  As such, should one avoid their obvious strikes, the counter attack can be destructive.  If one can deploy themselves correctly to fight a singular opponent at a time, through narrow passages or doorways, use methods to limit their range of movement, and blows.  Most of all, ensure that they cannot make use of their numbers against you.  If you are overwhelmed, retreat.  If you cannot, then die bravely.  Never position yourself in a situation that you can be surrounded – but keep in mind that a skeletal undead for all its malignancy is not intelligent enough to position itself to let its fellows strike at you.  It will block its fellows from being effective simply out of unthinking malice.

Should one wish to be singularly cavalier about matters, the clumsy, heavy blows of the dead can sometimes be used to trick them into striking their fellows.  They lack the skill to change direction in combat, and this can be used to dodge blows that then strike their own kind.  This, however, is no work for an amateur, and it is confessed that one must sneer at one who eschews pragmatism for performance.  By such nonsense are graveyards made ever more full to bursting.

The animated corpses of zombies can be dealt with in much the same method, with the exception of realisation that blunt weaponry is less necessary than overwhelming force and bodily dismemberment.  The slow and clumsy nature of the zombie allows for such, repositioning as needed to cut the enemy down one piece at a time until it is either immobile or ineffective.  As has been noted, in many cases simply physical damage – sometimes quite light damage – is many times enough to disrupt and defeat the connection of animation, the manifestation that creates the corpse and gives it power.  But should a concentrated effort of physical destruction be needed, then one should be prepared for it.

Simple traps can be effective in isolation and disabling, as long as they employ physical force.  Nets, nooses and other simple disabling devices can also prove sufficient, as the single minded nature of the dead often prevents them from performing such simple actions as removing even the most basic of constraints.

With regards to the ghoul, which is far more feral, the strongest defense is a good suit of armour that protects the vulnerable flesh.  While the ghoul is disgusting, and its poison a very real cause for concern, they lack the subtlety to strike in vulnerable spots in armour, and their claws will often strike uselessly at thick leather or metal.  That said few things are more effective than a crossbow bolt to the torso or skull, deployed with judicious application.  Put effectively to use and en masse, crossbow bolts will disable and defeat a slew of ghouls in quick succession.

In regards to the elements, there is something to be said for the sheer power of fire.  Burning the animated dead can be extremely effective in disrupting them, and thus defeating them.  Indeed, the ghoul shows just enough intellect to often times retreat swiftly from fire, cowering from such light.  Do not give it the chance to escape.  Should the ghoul show its back, strike it down.

Of all the types of mundane dead to be aware of, the most dangerous are those that by some unspeakable, even perverse means are gifted with the strongest supernatural connections.   They are readily recognisable by the fact these animated dead, especially those of a skeletal form, do in fact command the ability to speak, but to hear them, one would neither recognise the words, nor would they sound like they are coming 'from' the animated corpse but somehow 'through' them, as though from a great and terrible distance.  Chanting in these hollow words with voices which are formed by no tongue, one might know that these are the most dangerous of threats.  From them come energies of unnatural and vile origin, that burn the very soul as they try to pass the touch of death unto those who would undo them.  Thus one must learn to recognise such foes, such voices.  And always target these first.  If one cannot do so, then in all likelihood, you will instead join the ranks of these corpses.  Let it not be said that the life of the hunter of the unnatural is without risk. 

Remember always they are dead.  Remember always that they seek to make you join them.  Remember if you will that they were once people that they are trapped now in existence and you are freeing them.  Perhaps in destruction they will remain condemned.  Be that as it may, they are the enemy.  And enemies are to be destroyed.  Never, ever, let compassion, or fear, or dread vie with pragmatism.  The dead must be made truly dead again.  Even if by the same darkness they were formed they eventually rise again, nothing is changed.  Though the task is never ending, it must yet be done.  So strike them down, and shatter what formed them, again and again, until there is nothing left to rise once more.



Addendum.

It is the nature of the world to always find things that deceive or betray the accepted notions of what is known.  Thus it has been in this instance. 

During my travels and trials, it was at the village of Berez that I encountered a type of walking corpse that defied all knowledge that I had previously gathered.  While it must be noted that the walking dead act with a singular purpose, in this instance they acted with a singular consciousness.  And they were conscious.  While it did not live, nor breathe, this entity acted with a malignant consciousness that was as insane as it was spiteful, giving itself an actual identity – even a mocking title.

It spoke, but when it spoke, all the corpses that were under its bizarre, unspeakable control spoke as one.  Each of the corpses spoke in unison, a hellish chant of mocking malice delivered from many rotting throats.  So astounded I was by such that I still do not quite understand it.  Many are the things I have encountered which I do not yet understand.  This entity was one I do not think I wish to, for contemplation too deeply into such a being as this leaves me consumed by dread, as I consider that its capabilities may in fact be endless.

I add this to remind the reader that one should never underestimate.  No matter how deeply we delve into the unspeakable, no matter how practiced and skilled we might be, the dark mysteries and labyrinthine ways of the undead and that which creates them are perhaps unknowable.  And that those who do attempt to uncover such secrets, succumb to the darkest madness of all – the horror of knowing too much.  I cast these words to the page to prepare you, and warn you.  For as I delve ever deeper, memories such as this one remind me of just how close I stray to that precipice, and how terribly deep the gulf to fall can be.



Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #6 on: September 07, 2017, 10:04:20 AM »
Ruminations of the Past.

Do not look down.  When the whisper becomes a roar, when the sound comes, when you hear it, whatever you do, son.

Do not look down.

Strangely enough, while I cannot remember what she looked like, I do remember this of my mother – those words, said over and over again.  I hear them now with my own voice and not hers, her own lost to memories clouded over by words, drink, wounds and old hatreds.  But I remember the words themselves.  Not long after they took hold, she left our home with but a few scant but valuable possessions, while father remained in the living room, sprawled out drunk and snoring.  I remember waiting for her by the door, so small that I remember looking up to see her fill the whole world, and convinced that she would take me with her, so we might free of things together.  She did not.  I never saw her again.  She walked from my life in the hope of forgetting that her part in it, her own time of existence there, would be lost to her.

I wonder, did she succeed?  Did I ever become a figment easily dismissed, or did I haunt her?  Did the memory of me consume her, hollow her out as she imagined rightly how I must hate her for what she did, and what she left me to endure?  Was I her undoing, without even saying a word?  I will never know.

I suppose I was a disappointment even then, too unbearable to be around that in my mind, her last expression to me was one of disgust.  To my credit thereafter, I have since inexorably refined this unpleasantness to its finest unapologetic blasphemy.  How extraordinary, that childhood defines us into perpetuity, but rather than regret it, I am satisfied that this was the first step to a long list of lessons to that singular purpose that is both simplest and most complex – survival above all, surviving alone and without the burden of those that would otherwise weaken us.


There is a point to this, though I meander to it by means of memory and its perpetual distractions.


I was given the advice of where to keep my eyes as I grew up in Sainte Ronges.  That was what I was told, that was what I remembered.  Do not look down.

Sainte Ronges is a singularly fascinating city to grow up in.  That I believe is how a diplomat would put it, but seeing as I am not such a one, I will speak as I perceived it.  A rotting, festering pit of humanity and stink, of endless whispers and scratching.  The air is a throat choking mixture of garbage, old mouldering bones in endless crypts, the raw ammonia stink of the sewers and above all, the rank sweat of nervous fear.   Fear, wrapped in whispers, nervous laughter, and quiet sobbing and prayers.  That is Sainte Ronges.  That is my home.  That is where I was told that mantra that they all survive by, if not actually live.  Do not look down.

Most of the time it referred to the sewer grates.  When the loathsome hiss and roar of furred bodies in their tens of thousands moved as a living river of malice, hunger, beady black eyes and bared teeth grew from whisper to a thundering.  The crockery would rattle in the drawers or off the shelves as the swarms passed underneath.  An inexorable tide of foulness.  Do not look down.  Do not look down.  We would sit frozen at our table and stare at each other as sweat ran down our necks and we forgot what it was to breathe, until it had finally passed.

I did not understand the true meaning of it until the day I was caught by my first swarm, not three days after my mother had walked from my life.  The rains had been full and I had been walking through the muck of the street as the somehow dirty rain tried in vain to wash that grime clear.  I think perhaps I had been trying to find her, somehow convinced in my childishness that she had simply gotten lost.  My father had remained drunk throughout, his slurring unintelligible, and thus my only conclusions were my own.  But then the sewers flooded suddenly beneath me, as some ancient sluice was broken by the pressure, and the swarm came.  Boiling out of the sewer grates beneath amidst the hurrying souls who suddenly were confronted by the one thing they never wanted to witness, a rolling flow of rain black furred forms, wretched and yet unstoppable, squeaking so loudly that it near made ones ears bleed from the shriek of the din.  A swarm, unexpectedly flushed out by a flash flood in the sewers beneath, and forced into the open.

They flowed around my legs, as though I were a tree caught in a flood.  Stock still I stood, locked in place, not out of knowing but out of fear.  By some miracle it was the right thing to do, in the right moment, and thus my career did not come to a premature ending, instead allowed to continue in its unhappiness for an age longer yet.  And I remembered the rule, or perhaps I could not move even my eyes.  Do not look down.  Do not look down.

I wonder if the girl who screamed did look down.  I wonder if she saw the horde and her mind and heart shattered in disgust and fear, which caused her to run into an alleyway nearby and in so doing damn herself, and all of us with her.  I wonder if that was what caused that tide to shift and move to her with dreadful purpose, no longer to flee but now to exert that vile need for sustenance, as opportunity presented itself.  I remember the sheer startling intensity as it moved as one entity.  She panicked, she screamed, and that scream grew in pitch as the swarm covered her, clawing up her body to cover her, the screaming growing in pitch and intensity as she fell.  The teeth and small claws ripped, tore, fastened and feasted.  She had been quite beautiful, I remember.  A dress of bright blue and long blonde hair, and a timid smile, but I cannot recall what it was she smiled at.  They devoured her alive a few steps from the street, her blood mixing with the falling rain.  No one did anything.  No one.   They knew how this played out.

I looked down.

I looked down and saw one of them, and it was looking right back at me.  It ignored the feast, its nose twitching, its black eyes staring and unblinking even as its nostrils twitched.  Large as a dog but otherwise indistinguishable from its more mundane kin, with its smaller brethren scurrying around it.  But this on instead looked right at me, with a keen intellect that was far beyond that of its cousins.  This one had eyes that were beady but nevertheless human.  Full of cunning, cruel intellect and malice.  Watching me, and knowing, knowing full well that I knew, and that I was helpless, and taking joy in that spiteful knowledge.

Then its lips pulled back from its yellowed, gnawing teeth, and it grinned at me, in a gesture that had no place on such a face as it bore, and then it joined the feast, even as I stood stock still, and watched.

That was my first encounter with a wererat.  Though not in its more obvious form, even then I knew.  Now I have no doubt.

My first.  Unfortunately, it was not the last.  But it was the last time I looked down in Sainte Ronges.

« Last Edit: September 09, 2017, 10:45:40 AM by Nemesis 24 »

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #7 on: January 25, 2018, 01:23:41 PM »
An itemised listing of the equipment of Jean Renaud.


Itemisation:

1.  A light crossbow, with an attached quiver for bolts.  Reinforced oak and mahogany, with dwarf forged steel reinforcements.  The bolts in the quiver are a selection of silver, alchemical silvered, and teleportation.  Holstered over the shoulder.

2.  Reinforced shield, hooked upon the back.  The edge is tempered steel, and a web of silver wire is wrapped around the edge.

3.  A trio of flintlock pistols.  Simple, lacking decoration, and darkened steel.  (Note:  Not worn in Barovia.)

4.  Stakes, of hickory and oak.  Steel pitons, for climbing or blocking doors.

5.  Hand and a half sword, or bastard sword.  Steel, gilded in silver.

6.  Steel greaves, with silver spikes set into it.  Often coated with oil of belladonna or wolfsbane, or other liquids of warding and bane.

7.  Shot of lead, explosive, and silver, with powder and wadding.  (Note:  Not worn in Barovia, transposed with various vials of varnishes.)

8.  Steel boots, darkened, and nailed.  A silvered blade set into the sole, to come out when the big toe presses down.

9.  Armoured kneepads.  Lockpicks set behind the left, wrapped in oiled leather.

10.  Tattoos of various symbols.  Going up both arms, on the back, and chest.  These tattoos are symbols of warding, protection, and other various arcane and holy circles.

11.  A fine chain necklace.  It is set with several rings, and amulets, of various metals and makes, set with various stones.  Set on the chest bandolier, a flask of restorative elixir, another of antidote to various poisons and venoms. 

12.  A book of Ezra.  There are many pages missing from it, for whatever reason.

13.  A case of smoking tobacco, and matches.  Another, of various herbs - salt, wolfsbane, belladonna, powdered bone, and others.

14.  Black wolfs fur mantle, for warmth.

15.  Long coat.  The coat itself is armoured, in various places - the arms, the hood, the neck, and the front, are lined with steel plates, making it much heavier but also much stronger.  Designed to protect against slashing attacks.  The coat itself is also full of little additions - a silver dagger on the left sleeve, designed to fall into the hand.  More herbs, vials of holy water and varnishes line the inner pockets, as well as notebooks and other tools in the outer pocket, and a rope and grappling hook is also squirreled away.  Curious scent bombs, made of oil of peppermint and other pungent aromas, are also present.

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #8 on: March 28, 2018, 09:11:37 AM »
Chapter Three – The Wererat


An explanation of the myriad forms, habits and habitats of the muridae or rodent classifaction, and how to identify and destroy them.

Classification.

Vile.  If there was but one word to classify the wererat in completion with but a single syllable, then the correct one in all senses would be that very word.  Vile.

The wererat is the smallest of all the myriad species of therianthropic creatures.  It, like the werewolf previously described in this volume is a type of shapeshifter, a creature either able to change its form to suit, or by compulsion  - most commonly by the light of the full moon during the lunar cycle.  It bears three forms – humanoid, hybrid and animal, and can shift between all three easily, particularly in the case of the true born.  On such a note, it is either born between a union of two wererats, or is the result of a transmitted infection or curse from the bite of another wererat to a previously uninfected human, generally creating another of its vile kind as a result – the same as any other therianthrope or werecreature.

However, from it is at this point that the wererat exhibits patterns of behaviour, ability and environment that differentiate it from the other therianthropes, or werecreatures.  It is, quite unlike its fellow breeds, an exclusively urban creature that exists only in villages or cities.  It is extensively integrated into humanoid society, to varying degrees of intimacy from the lower spectrum to the extreme upper echelon, exhibits far more humanoid characteristics in its actions while maintaining a rat-like tendency in all its decision making, and is without doubt the most successfully organised of all the various creatures – though the nature of the rat itself makes such organisation nevertheless highly chaotic and fractured, with vying for power going hand in hand with absolute paranoia.  For the underlying element of the wererat is the absolute compulsion of the mentality of the swarm.

While other therianthropic creatures operate singly, or as packs much like their animal counterparts, the wererat does not.  It behaves much as the animal to which it is inimical, and behaves not in the manner of the pack but in that of the swarm.

The swarm is not a true thinking entity.  It is instead a mass, base intelligence.  Each member of the swarm remains with its fellows not because it cares for them, but because they better guarantee survival.  Each member of the swarm does not remain with its fellows to share what it gains, but to strive beyond them and take it for itself.  Each member of the swarm wishes that it above all was the one that was running at the front.  First to direct which way it plunges, first to reach the food, first to see the danger to react to it quickest.  The weakest are cast aside, to be lost or devoured.  But the swarm does not stop.  It a frantic instinctual entity, driven by unthinking need and not by reason.  Once within the swarm, the race of rats, one must press on, and on, ever seeking the goal that never comes, while remaining ever certain that it is just ahead.

How appropriate then, to equate them the most human of the monstrous forms of therianthrope.  Though we as a species would like to dismiss such notions as the actions of the monstrous, the base and the primitive, all that changes between the methods of the swarm and society as a whole, is the manner in which the race is run.  It would be argued that because of this similarity in urban social dynamics, that the wererat exists so solely in such an area, and almost never anywhere else.

Each wererat, as much as it is an individual, never leaves the mentality of the swarm.  It is guided by it in all of its actions, ways of thinking, and goals.  Treacherous and base, they have no concept or respect for loyalty or honour.  All that matters is winning the race, and they are so enslaved to such that the idea that it may never be reached does not ever enter their minds.  Like all werecreatures, they are utterly self deceptive, delusional and twisted.  Sanity is something that only exists as a convenience.

As with the werewolf and other therianthropes, wererats are either born of curse or of familial bloodline – a curse of a different kind.  A wererat parent and a human parent may produce an entirely human child – but the nature of wererats and the psychology of their spreading means that this is unlikely to remain the case for long.  Otherwise, it is a curse transmitted through bite – often deliberately as a tactic of control, enslavement and recruitment.  As with other curses, it remains dormant and curable, with difficulties of course – but exceptionally so in the case of the wererat due to its unusual durability against herbal or chemical anathema.

The wererat suffers from a severe variation of its cursed strain, in terms of transformation, appearance, and vulnerabilities, that will be discussed later in this volume.  Suffice to say for now, no therianthrope is quite so varied or difficult to quantify in what can harm it.  As such, the traditional herbal cure to prevent or reverse infection is unknown.  Only luck and chance or arcane means can prevent it, with the coming of the full moon of course making it impossible.  It is perhaps for this reason amongst the tactics and habit of the wererat in seeking to spread its infection that there are quite so many of these foul creatures to be found in the dark streets of cities of the world.



Identification:  Physical Characteristics and Markers.

As it is with the werewolf, there are three forms of the wererat that can be identified by crucial indicators and study, that can identify the wererat in each of its forms.  The hybrid of course being the most obvious, but whether an individual is cursed or natural born as a wererat, the humanoid form bears indications that hint towards the truth of their loathsome nature – if not in physicality (though there often are sufficient indicators) but in their mannerisms, which can range from the obvious to the singularly extraordinarily subtle.

As the humanoid form is in fact the one worth noting the most, it shall – in reverse of the entry on the werewolf – be the final one noted here, simply for the fact it will encompass the most detail and is the most important to remember.

The first form is that of the rodent, which is simultaneously the most irritating and elusive of the three forms, for it is exceptionally hard to either spot or track.
The sheer ability to shrink the creatures mass to this size is extraordinary to observe simply for the degree of magnitude of the change – the rodent size is entirely tiny compared to its humanoid or hybrid form – and how swift it is.  Compared to the rather slower change of growing in size, the ability to shrink into this tiny form – admittedly larger than a standard rat as it is about the size of a small terrier – is very quick, taking but a few moments.   In the rodent form, the wererat is able to make considerable use of its reduced size – not in terms of combat, but in regards to stealth.



Sewers, drainpipes, walls, all of these are no obstacle to the rodent form.  Should one think they are alone, and safe indoors, they might then hear the scratching of stealthy claws – if they hear anything at all – as the creature finds a gap small enough for it to exploit. 

This ability of subterfuge has leant itself well to the wererat.   Whereas the more bestial therianthropes of rural environments deploy stealth, it is purely and completely in predatory pursuits.  But the wererat does not simply use such for the devouring of flesh – though don't be mistaken in thinking that it does not lean towards such.  Instead, it also makes use of this talent to observe, to spy, to stalk, and to thieve.  Small trinkets, valuable and deeply missed, may vanish, clutched in the forepaws or even jaws of the rodent form wererat, triumphantly seized with malicious intent.  Hiding from a wererat is also an exercise in futility, and indeed in territories that they have exceptional reach, diversity and power, there is no secret that remains hidden from them for long, be it information, identity, relationships or even a person themselves.  In such areas – and they do exist in the Core, as wretched as it is to admit it – one must operate with the utmost caution in their actions, knowing that it is not a question that they are being observed from hidden locations – it is a certainty.  Not least compounded by the fact that in this form a wererat can communicate to unknown levels of complexity with normal rats – which, in numbers so vast as to be numberless, can provide tens of thousands of eyes and ears to be used.

Aside from the size of the rodent wererat, it has other identifications as well.  Just as with other therianthropes the eye colour remains ever the same, creating at times startling combinations.  Hair colour tends towards the black or dark brown.  The claws are noticeably long, as are the teeth, which are far more leant towards ripping fangs than gnawing.  The tail is longer, more leathery, and patches of fur are often missing.  But it is the eyes one will note most of all – colour or not, the look within them is far more intelligent, calculating and cruel that any simple rodent could possibly manage.

The hybrid form, the monstrous one, is without question the most varied in appearance of all the therianthropes.  No other 'breed' of these creatures can operate with such an incredibly varied state of appearance, but these appearances seem to be heavily indicative of particular strains of the curse – which also seem to heavily dictate behaviour.

An example of this is the variation between the Common strain, and the Greater strains of wererat.  The common wererat is one of the more disgusting creatures witnessed – transformed, the head becomes simply gigantic in comparison to the rest of the body, the torso of which is shrunken and skinny, almost appearing too small to support the monstrously large head.  The limbs are also spindly, while powerful, but the taloned hands are enormous in size.  The entire creature, with its ratlike features, stretched and shrunk, looks like a horrible amalgamation rather than an actual animal, or humanoid.  The body is strong, and quick, and fast, but it is such a wretched thing that it is near impossible to imagine it can support its own weight, let alone exist.  The head is so great in size that it accounts for maybe so much as a third of the overall mass – the eyes set poorly, the fur patchy and sporadic, the jaws huge but poorly supported.  It is nevertheless an efficient and violent killer – the claws and jaws can and do cause enormous damage, but it is so ungainly in its movements and appearance that much of what it does is flail uselessly.  The advantage that it has however, is that it does so with incredible speed and tenacity, backed up by the sheer difficulty in harming a creature of the therianthrope variety.  Simple steel weaponry will bounce clear off its hide and achieve little, and they are well aware of this fact, charging and attacking recklessly like much of their kind once they are sure of prey.

However, there are other strains of wererat which are significantly different in appearance.  The Richemuloise variants of wererat are either thusly described – the strain found in Barovia, in Dementlieu, and other locales besides – or the far more disturbing greater variant that seems to be unique to the Richemulot area.

These variants are rarely seen, because they have an unusual ability to blend in plain sight.  Their stance, their mass, changes little.  In fact they may simply be recognised by a rat like snout peaking out of a heavy hood, in the few occasions they can be seen leaving the shadows that they hide within.  Should the concealing clothing – clothing, even if but a simple cloak, unlike most other therianthropes – be removed, then the physique of this variant of wererat is far more akin to that of a human form, if somewhat more powerful, and often – but not always - with reversed joints at the knees like the hybrid forms seem to tend to bear.  The fur on the body is far, far more complete, and the physique far more contained, far more refined than the twisted, aberrant and wretched breeds that I have dubbed the common wererat.  These 'greater wererats' are far harder to deal with, far more intelligent as a rule, and far, far more dangerous.  Not least that they are not only adept but out right eager to use not simply their claws and fangs, but actual weaponry, with all the malice and cunning that their foul minds can conjure.  Working opposable thumbs mean that fine motor action and manipulation is also possible – with a level of dexterity that is beyond even the most gifted and agile.

The eyes of the wererat remain thus in human form or in therianthropic form – identical between them, at least in colour and expression, regardless of the breed being common or greater.  This is much of where the similarities end, though both are truly ratlike in their behaviour and symptoms of eccentricities.  Mannerisms and tactics however, are greatly different between the two breeds.  The common wererat behaves much as the common thug might or street criminal – brash, stupid, cowardly and yet possessed of a cruel cunning breathtaking in its arrogance and often idiocy.  The greater exhibits a disquieting level of subtlety to go along with outright, animalistic savagery – doing so in such a manner that the control that they exert is far, far more dangerous and total.  They are stealthier in their actions, but far, far more malicious.  Patient where the common is rash, this translates over to the mannerisms of movement, behaviour and physical tics of the two breeds.

The common strain of wererat is a thing that is best described as a living twitch.  Each part of it body moves in a never ending vibration of nervous muscle movement.  Despite the hybrid form being its strongest, it never manages to stay still.  The head spasms, jerking about as though the creature is caught between trying to sniff the air and keep its oversized head aloft.  The long, wormlike tail lashes at the air ceaselessly, nervous and excited, unable to contain itself.   Unable to see properly with its poor setting of its eyes, it relies on its sense of smell, the sniffing constant as its limbs shudder and shake with an almost demented sense of urgency.  Despite all its power, the twisted nature of its appearance, this is the behaviour that most defines the wererat of the common strain – for it acts like the most common, terrified vermin.  Vermin, that the wererat is fully aware of being, and is unable to dismiss, despite how hard it may try.  Nervous, scared, excited vermin, a predator that cannot shake the feeling it is also prey, desperate and erratic and afraid.

The greater wererat is more composed, but nevertheless this nervousness in its actions can be read in its movements.  Though it is not quite the spasming, twitching abomination of the common strain, it is yet constantly sniffing at the air, its tail lashing if it catches a scent, its stance shifting into a more hunched stance the more nervous it may become – or predatory.  However, the hybrid form of the wererat appears to be a weapon of intimidation and terror, as well as preying upon a convenient victim.  It is not so quick to take the form as the common strain might be – a change which is often brought about by stress, excitement, or simple loss of conscious control, not to mention the full moon.  The greater wererat may be able to change its form at any time, and easily, however, it is not exactly eager to do so, unless it is entirely necessary or without undue risk.  Of all the infiltrating types of therianthrope, none is more adept at this stage of assuming itself part of society than the greater wererat, much to the danger of everyone – and everything – that surrounds it.

This reluctance and rareness to take on the therianthropic form of the wererat is the reason why its humanoid form is the most important form.  Despite misgivings of physicality being coincidence over hard evidence of therianthrope markers, I have chosen to forgo these suspicions – they may not be complete evidence, but they are sufficient to create the first indication of investigation – suspicion.

In their human form, a wererat can be near any size, or race.  They can be, as it is with werewolves, either born or infected by the curse, with different indicators for each identifying them.

A cursed wererat is a sad creature – or would be, if it were not so pathetic.  They steadily decline into a state of shabbiness, of foulness and disgusting countenance.  Filth and vileness trouble them less and less as their state continues to decline.  They may have no physical characteristics changing from what they were like when they were fully humanoid, or they may start to develop increasingly obvious traits that start to show that something isn't quite right.  As the werewolf might develop increased amounts of hair, a changing of the fingernails to be closer to talons and enlarged incisors closer to fangs, pointed ears with upswept, twitching lobes, so too might the wererat have such changes.  The hair is stringier however, and often sits lank upon the head, overly greasy with bodily oils.  The incisors are not the teeth to fully change – no, the teeth that transform the most are the front top and bottom pairs, becoming thicker and longer, meeting together.  There may be patches of hair that show up on the arms, the back and legs, that do not so much grow out of the skin as seem to burst clear of it, leaving inflammation and scabs around the places of the skin where it grows – a most disgusting sight.

Disease seems to make itself a home as well in their flesh.  Stench and foulness follows them from their nightly wanderings amidst filth.  Infection and sickness infuses them, making them a countenance wretched and foul, dwelling in the thickness of the muck and misery that is their existence.  The cursed wererat is, in every way and form, entirely disgusting, a desperation in its visage that is somewhere between spiteful malice and pitiful envy.  If it were not for its inherent cruelty, hunger for human flesh, and utterly vile countenance and malicious greed that infests every part of its being, one would be almost compelled to pity it.  Almost.

The born or true wererat is a different sort of creature.  Though it may appear less wretched in countenance than the cursed of its kind – drastically so in fact, to an almost absurd degree – it nevertheless can remain an obvious creature by the fact that while its physical markers are more subtle, they tend to be consistent.

True wererats – be they greater or common – often have a range of indicators.  The first would be the hands – hands that are larger than average, with particular levels of 'knobbing' around the bones – the finger joints are larger than average, to the point of obviousness in extreme cases, with the finger joints being as much as a third wider than the rest of the finger.  This creates an often splayed appearance in the hand itself, which may be concealed by gloves or pockets, but the hand is unused and ill equipped to take on the shape of a fist, though it remains extremely and in fact unusually dextrous in terms of musical ability, sleight of hand and fine manipulation, perhaps due to a greater degree of physical movement otherwise not feasible.  These hands are often rubbed together, in an almost reflexive movement, particularly when the creature becomes excited in some fashion, especially when it feels happiness – happiness that, knowing what this abomination is, is most likely brought about by malignant cruelty and vile hunger, or simple malice and greed.



The second indicator is the nose.  It is larger than average  - usually not within the bounds of being unreasonable – but on occasion the nose can be simply enormous, dominating the face to an almost comical degree.  This nose however, regardless of its size, is noteworthy because of its degree of inadvertent animation.  In whichever form they wear, the wererat exhibits a heightened sense of smell, and this ability to scent is also aligned with a desire to sniff things out – be they secrets or objects.  Driven by the inherent greed of the wererat, when it catches a scent that intrigues it, the subconscious reaction is to sniff at the air – however subtly.  The nose twitches – those who train themselves can make it subtle, but those who do not, shall show a decided propensity of nasal twitching and flaring. 

The third are the teeth.  As before, the front pair, top and bottom, tend to be larger, more substantial.  These teeth are often bared during times of bad temper, ground together in moments of frustration, carefully concealed when they do not want people to notice they can be slightly deformed, and usually yellowing.

The feet are larger, much like the hands.  This is less easy to spot, thanks to the simple expedience of wearing shoes – but the joints being so large as they are, it is quite likely to find that such footwear is either abandoned – or rather too large entirely.  Women in particular will find means to conceal the less than demure nature of such appendages.  The toes are longer as well, unusually so, the nails curved over.

The fourth marker are the eyes themselves of the wererat.  Often times regardless of the form they wear, those eyes are almost erratic in their never ending movement.  They stray about, looking this way and that as though fearing or expecting something to appear at the corner of their eye at any moment.  They are often small, but not always, but they may bear a squint.  The unceasing movement gives them a panicked look, and the nature of them being smaller than perhaps average, or squinted, often causes the wererat to shift its entire head this way and that – swiftly and jerkily, turning their head to better look in as many different directions as possible, but at the same time making the creature look much as it does in its hybrid form, that it is lost in spasm.

The stance varies.  But when the creature is pressured, stressed or threatened, the shoulders hunch and the head lowers.  The hair on the back of the neck stands up and the hands are raised towards the chest.

It should be thus far noted that many of these physical characteristics may be either physically concealed or exhibited by entirely innocent individuals.  A human may have any number of these markers, but the most telling things to look for are not simply the physical indicators – the truest indicators I have given thus far are those in line with the psychosomatic symptoms.  The rapid eye movement, the baring of the front teeth, the hunched stance when pressured and the hand movements at all times.  These, in combination with the rest of the physical indicators, are the more sure test of the true nature of the cursed creature itself.

But this is not always the case.

There is a variant of the wererat, exclusively noted amongst the greater wererat to my knowledge, that I prefer to dub 'the performer.'

I can but imagine the test of discipline that this tends to cost such creatures, but yet it exists, as aberrant as it might be.  But amongst the wererats are those who exhibit, in the public eye at least, none of the indicators I have given.  In truth, they hold poise, and grace, and exhibit a far more courtly manner.  And yet it is what I have dubbed it.  A performance.

The eyes blink far less frequently than those of a normal individual.  The pose is held, rigid and tight when standing or sitting, with indefinable stiffness.  The gaze of such a creature is so intent that it seems to look through individuals rather than at them.

This is nevertheless deeply disquieting, though it does not resemble the behaviour of a wererat.  But it is a tightly wound faηade, a display of seeming instead of being genuine.  Wound too tight, in truth, and constantly on the verge of simply snapping.  The ever gnawing mentality of the swarm eats away at them, even as they concentrate with inhuman intensity to stop it.  Would one drop a plate or glass in their presence, a sudden unexpected event, one would see that of all the people in the room, they are the last to look at it – if they do at all.  So caught up in the performance of doing what their nature demands of them, that they deny even reaction.

What they react to, what they do not.  Either the wererat is concealing itself, or it has not learned how to fully, but remind yourself of this – you are the hunter.  Do not make yourself prey.  Remind yourself that no individual should be fully trusted, and strangers not at all.  Look not for the open hand, the friendly help unlooked for.  Suspect, and always be wary.  The wererat is a cunning hunter adept at hiding itself, and will always look for the opening.  Do not allow it one.  Do not allow yourself to trust, and always look for what you may wish is not there.  You will learn the hard way to regret your laxity if you do not.



Identification: Victim physiology and morbidity.

When dealing with a wererat, one must remember that despite how urban the creature is in relation to the more savage species of therianthrope, it is nevertheless a monster that craves flesh in not insignificant amounts, often humanoid being preferential.  However, due to the urban nature of these creatures, this is perhaps where the most telling indicators are of their presence – not by what is seen or found, but by what is in fact not.

By this, it is meant that rather unusually amongst the species of therianthrope, it seldom leaves its kills in a place that they might be found.   Nevertheless, this does not mean that individuals slain by the wererat do not vanish regardless – for they do.  The difficulty in discovering what little is left of these poor souls once they have been slain is finding where they have been taken afterwards.

The darkened alleyway from which screams are ignored by what few might hear it.  The dank cellar of a house abandoned or otherwise, be it home or simply convenient.  The wretched noisome sewer of a city or town, full of foulness and hidden tunnels.  These are the places where the wererat kills, and often feeds.  Out of sight of those who might stop it, where the vile craving for flesh can be satisfied, the ravening hunger assuaged with the innocent and the helpless, or those who might be the wererats enemies.

A corpse is usually abandoned if it is slain in a place where finding it is unlikely – or it is dragged to a lair or feeding place for one or more wererats to feast upon it, perhaps in a pack.  The leavings will have tell tale markers as a result of such – primarily in the gnawing patterns of feeding, bones that are sawed through by the repetitive sawing motion of the teeth rather than crushed under enormous bite pressure like other therianthropes might manage.  Whereas a werewolf can and will tear a corpse to pieces in a horrifyingly short amount of time, the wererat will often leave a corpse nominally intact as it gnaws and rips away bits of flesh of the victim until it is partially skeletonised, perhaps taking a larger bone – femur or humerus being common due to their size– to chew and gnaw upon in private away from the feeding site. 

Should an individual be killed in a place where it may in fact be found – often silently, from a position of stealth it should be noted – it shall not remain there long.  Though blood shall remain, there will be no sign of the body itself.  This, then, is where we start to identify the kills of the wererat from what is not there, over what is.

Individuals who simply start to vanish may have no connection whatsoever – or they may be individuals in positions of authority, generally at a far more 'crude' level than that of nobility or higher society.  A watch officer perhaps, or guild leader or merchant.  Indeed, perhaps even members of a local known gang of thugs or toughs might start to simply vanish.  Unconnected targets of opportunity aside, when people of a criminal nature (in one fashion or another) start to mysteriously vanish, then one should take note.  For this is often indicative of the presence of a wererat group, staking a claim to territory, and eliminating competition by either infecting them with the curse, or outright murder.  A new gang or guild of criminals appearing, or even an existing one suddenly and powerfully expanding as the curse of the wererat is spread amongst its members, are all strong indicators in combination with other events of the monstrous taking root in the heart of the civilised world.  This is of course often the enterprise of criminals – but criminals do not devour their targets in the methods that I have noted previously.  Finding corpses thrown into a nearby source of water is different to finding a body gnawed upon by a bite radius far too large to be a simple rodent.

Sometimes they use far more manipulative means.  Blackmail, kidnapping, extortion – means that are not the purview of the other strains of therianthrope are things that fall all too easily to the overly capable hands of the wererat – their lack of conscience, of care, of mercy and utter cruelty may lead them to kidnap the child of a local enforcer of the law or faith, and threaten to either devour or infect the victim unless the parent allows themselves to be manipulated as they direct.  In most cases, this will only last so long as the unlucky individual is in a position to be fully eliminated without arousing suspicion, in which case both hostage and parent will be not long for this world beyond that point. 

In this instance, and these cases, your first indication of the presence of a wererat preying on a society will in fact often be silence.  Silence, from people who are too afraid to speak up, speak out, and know full well that someone is listening – always, always listening, waiting for the individual to say the wrong thing that makes them the next target of the feast of the swarm.

Ask them the right questions, and they'll start to sweat.  Not out of loyalty – loyalty is a concept that is entirely alien to the wererat in every conceivable way, except as a thing to manipulate and twist – but out of the emotion that the wererat knows intimately and utterly – that of fear.  The presence of wererats in a community breeds fear like wildfire, as they spread their influence and control. 

Eventually that fear tips over.  The wererats at that point can outright control the population as a whole, leaving them unable to act, and forcing them to behave in a fashion that they must exist with the dread and fear and never act or openly acknowledge it, lest it claim them.  That is when an individual shall be made to 'vanish' – from a dark alley, from their own bed, from their own home, but vanish they do, dragged down into the dark amidst the snarling and the squeaking.  In such instances, the survivors do not even need to see the corpse itself to know what happened.  The worst fear, as it were, is the fear of the unknown.  And when a person disappears, it is impossible to know what became of them.  Fear then fills in the gaps – maybe in ways more dreadful than what actually took place, but considering the depths of malice of the wererat, this is in fact rare.

Should a place of 'vanishing' be located, it will have indicators.  A wererat will not bother to clean up blood, but they are exceptionally good at utilising stealth.  There will be little sign of a struggle – but there will almost certainly be blood, often in violent sprays as though from arterial wounds, which will often be both quite high velocity and volume both.

Drag marks will be indicated, usually with a trail of blood.  The purpose of the wererat at this point is less in stealth and more in speed.  Making their way to an underground lair that they can make use of – and hide further trails – they'll disappear into sewers or tunnels, either trusting in the security of their lair or nefariously luring those who might come to the rescue to their doom as well.  A trail of blood to such an underground location is a fairly clear indicator of such a presence – even more so when local people strive to ignore its presence entirely, while nevertheless leaving the air rank with fear.  Again, what is not there is more vital than what is.[/size]

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #9 on: March 28, 2018, 09:16:00 AM »
Part Three, Continued.


Psychology - Method, Logic, Reasoning.

The psychological make up of the wererat is one of the most convoluted, twisted and contradictory of all the variants of therianthropes and monstrous creatures combined.  How they exist without devolving into absolute insanity is something beyond me – unless it is as I believe, and they are so utterly merged with such madness that they are beyond all hope of sanity, and are equally utterly unable to recognise it as such.

As it is however, if there is a sin to be associated with the mentality of the wererat, the first and foremost aspect that it is most firmly aligned to is that of greed, and the greed most in common with that of the rat itself – a desperate, yearning greed, unthinking and unfocused.

A wererat craves, with every fibre of its being.  An undirected, desperate craving that dominates all aspects of its behaviour.  For this reason they are known as thieves as much as they are monsters.  Note how the spiteful, beady little eyes flick immediately with glittering greed to any sort of shining, bright object – a gem, a gold piece, it matters not.  The wererat will fixate upon it, wishing to either bargain, steal or forcibly remove such things, even though their uses for such might be entirely limited, or even non existent.  Though the wererat might crave for a jewelled tiara, they would gain no use from it, not even to buy food – for they would steal it, or kill for it in any case.  A wererat craves for all that it does not have, just so long as it is precious to someone else.  Emotional attachment to an object beyond greed itself is something that they are incapable of understanding.  They will cast a treasure in amongst trash readily enough, in apparent disdain – while being fiercely protective of it.  Care and emotion in association with an object is beyond them, but they do however protect what they claim as theirs with a frenzied fanaticism.  This is an exemplar of the worst aspects of greed in this regard – they want what they steal not because they want it, or need it, but simply because they have an innate, overwhelming urge to deny it to another.

Apart from this vile greed, the wererat will continue to exhibit the thought processes of the swarm from which it has derived.  In its actions there is yearning, and desperation.  Yearning for what they believe is theirs or what they want to be theirs, and desperation because it will never be achieved.  Power over all else around them, or safety from all threats, or whatever they might wish for at the snap of a finger, or even simple peace.  The very nature of the wererat will deny it ever knowing any of these things to their complete satisfaction.  For the other driving forces of the swarm mentality are anxiety, paranoia, and aggression, that never ends and never yields.  They will never be content with what they have, for their paranoid mind will never let them rest.  They will never feel safe, for they are ever a rat, ever anxious, and ever fearful.  For all their strength and danger, they are driven entirely by that never ending fear and hopeless longing that renders anything they might ever achieve meaningless to themselves.

This awful spitefulness renders the wererat a wretched thing.  And a key part of its psyche as a result of that wretchedness is that it is self aware enough to know that it is, for the nature of the curse of the wererat is to be both aware of the fact that it is human and rodent – unlike a normal rat the wererat is cursed with discernment and introspection.  But to do so would cause the wererat to look upon themselves and realise the truth of them that is more apparent in themselves than in any other variant of therianthrope – that they are consumed by envy.

Imagine the self delusion that must be maintained by such as these?  The greater wererats in particular, and those others that seek to maintain a faηade of seeming that is in effect a denial of the self.  But the overwhelming truth of the wererat is as I wrote in the first – it is a vile, inferior, wretched creature, born of vermin, ruled by the instincts of vermin in all its actions no matter how base or how subtle.  This arouses in even the most simple minded a sense of inferiority, of self loathing that can only be countered by that endless, unyielding yearning, that desperation of the swarm that never allows them to stop, for to do so is to confront the awful truth that the wererat must confront in all its boundless, searing malice and hatred – that the thing it must surely loathe the most is itself.  Inferiority and inadequacy – be it acceptance or desperate denial of it – colours its every single action, small or large.

Beyond that, one must remember the depths of that malice.  For while the wererat forms no true attachments, driven to being an impossibility because of their paranoia, anxiety, and wretched perception of inferiority, it does understand that those attachments exist amongst others – and they see these relationships as something to exploit.  As already noted, children and loved ones of an enemy are nothing but targets to the wererat, to be taken and turned or devoured should the opponent resist, if they cannot simply kill them outright.  What a wererat cannot overcome directly, it will defeat by cowardice, for anything remotely resembling a spine is completely lacking in any part of these creatures.



Habitat.

As the wererat is an almost exclusively urban creature, it becomes more a matter of narrowing down where in such places it might exist.  The larger the city, the more elaborate the infrastructure – and sewer systems in particular – the more difficult that this becomes, but some key factors tend to remain prevalent no matter what in each circumstance.

Wererats never truly function as solitary creatures, not truly.  They may manage to do so in society, but the kinship to rats and the aptitude towards the habitat of rats will remain no matter what.  As such, their abodes can be defined by key characteristics.

Firstly, there will be a resemblance to a warren.  Be it a cluster of tunnels, or a sewer complex, or an abandoned building – or even a manor, or guild hall – the place will be out of the way, dark, and most likely run down due to the wererats being disinclined to care overly about the state of their appearance – to greater or lesser degrees, but signs of disrepair and disregard should always be apparent.

In regards to being akin to a warren, a wererat lair will have many exits, tunnels underground whether the upper area is above ground or not, that lead off into existing structures and passageways.  However, being as they seek to protect these warren like lairs, the ways in will be heavily protected and often cunningly concealed.  Taking advantage of the fact their animal form is quite small, the ways in and out of the lair might well be impassable for a humanoid sized creature at all, such as a narrow pipe that the shifted wererat might take advantage of.  There are almost always more than is anticipated or found, a near impossible effort of locating them and even harder to close them all off.

The places these lairs tend to be can vary considerably, but they tend to be in rougher, more disreputable parts of town, where people do not ask questions and pretend not to notice, where the streets stink of fear as much as they reek of refuse and waste, and where people spend more effort trying to simply survive than others do to succeed.   In places such as this, the wererat does not need to hide itself, not truly.  It can hunt, thieve and thrive, increasing its numbers until it controls an entire district.  At night the streets are barren, rats run rampant through the streets, unafraid of humans, and doors are locked and barred, without lights.  The stronger the presence of the swarm, the more bolds the lesser rats become – until eventually they swarm the streets even during the day, untroubled by the people around them, who have long learned better than to interfere with them.

Thus will the habitat of a wererat be located.  The wererats themselves will protect that primary lair, despite all its means of entry and exit, by covering it with traps, cunningly wrought and built and easy for them to avoid while proving lethal to others.  Each entry will be safeguarded and protected, the corridors narrow and tight, with hidden openings and passages to allow for sudden and unexpected attack from the flank or other less traditional angles.  It will prove a labyrinth of cunningly hidden and locked doors, with baited areas that appear safe, but are in fact lethally trapped.  Simply put, a wererat warren is the last place an individual wishes to be, unless they are absolutely confident of their presence there – a confidence born of competence of arrogance, whatever it may be, such a lair is extremely dangerous and must be treated as such.

This is often the lair of the common and greater wererat.  But not always.

Amongst the greater wererat, there are those who as has been noted as being far more capable at hiding their presence in society.  While these greater wererats might command the presence of some – or more likely many – of their lesser, more common kind, they do not exist in the lesser, more crude lairs of the common wererat, instead finding themselves in far more opulent locations – and yet, certain key indicators will remain.

While these 'performer' wererats will create a faηade of appearing even genteel, they nevertheless fall short compared to those who do not have to create such an illusion.  Their homes, while perhaps rich, will nevertheless have a tattered appearance in places.  The extensive basements will be full of clicking claws and squeaking.  The corridors crowded, narrow, choking.  No matter where one might go, the rats will be there ahead of them.  A sharp eye might note chewed furniture and other objects, that will be noticeable no matter how hard they try to hide such.

As it were with the common wererat lairs, one can expect far more complex but equally dangerous traps, hidden doors and rooms, and of course, many exits and entrances that are hidden from view.  Ever the labyrinth, ever the trap, a wererat lair, be it common or greater, is a place of exceptional danger to any individual, no matter how skilful they might think themselves.  More than any other therianthrope lair, no individual should ever enter one of these places lightly.




Misappropriation - Flaws and Mistakes to Avoid.

The wererat is the physically least adept and threatening of the werecreatures – while at the same time perhaps proving the most dangerous, and this tends to create the singularly obtuse problem of arrogance on the part of the one hunting them.

Despite being weaker than a werewolf or other therianthrope, the wererat is still more than capable of killing, carrying off and devouring the best of men, especially those who are unprepared.  It should at no point be considered a 'weaker' target to deal with, for it simply is not.  While ungainly in its twisted, shifted form, it is nevertheless lethal due to its inherent nigh invulnerability to conventional and simple weaponry not suited to its destruction, and as these creatures tend to be sure of themselves before striking – in the case of the more intelligent members of the species making sure their victims are not armed to defend themselves – they are often overwhelming in their assault, fearless and frenzied.  The sheer intensity of the attack is easily enough to take one by surprise.

On top of this, is the sure knowledge that the wererat will most certainly not be alone.  The wererat that you can see is taking your eye to hide the two, three, or more that you cannot.  The swarm mentality of the wererat in its every day existence unfortunately translates itself problematically to its habits in combat or hunting.  You will rarely, if ever, encounter one alone unless it is as a scout.  If you are entering one of their warrens you will find there are far more than you think or guess, hidden beneath the surface in a horde.  Against such numbers even the most prepared can fall short, and thus it must be acknowledged and understood – you will be outnumbered, every time.  Never think for a moment that you will not be.  Plan accordingly and understanding that fact.

The next mistake returns back to the first, the danger of underestimation.  As with all therianthropes, it is all too easy to mistake their behaviour, habits and predations as the unthinking, base instincts of beasts.  This is a foolish, unforgiveable error that ignores the human aspect of the werecreature, and denies the dreadful, devious intellect that comes from such.  It is no secret that mankind has a great deal in its nature that is monstrous (a line of thought I shall explore in other works) but this unholy union of man and beast exacerbates the worst aspects of each.

Wererats will make great use of exceptionally lethal traps, luring their victims into place.  A feigned retreat will result in bring the attacker to a prepared, trapped area, bringing crippling injuries to the pursuer and leaving them vulnerable to being finished off.  Never pursue one of these creatures recklessly if they break off and retreat, find a means to engage at range and move with clarity, not foolishness.  Expect underhanded, cowardly tactics in combat – whatever advantage might be found will be sought.   Remember that the wererat has no concept of honour or of fair play.  Such things are, to it, a stupid mistake and unforgivable in any application, and to be mercilessly, maliciously taken advantage of.

This sort of behaviour is horrifyingly apparent in wererat controlled territory.  Any weakness, any vulnerability, any connection or tie that can be preyed upon will surely do so, and patiently so.  A wererat will first use its smaller, rodent form to first spy on a potential enemy.  Observing those who it is close to, who it is friends with, discovering the very vulnerabilities of companionship that most of us share.  They shall then use that vulnerability to their advantage – through kidnap, often enough.  Taking a hostage that they can then use to exact leverage in whatever form over their opponent.  Children are a particularly preferred target, and more often than not, they shall receive the dread curse of the wererat bite, transforming them gradually into a wererat themselves.  What manner of spite and malice must such as these exhibit, that they might steal a child from a family, and then return it once cursed to destroy that very family from within even after they are given what they demand in exchange?  One would deem that it is limitless in its depths of depravity.  And thus it is with the wererat.  There is no limit to their vile cruelty to exploit perceived weakness.

The last mistake to make, is the level of influence that they can possess.  The most organised of the therianthropes, they can – and do – achieve a great deal with the right motivation, and that desperate motivation to be at the head of the race unfortunately suits all too well into so called genteel society and its own proclivities and drive to get ahead.  So many of the wererats dwell in the dark of the sewers and the lower echelons of society, but the gutter is where many of us – even the most powerful today – began their journey to iron fisted greatness.  How many of these cruel hearted souls rose to the top of the heap through the spiteful and merciless malice of the wererat and the vile underhanded application and tactics it encourages? 

Personal experience tells one that it is more than a few.  Of all the werecreatures, the wererat is the one that tends to rise highest in society, as though to possibly erase the truth of the matter of its vile origin.  No matter what it achieves however, the psychological feeling of inadequacy will yet remain.  A rat is still a rat.  Vermin is forever vermin.
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Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #10 on: March 28, 2018, 09:23:10 AM »
Part 3, Continued and Concluded.



Weaknesses and Vulnerabilities.

As has already been written, there are core vulnerabilities of most werecreatures, and the wererat is one that shares many similarities to the werewolf already described.  However, where matters differ, the degree of difference is quite extreme rather than slight.

A wererat may be harmed by a weapon wrought of or gilded with silver.  Its cursed flesh is incredibly vulnerable to the properties of the metal, just as a werecreature is, but not in the same way as a werewolf.  While a werewolf will be burned by contact with silver on its skin – leaving a red mark shaped like the metal in question – a wererat may make safe contact with the metal and show no real discomfort or shock, maybe not even irritation.  Nevertheless, well wrought steel will bounce off the transformed beasts hide even if applied with enormous force.  Silver will cut as though it were conventional flesh and bone, as struck by steel, making it the preferred weapon to use.  Remarkably, this also applies if the weapon is of a crushing variety, bludgeoning bones that otherwise would not break.

This can, of course, be countered by the remarkable healing properties of the wererat, as it is with all werecreatures.  Wounds will stop bleeding nearly immediately, and flesh shall knit and repair itself leaving naught but a scar not long after, if even that.  Thus it promotes the judicious use of such weaponry until life is surely extinguished.
Silver gilded weaponry, shot for pistol and musket, or arrow or bolt.  Expensive to use in ammunition, while safer, it is often the most sensible choice for engaging such a creature.  Without it, however, there is little recourse for the hunter, save in the use of fire.

Much like the werewolf, fire is something the wererat is quite vulnerable to, be it the fur or consistency of the flesh.  The regeneration is also heavily impeded by the use of fire, and between these two weapons might a wererat be rendered unto death.  Application of oil onto the skin, or other flammable liquids to fully enflame the creatures is highly recommended, even though it is better to keep ones distance, as it will take some time for the wretches to die, and they shall run and scatter and even attack in a dying frenzy as they burn.

However this is the unfortunate limit of options.  For while these two weapons are useful against wererats, the third option, that of a chemical or herbal application, does not apply in the same manner as it does for other therianthropes.

Unfortunately, while all werewolves are vulnerable to the effects of aconite or wolfsbane, no two wererats are vulnerable to the same substance, and the variation is impossibly hard to identify.  A wererat might be vulnerable to cinnamon, while one of its direct bloodline is vulnerable to powdered lead.  There is almost no rhyme nor reason to it, and trying to decipher what the wererat might be individually vulnerable to is an incredibly exhausting task.  There is theory that the vulnerability is partially hereditary, but dominant bloodlines – or parent – wins out.  But due to the secrecy around the vulnerability, it is not quite possible – at present – to know this for sure.
Finding this substance, even by research, is nearly impossible.  The wererat is intelligent enough to never give away what this vulnerability is, mostly because the effect it can have on the wererat is incredibly lethal, even in small amounts.  A particularly cunning subject may use all manner of ruses, pleading allergy to various substances, leading all kinds of false trails.  As such while knowing this vulnerability – by outsmarting or outthinking the opponent – is very much recommended for the advantage it gives, it should never be the sole reliance for the hunter.  Planning around it, without relying on it, while more difficult, has a better surety of success.

This does not however give the hunter a great deal to work with.  Worse, while a common wererat may be transformed or changed, there is no measure, no device and no amount of exposure to full moonlight that will force a greater wererat to transform.  A greater wererat can in fact go for years without changing if it needs to maintain secrecy.  Thus the awful potential for infiltration can – and does – go entirely unnoticed and an ally can be revealed all too late to be a most awful enemy.

In the end, the greatest vulnerability of the wererat is also its most dangerous strength – its mind.   Not its intellect, which is formidable, but the manner and way that it thinks.  Trust is alien to it, faithfulness an impossibility, and honesty an amusing notion and nothing more.  But because of that, it shall never know anything but doubt, and fear, and paranoia.  Should it be made to succumb to those overwhelming emotions – by preying on those feelings, with words and display and other measures – it can panic, quicker than its dangerous form and strength belies.  When that control is lost, it can shift between its forms by reflex, and the truth of itself laid bare.  Remember always, the inherent inferiority that the wererat feels, the envy that colours its every base thought and that it tries constantly to suppress, and conceal.  Remember that such can be twisted and turned and eventually, exacerbated beyond its ability to maintain control, and in that moment, you face an albeit dangerous and cunning opponent – but you shall do so openly.  And it is in those moments that the foe can properly dealt with.




Tactical Methodology:  Locating and tracking the target.

As has already been noted, the places where wererats can be found have been identified and listed.  The difficulty in dealing with these locations however, and more than that searching for them, is a problem in of itself.

As has been noted, a wererat can change its form.  As has also been noted, they have means and ways of communicating with common rats for the purpose of gathering information.  By that means then, there is precisely no place in an urban environment that is safe for any individual hunter to communicate freely and openly about a desire and plan to hunt a wererat warren.

To explain a little more in depth, if the wererats are able to communicate with rats at large, and those rats are able to identify – and perhaps even by some unfathomable means understand the conversation of humanoids – then as anyone who lives in a city will well know, they will thus have ears in every wall, beneath every street and in every house.

This is truly a terrifying concept.  It means that since one cannot truly guarantee that their efforts are truly secretive, that they must anticipate that their movements are being observed continually, constantly, and from all angles while within wererat territory.  As they simply cannot guarantee intelligence security at all times they must act as though it is not secure continually instead, and work around such.

No hunter searching for a wererat warren should ever communicate such with those that they are working with.  Observations must be done in oblique patterns, preplanned and not discussed during the fact.  Information passed should be coded, or hand written and then destroyed after reading, existing in written form for the absolute minimum length of time.  If there is any doubt of compromise, then there is no doubt that there has in fact been compromise and action should be taken accordingly.  To enter a wererat controlled territory is to walk into the lions den, enemy territory of the most dangerous sort.

A correct method is to plan the observations and movements well ahead of time.  This does not mean following a daily routine of to the hour movements in whatever is done.  There should be no daily routine to be observed, unless it is to fool the target into anticipating a routine that will be suddenly and decisively broken.  Each day would need to be planned ahead of time, individually, in who does what action.

Observation would need to be casual, as would questioning.  Never direct, never forthright.  Look for areas and buildings that fit the descriptions of wererat warrens and lairs, looking for the markers of such to surround it.  Always have an excuse ahead of time as to why you might be in such an unsavoury area, but never allow yourself to be pulled off the street and into places where the predator will suddenly and uncomfortably become the prey.  Always, always remember, you will be watched.

The act of divining the correct location must be quick, it must be sure, and it must be prepared to take a chance.  It must also be done so understanding that there is a strong likelihood that there is more than one such lair in the area, depending on how established the wererat warren has become over time.   Not only must the strike be quick, but it must be done in such a fashion that if all fails, there is a potential to withdraw and escape the area.  But it will be a risk, and always shall be.  As the most organised and established of all the therianthrope types, any attempt to not only locate but also combat a wererat warren must be established as a singularly dangerous and high risk to ones own safety, sanity, and indeed, most horribly, to one remaining in a humanoid form at all.

Dealing with a singular wererat is rare.  The mental proclivities of the wererat lead it to dwelling amongst its own kind, to satisfy the urges and drive of the rat mindset.  A single wererat is however a threat in that it shall seek to create a warren, in one way or another, and locating one with its ability to hide what it is so thoroughly means that rather than hunting a monster, you must hunt a person instead.  Remember always – any individual can be a wererat.  Any.  Any attempt to earn your trust will be a deception, any offers of friendship a lie.  Understand such and beware it, but learn to trust where possible.  A wererat is a wretched creature, and be it a wretched individual or a wretched wererat, there is seldom any benefit in having either in ones life.

Once the warren is located, and made sure of, the time has come to employ the method of the kill.  In this it must be singularly sure, aggressive, and absolute.  There shall not be a second chance.

Other addendums would be to make use of scent.  Wererats have keen noses, recognising others of their brood by smell.  Concealing ones body odor – or better, masking it to be something else on a continual and random rotation – shall give one an edge.  The nose of the wererat sniffs the air constantly, be it humanoid or monstrous, shifting for that which it either recognises or does not.  A perfect plan would involve making use of a wererats scent, if one could but find a way to capture it, upon entering a nest.  I make no secret that this would have to be a disgusting bit of work if so, for the scent of a wererat is at home in filth above all.  But every advantage must be taken.  Ruthlessness above all, be it to ones foe, or ones own sensibilities.  All that matters is all that has ever mattered – continued survival against the effort of the enemy.




Tactical Methodology:  The Technique of the Kill.

When a wererat warren is located, there are two things that must be taken into consideration.  Firstly, if there are hostages contained within the warren; this is a common tactic of the wererat, wherein they take individuals prisoner that they can then use as leverage over those whom they have in their power. 

Secondly, one must consider the level of collateral damage that will be tolerated by the population at large.  In most cases, it is sensible to consider departure of an area once things go awry, and anger is stirred in the people at large.

The reason for this is because the surest way to deal with a wererat warren is to destroy it, wholesale and utterly, with absolutely destructive means and enormous application of force on a widespread scale.

I make no secret of my hatred for the monstrous.  It has defined me as an individual, driven me on my course and set myself thus.  My every effort in my life has been bent completely towards the understanding and the annihilation of the monstrous and inhuman, how they think, what they do, what they look like and what it takes to end them.  I have this advice, first and foremost to those who would undertake the bloody work – empathy and pity might dwell in your heart for these creatures, even if the blood of their victims is forgotten, but you do not have the luxury of mercy, nor of hesitation.  When the time comes, if you cannot act without even acknowledging either, then you will never survive for long.  You will never be a true hunter.  You shall be nothing more than prey.

That is why I suggest using the tool of fire to destroy the wererat warren.  Should you need to enter it or no, one should do so with the means and tools to destroy it utterly from without or within.  Black powder often helps – a few barrels left in crucial parts of the structure will shatter it.  Flammable liquids placed to gnawed wood and carpet also.  A contained space will turn any sort of fire into an explosion if the expansion of that fire is sudden enough, and the contained, narrow nature of a wererat warren will in this case act against it.  Seal the exits, as many as you can.  Fill the place with flammable fumes of ether, volatile oils and alchemical mixtures.  And burn it, burn it to the ground, burn every single living thing within it.  If one should choose between destroying the influence of a wererat and leaving a whole district a smoking, burning ruin, one should remember that no cancer can be cut away without damage.  Save all that you can, but if you are set on your path, you must remember what it can cost, and remember it must be a price paid.

In combat, a wererat is a dangerous opponent.  A greater wererat will make use of weapons, and the strength and speed that their shifted form allows to strike.  A common wererat will attack with its claws and teeth in a frenzy, and each of them will need to be dealt with in different fashions.  As always, the application of silver weaponry and fire is paramount.  Shot, arrow and bolt that holds reservoirs of burning material that ignites further or explodes is very much recommended to keep the foe at bay.  Silver bolts that have detachable heads to remain in the wound are also recommended, to gradually poison or to prevent healing of wounds.  Nets and other means of restraint are also a good idea, to contain and capture and slow the wererats as they attempt to escape, which they will surely do so once they have taken sufficient casualties in combat.

In combat, you will be fighting in narrow areas, on prepared and trapped ground, with potential for attack from every angle.  You must maintain body integrity – strong armour of steel and leather to prevent fangs from biting through and potentially causing infection of the curse.  Silver at certain points, even as a gilding, can cause otherwise razor sharp fangs and claws to break instead of rend on through.  The wererat is somewhat weaker than the werewolf, but not entirely noticeably in many instances, and certainly not when there are so many of the horrid things, but a decent bit of armour will offer far more protection against such than as may be offered against a werewolf and its overwhelming strength.

The vulnerable parts of the body vary on each variant.  A greater wererat, while strong, is in fact more vulnerable at key parts of the body due to how little it changes.  The heart, the throat, the skull, the legs, these are all vulnerable points to strike and disable the opponent.  The twisted, monstrous and cursed form of the wererat is far more difficult to work with, but much as can be done with the wererat, it is a creature that is defeated in sections.  Disable the arms by striking at the thinner, weaker sections.  The legs are misshapen and while strong – the creature moves forward at enormous speed when it needs to – are to be targeted to put the beast onto the ground where it is less likely to move with any sort of alacrity.  Due to the strange closeness the wererat has to human form over the other therianthropes, it moves almost entirely on two legs in its hybrid form rather than all fours, which makes it quick on the charge, but unbalanced.  Overwhelming that balance has a habit of disorientating it – an injury to the back of the thigh, ankle or knee will put it down rather swiftly and render it unable to move terribly well, but it will not last long – the wound shall rapidly heal unless lethal action is taken.

The weakest point is the neck.  It has strength enough to support the far too large head, but it is nevertheless thin and slender, and a good, solid strike from a sword will separate head from body – and immediately put an end to the vile creature, for good.

However, as has been noted – wererats attack in great numbers.  And to truly make them attack, rather than flee into the depths, one must either seal the exits and force them to come to you, or anger the wretches in such a way and with such a means that they attack en masse – a prospect which should not please even the bravest – or most foolish – of combatants.

And yet, it is the preferred option.  Only when the enemy is where you need them to be can you exterminate them.  Only when the enemy is in a place of your choosing can you destroy them physically, and to do so you must destroy them mentally.  Should they flee, they will recover, they will turn upon you and they will hunt you down, in one fashion or another.  If they cannot flee – or perceive that they cannot – then you can end them.

Consider thus all that has been explained here, all that has been learned.  Think on the mental nature of the wererat, of the swarm, of their intellect and cunning and malice yes – but also of their weaknesses.

The self loathing, the realisation of inadequacy.  The paranoia, the fear, the desperation.  The endless yearning for station, be it base or high, the never ending search for them to rise far enough to forget what they are, at core, soul, mind and body.  A rat.

Mock them for what they are.  Hating them shall make it easier, but mock them also, find the means and then humiliate them in ways that make them gnaw at their hearts for the shame of that knowing of what they are.  Take what they have striven for, be it wealth or station or simply a lair and destroy it.  Do what they do not dare to do in all their malice but always dread, so deeply that they could never admit it.  Use their weapons against them and leave them broken, leave them hating, leave them more desperate than even they in all their wildest nightmares never dreamed.

Pretend to retreat, knowing that they will pursue when their minds are overcome with rage and hatred, deflected off themselves and directed to you.  Let them murder themselves on the ground that you have prepared for them, strip them of strength and rip them down, piece by piece and give them nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.  Corner them, trap them, and kill them, and keep moving until each and every last one is dead.  Block off all their escapes, leave them no choice but to come to you, and then take away even that.  Break the will, break their confidence and strength, and the more that this is done, the more the rat will come to the fore, and when that happens the hunter shall strike.

In the end, the patient hunter is the one that shall triumph.  The one that waits, and prepares, and calculates, and then strikes forcibly and most importantly, with absolutism, leaving no trace or chance of escape or survival.  Remember all that these things, these monstrous beings are, remember all the harm they cause, all the lives lost and destroyed. 

Remember to hate them.  Allow no room for pity, for they shall offer none, nor mercy.  Never hesitate, never slow, and leave none of them alive.  Would they die a thousand deaths, it would still be merciful.




Final Thoughts.

Coming to the end of this study, I am confronted with a hard truth.  Namely, that to be aware of the ingrained presence of a large cluster of wererats is nothing short of a fatal knowledge, to one that is unprepared to deal with the consequence of that knowing.  I know full well what an urban environment under the control of wererats looks like, even what it smells like, and I know what it can do and how insurmountable a foe it is.  I know full well, that writing this may well make me a target to their predations, should a day ever come when word of it escapes.  And I am also acutely aware that I do not care.

After so long spent bleeding into the dirt in so many different places of the core at so many different times, one learns two things – that survival is all that matters, all that ever has.   And that one cannot survive by fear.  Thus I shall not fear, and I will see if they come for me, as I do any of the foul denizens of the night.  Wait, see, and prepare.  For I shall never be prey again.

The wererat is a loathsome creature, as I find all of the monstrous vermin of this world tend to be, hideous in countenance and spirit each of them.  While man may hide a heart foul or fair beneath their expressions true of false, the monstrous has but one true heart, and it is black.  The wererat, to me, epitomises many aspects of this vileness, and thus it is no mistake that I reserve a great deal of my hatred  - and hatred it is – upon them.

I write this in the hope that one day, each and every last one of these accursed creatures is rendered unto the death it deserves.   I write this so that those who might be prey, living lives of fear, might understand at last that they can forgo being the fearful and become the fearsome.  I write this in the hope that one day, I will return to my homeland and though it be naught but ashes, I could breathe the air there and even as I choke upon the smoke and dust I do so knowing I shall never smell that foul scent of the rodent again. 

I will not pray for such a day to come.  But I will fight for it.


« Last Edit: July 04, 2018, 11:18:01 AM by Nemesis 24 »

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #11 on: July 29, 2018, 10:19:09 AM »
The misery of futility.

You cannot win every fight.

It never ceases to astonish me as I walk this world, just how easily you can differentiate those that have faced trial, and those that have not, by finding out their understanding of that fact.  The simple realisation that some battles cannot be won.  Be it by force of arms, skill of spell, or simple wits.  You cannot win every fight.  Sometimes the best you can ever hope for, is to survive it.

And so it is for some enemies.



I spat in the eye of malice once.  I could call what it was death, but the truth is that if it was to have a name that could be spoken aloud without danger, it would be malice.  Alien and remote and yet all too close, a glasslike eye that held no warmth, no understanding of mercy or pity.  Simply calculation, and weighing.  Contempt too, but so faint, because contempt would mean it was capable of feeling anything for what it beheld at all.  To do so would give that mere speck more worth than this walking void was prepared to give.

Furred, and robed.  A face like that of a wolf, bearing a book made out of darkness itself.  He offered me everything as I knelt bleeding in the middle of nowhere and never, and a page from that book.  All it would take was giving him something that I would not even know was gone.

It had been his shades, figments of nothing given claws, that had torn my body apart.  I was kneeling in a spreading pool of my own blood trying to make my hands work, to light the cigarette to buy me more time.  I remember the match lighting and falling out of my hands as the words spilled over me.  Whispering out as it was snuffed by my own blood when it struck that mist covered earth.

It is a curious thing how the details of something remains with you as you are bleeding to death.  It was the look in his eye that I remembered most, and the eye itself.  He, or it, was speaking, but it was that unblinking gaze that I beheld.

I had already seen what giving those pages did.  I still remember it.  It is not like I can forget, either.  I have seen what happens to those who give the smallest of unknown things, the ephemeral nothing, which turns out to be the very definition of everything that we are.  The prize that is greater than gold, than land and power, than nations, than blood, than flesh.  The prize which faiths kill each other over while pleading for, and because of this being, I now know to be a thing which is true, because what it seeks, what all of its kind has ever sought, is that very intangible thing that creates us and is enshrined, and we live to see tarnished in an infinite number of small, cruel and crippling ways.

It wanted my soul.  I spat in his face in reply.  Even when I knew nothing, I knew enough not to say yes to that.  It laughed at me, at my empty defiance.  Even that crude gesture could create no reaction apart from amusement, because my very existence was so far beneath it, mortal and fragile and without the weight of infinite centuries behind it, that I was meaningless.

It was not the last.

I stood at the precipice of a vast chasm and beheld a darkness that moved, that had eyes, that sought to tear a hole in all reality, that if it flowed over the world would crush everything everyone has ever made with uncaring ease.  I have beheld inhuman intellects that played games with the bodies and souls of men and women.  I have offered empty defiance to beings that could have struck the life from me with a gesture, if they could but bother to do so, but instead chose to let me exist longer because they figured that would be worse.

I have been the ant beneath the boot.  I have been the grain of sand beneath the wave.  The leaf before the hurricane.  Things I could not overcome, could not defeat, could not even defy.  Could not outwit, could not do anything, but try and escape.  Nothing but survive.


I survived.  Most of the others did not.  I remember them, as it is all I can do or could have done.  But I survived.


Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #12 on: January 17, 2019, 08:01:14 AM »
Chapter Four – The Manipulations of the Unspeakable.


A Discussion and Examination of the Otherworldly Manifestations of Malice, Madness and Evil, known more simply as Fiends.

Classification (or lack thereof) – the form and mind immutable and infinite.

With all creatures examined in this volume, something that remains common is a similarity of form, physicality and structure.  Each of these creatures have a physicality that brings them closer together, that makes their classification easier.  This is true for all types of therianthrope, of undead, and of other creatures that refuse simplistic classification, but nevertheless belong to a genus of their own.  Not so the case with the fiend, be they lesser or greater.

The sheer variance of their physical forms is quite possibly infinite.  Forms and figures that defy rationality, that should not exist in any sort of physical state and yet do so, in defiance of all that is sane and rational.  I could describe the physical forms – and non physical as well for that matter – of any ten different fiends that I have encountered and describe each in a completely different manner, so violently different in some fashions that it would be considered lunacy to think they are the same manner of horror.  Bat winged and scaled, feminine and sensual but corrupted, withered and shrunken, burning with fire or made of ice – there is no limit to the sheer diversity of these universally hideous creatures.

This degree of variance translates over to their mentalities as well.  Fiends are also utterly varied in their attitude and behaviour towards mortals – one might be as violent and tempestuous as a raging inferno, mindless in its fury and rage, another might be urbane, excellently spoken, even exquisitely courteous – and all the more seductive for it.  Their motivations are not simple to discern either – a fiend may take obscene pleasure in turning a single meaningless soul to a path of darkness as another might revel in the wholesale slaughter of every single living person in its reach.  One may enjoy dominating and controlling a whole society while another would see them all dead and done with.  The result and desire changes, just as much as the form.  The only thing that remains a constant across every single individual without a single variance or change is the malice of each is utterly and entirely absolute.  That the evil of each is so breathtakingly hideous in its scope and complete absolution as to be entirely inhuman.  The absolute worst, vilest and most foul excesses of humanity of the Core – of which we are all of us aware are many, are but pale, weak shades of wretchedness compared to even the most mundane (if such a thing is even possible) of fiends.  The only variation in this foulness is to what sort of wickedness they might lean, some of them being seeming the exemplary focus of each aspect.

Where do they come from?  I could not say for sure.  Individuals claim that they come from different realms, far removed from this one.  Others claim they are a manifestation of the sins of humanoids, given form.  Some say that the different types of fiends are actually in conflict with another, warring with a rage that is beyond the comprehension of any observer.  I could not say.  All I know is, these are the truest monsters in existence, and they are real.  All too real and all too dangerous, more powerful than any threat imaginable, and we, poor wretched things that walk upon the Core, only exist because they have not found a means to destroy each and every one of us – and they do seek that, to the point that their every single thought is bent on it, simply because that is all they could ever understand.  At no point can a fiend even understand what it is to feel mercy, compassion, or the simplest, vaguest hint of empathy for any creature whatsoever.  They have none of these traits and are not simply alien to the knowing of them – it is an impossibility for them to understand them.  They are simply words, with no meaning, and not even the faintest hint of actually existing in their hideous minds, and any such one to whom they do exist is naught but a naοve fool to be taken advantage of and destroyed.

As varied as their forms are, the only thing that appears more widespread and twisted is their abilities.  The power of fiends fluctuates, but whether the application of mayhem is specific or broad, it is safe to say that they are in fact the exemplars of such behaviour.  They have mastery of magic that is frankly unheard of in others, of strange and unnatural methods and use that mortal spellcasters either cannot utilise – or simple do not dare to.  A fiend has no such compunctions.  Power as a tool for malice is the only reason for its existence, and shall be used in such a fashion.

The chaos of their form, their mentality, their motives and their power cast aside, we each time return to the uniting factor of fiends – their evil.  And more than any other creature that one might be so unlucky as to encounter, is it truly and fully palpable.  To stand in the presence of a revealed fiend is to stand in the presence of malice made manifest, and in doing so, it comes with its own unique sensation.

It is difficult to recognise.  To the simplest of observations it is fear, in various levels of intensity.  Sometimes that fear can be drowned out by other emotions – anger, even desire in the case of the more perverse forms, or masked by chemical dulling.  The ease that this might take place depends truly on the sheer power – and presence – of the creature itself.  But when one chooses to examine it deeper, it becomes more complex.

One theorises it is a deeper instinct.  Dredged up out of the subconscious, out of a time and place that the soul itself is born from.  The voice of the self, buried beneath the flesh that cries out in the presence in the predator that can harm it and not the flesh that imprisons us.  It is a like a scratch of a talon within the mind, pushing at the sense of fear, at the idea of self preservation, and above all the cold, gut wrenching realisation of what it is that is before you.  That as much as the mind wishes to reject it, as much as the power of logic and reason and a lifetime of education might try and persuade the individual that such things cannot be, they are as nothing in the face of the truth undeniable; that you stand within the presence of the truly darkest of all predators, who seeks to undo your flesh and your soul both.

No matter what it is you face in terms of the power or physical form, no matter if you believe yourself erroneously in control or in alliance with such a creature, you cannot dismiss the sensation.  Nor can you deny the knowing of what it is you are dealing with.  To look a fiend in the eye is to know, to know it is a fiend, and to have it look back upon you is to know also that if it chooses, it can devote resources and power beyond comprehension to destroy you, body and soul – for no other reason than because it can.

There are some vague similarities in their physicality as well, but they are seldom obvious.  They are resistant to the elements, to magic even though they have extraordinary skill with it, and their physical forms are durable beyond the comprehension of a mortal.  A fiend of slender limb and figure might be struck by a mighty blow wielded by a potent warrior – and it bounces clear without trace, weapon shattered.  Some are so potent that there are but a handful of weapons that might overcome them, if they exist at all.  Others can be cut into to reveal physiological forms that share many similarities – muscle, bone, organs, blood.  Tougher and stronger than mortal forms, but nevertheless similar.   But they do not linger long.  The forms almost always crumble away, wither and fade, even explode and burn away in an instant in some cases except in strange and exceptional circumstances – circumstances I have only heard about and never personally encountered.  Though I have felt fiendish flesh part under my blade, my observations are limited in that they share mortal physiology in the seeming – for I have never been able to examine one in full.

In truth, I wonder if the forms are but a mockery.  That in their rapid or explosive decay they are simply casting off their physical shells – at least for now.  That in time, maybe even a brief time, they shall once again wear flesh to torment those around them once again.  It is said by some, who have no way of substantiating such claims that I have yet discerned, that this is indeed the case.  That no fiend can be truly destroyed, only banished, and that they return in time, by whatever means.

I do hope not.  For eventually that would mean that all the world is overrun, and our already unhappy lives are crushed beneath the immortal weight of the most truly vile entities in all creation.  And we would have no means nor method to stand against it, much less stop it.  But knowing what I know of one individual entity at least, I know of at least one to whom death is no obstacle.  If it is an exception, I do not know.  If it is not, then we have no hope, just an illusion of it.




The Mind Unknown And Unknowable.

This has been referred to already, but it bears reinforcement.  A fiend is a creature that defies comprehension.

This is not to say the goals and desires of a fiend cannot be understood.  While it may be difficult, it can be deduced by its methods and what it itself claims.  The difficulty, and I cannot emphasise enough the danger of it is understanding why they seek such things.

Let me be clearer.  The mortal mind is simply not prepared for such depravity.  They are not ready for such levels of sheer malice, wickedness and outright madness.  To do so, to truly countenance such things, to think as a fiend thinks, to consider things and entities as a fiend does, is to invite oneself to such levels of mental and spiritual corruption as to completely forgo any hope or chance of there ever being any manner of redemption.

To lie without a twinge of conscience, and with such mastery that even the most astute may never unravel the truth.  To turn to violence without hesitation and indeed, with enthusiasm.  To crave mayhem and torment, to inflict it upon the helpless simply because it gives pleasure to the self.  To deceive, to betray, and to be so alienated to the very concept of love or even care for any other thing, that is the merest beginning of what it is to think like a fiend.  To think like that is to either break oneself or to be so broken to begin with that one might not even be mortal at all.

It is, in short, utter insanity.  Even a vampire might know a twisted version of love.  Even a werewolf might form bonds with others.  You can even compare such thoughts to a base creature such as a ghoul, but no.  A fiend has intellect.  Terrible, terrible intellect and focus and knowledge that an animalistic monster is denied, and is unable to bring to bear.  A fiend has an intelligence far beyond that of a mortal and upon every single facet of it there cannot be found even the slightest concept of mercy, or affection, or care.

A fiend's thoughts run to the absolute darkest imaginings that a mortal might contemplate last at the end of their darkest imaginings as their first contemplations.  A fiends thoughts are our worst nightmares, except they have not just the power but the motivation to make them an awful reality.  They have abilities to warp reality, flesh and mind to suit both their desires and their image.  They can make nightmares reality, carve them out of a fearful mind and make them real and terrible.

First hand, I have seen the result of trying to countenance the mind of a fiend, to know what they know and to think how they think.  I have since learned that this was a trap.  The fiend in question was more than glad to let an individual know of its thoughts, to read its words.  It was pleased to do so, because it knew what would come.  We did not, until the one who tried was broken.  Her once brilliant mind was torn apart, and what was left was a whimpering, screaming shell of what she had once been.  She but grazed the surface.  It destroyed her completely.
 
It amused that monster, for it knew now what we did not, and now have learned.  To peer into that level of darkness, of foulness, and soul destroying evil is to cast oneself from the precipice.  You cannot look into the darkness and come out unscathed.  It reaches forth with claws of adamantine and shadows to pull you to its bosom, deeper and ever deeper, and it shall never let you go.  You cannot know the mind of the purest of evil without becoming akin to it.  Some corruptions burn away at the soul, and there is no coming back.




The Powers of the Damned.

Where does one – where can one begin with the ability of the myriad forms of the damned?  Bodies resistant and unnaturally powerful, flight and speed beyond matching, these are known and knowable.  But it in spell and magic that their abilities truly lie, and this is spellcraft that my limited knowledge cannot truly comprehend, for that is not my field of expertise.  But I can surmise the following.

The first law of fiends is, and shall always be thus.  The first rule when dealing with one, is to not speak their name.

Speaking the name of a fiend, wherever it is, it shall hear it.  It will hear it fall from your lips and in so doing, you have created a connection to it.  To speak the name is to invoke the first and lowest of bargains, from which other bargains will eventually follow.  To speak the name of a fiend means that for one year and one day, it may hear everything that you say, if it so chooses.

The danger of this is incredible.  I heard tell of a tale of a person who once spoke the name of one of the Damned aloud.  At some other time, she spoke to her reflection as though by whimsy, and wished for something trivial and small, meaningless and unimportant.  Her reflection came alive, and accepted her bargain.  She was dead in a week.  I have no doubt that her soul is now but a bauble for something unspeakable to keep.

A fiend can move in and out of corporeal reality freely, crossing space and distance instantly with varying degrees of ability.  They can use mirrors as passages between places, or fires, or the earth and air itself transporting themselves through the material as easily as a mortal might breathe.   Distance seems unimportant, and in some cases, it does not need to be real at all.  Tales of mortals in dreams and nightmare where a fiend has come upon them to torment their sleeping consciousness, or strike a terrible bargain with an unaware mind abound.  Preying on us when we are at our most vulnerable and unprepared.  They can communicate telepathically, putting their words and images directly into our thoughts, heal in moments from the rare wounds that they suffer, and speak with such cleverness and guile as to manipulate our very thoughts.

These subtle arts are but fragments to their other abilities, particularly of the more powerful kinds of these entities.  Spells that can shatter earth, sky and time itself come to these greater terrors.  They also have extraordinary resilience – ignoring flames, ice, venoms that would prove lethal to a dozen mortals at once.  They have the ability to ignore magic cast upon them, weapons bounce from their flesh, and they can rend through steel with their claws.  The greater forms are, in short, impossibly strong in combat, able to manifest magical and physical ability that most mortals cannot even comprehend, and with awful ease.  Be it the mind or the body, the fiend can manipulate both, in their desire to shatter the soul.

Dependent upon the fiend – and to this I would suggest this dependency is in fact on an individual basis of the fiend itself – they may exercise their powers discretely, or destructively.  In each instance this use is designed towards their own end and their own achievements, procuring what they so desire.  A discrete use would be subtle, granting boons or changing themselves in a physical sense, or simple manipulation of the mind with the goal of procuring what the fiend desires – the soul of the mortal it seeks, their ultimate prize.  Should the fiend lean towards the use of powers destructively, it either does not care or has no need for such things, and instead seeks to unleash carnage, drawing what it needs from such things instead, whatever that might be – for all that is known, it may well simply be a need and desire for slaughter, an overwhelming and perpetual urge for bloodshed that is beyond what any more mortal or undead being could stomach.  And with their ability to release such being as powerful as it is, with such incredible potency, there is perhaps no more terrible a butcher in all the lands as these unleashed horrors.

Beyond all of this, the most fearsome power of the fiend that I can both attest to and witness, involves the aforementioned bartering of souls.  Unique amongst all foes that one might find themselves in conflict with, the fiend can do something that other creatures cannot do.  The body might be threatened by the habits and hungers of the vile and inhuman, the therianthrope and the undead.  One might even face the damnation of undeath in the course of your struggles.  But only the fiend can take control of your soul.  The fact that this is even possible is terrifying – the fact that it confirms the existence of a soul in itself is horrific in terms of what it potentially means.  And like unto Gods, fiends seek out the souls of innocent and corrupt alike.  For what reason?  Why does the intangible substance that defines us as who we are interest these inhuman entities so?  I do not know.  Maybe it is best that I never do.

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #13 on: January 17, 2019, 08:09:20 AM »
The Manifestation – Summoning and Possession.


How a fiend enters into the world is by one of two different means, either by calling, or by self manifestation.  A calling, otherwise known as ‘Summoning’, is by means of magic and ritual calling out to a fiend where it resides – from what I have learned, a ‘Lower Plane’ or infernal domain, either by general means of calling, or by specifically summoning one forth by its name and a tailored ritual. 

This ritual is incredibly, improbably dangerous.  I shall not in any way put down specifics or even a method to find the means to perform it.  It involves truly foul magic, that even I in my ignorance to the nature of the arcane can find loathsome in its very being.  It is a magic that corrupts the air one breathes, the ground upon which it is performed.  To even mutter the syllables aloud in separation let alone in convergence is to invoke forces of darkness into ones life that will follow the individual to their doom.  If any part of the ritual is wrong – the symbols carved, the lines made, the words spoken – then at the very best, it will fail.  At the very worst, it will release a fiend that has no limitations nor impediments in what it can do, and one can be assured that their first and foremost action will be the horrific, torturous death of the one who dared to call upon it, ending with the soul being torn from the dying body.  One does not call upon the damned without either the utmost insanity or desperation, for a single flaw is all that can stand between damnation immediate – rather than damnation delayed, for damnation is inevitable either way, whatever hubris might say otherwise.

Should the name of the fiend be known, it can be compelled irresistibly to the one who calls it forth, appearing in whatever means that the caller asks for it.  If the fiend is already residing within the world somewhere, this calling can be also be applied, pulling the fiend to the one calling upon it – but I have had evidence in the past that the fiend residing in this world cannot be compelled to appear unless it wishes to be.  This may be the result of imperfect summoning, failing in the means of the ritual or incorrect phrasing.  Or it may be a peculiarity of once a fiend is called forth into this world, that it becomes somehow stronger for it, able to act far more freely.

What is peculiar about such summoning is the reaction to it.  In the few instances I have heard of – or even witnessed – summoning a fiend results either in a complacency or a fury that is almost incomparable.  The complacency is in all likelihood a falsehood, a deception based upon achieving the ultimate goal of the soul of the summoner.  This complacency is most certainly a performance however, for should the fiend ascertain the summoning is imperfect and it is in fact able to do as it wishes, it will respond with abject, outright fury, either at the slight of being summoned by a lowly mortal or for whatever reason its monstrous, alien mind decides.

The complacency itself is entirely a trap.  In this guise, the fiend speaks in a manner that is almost genial, offering conversation that is at odds with its hideous form, making offerings and deals with the summoner.  Wishes are granted and requests obeyed, but remember always that this creature is an absolute and consummate liar, and one that has eternity on its side.  Whatever display of good nature is a falsehood, a deception, an outright lie without comparison as the fiend uses the misplaced trust in itself to get what it wants – the soul or the lapse of the fool who called on it. 

The folly of this form of summoning, is the fact that it is not a permanent binding.  Eventually the fiend will not only be free of the spell cast upon it that summoned it forth, but they will also remain in the realm with the summoner.  Perhaps it will be sent to another land, another place entirely, but that distance is irrelevant.  The fiend knows its summoner now, and walks the same cursed earth that they do.  They can find them, follow them, track them and curse every single thing that the summoner puts their hand to, relentlessly pursuing their destruction.  All fiends summoned to this awful world are bound here forever – the fiend I tested myself against was working expressly to free himself from this place.  His means to remove himself, though it would be truly a blessing to see him gone forever, involved a loss of life on an unimaginable scale – an act it pursued without hesitation or care, indeed instead with outright glee.  I wonder even now if the pursuit was truly for freedom, or for horror.

The second method of manifestation is quite unlike the former, as it is done by the fiend itself rather than a foolhardy mortal.  This is the method of possession.
Possession is when a fiend – choosing a non corporeal form, in a manner akin to a spirit or ghost – finds through some mysterious means a mortal soul that it can bind itself to.  This may be by something so simple as a dreaming mortal whose unconscious self strays into places it should not.  It may be the utterly heinous action of another who through the most malicious of magic binds the pair together, or by curse.  The result of this possession is one of the most abominable descents into depravity that could ever exist in the Core – or anywhere, if I was to be so bold as to suggest it, and knowing what little I know of the realms that Outlanders find themselves from.

The possession is insidious.  At first, the poor soul might have no idea of what has happened, so slight and subtle it is at first.  Dreams turn to darkness, as do thoughts.  A simple change, as the possessed starts doing actions and things that are out of its character.  A child might slaughter the family pet, a person might perform other acts of cruelty and malice with every sign of enjoyment – before their true self realigns itself and they find themselves horrified at what they have done.  With each act the hold of the fiend grows ever stronger, the corruption slithering ever deeper into the soul of the poor, lost creature as the fiend takes more and more control, the occasional flash of wickedness becoming more and more frequent, lies coming easier than honesty, malice and vileness replacing all measure of decency.  This descent grows more and more rapid, the actions of the possessed far more dangerous – murder and depravity following steadily.

The unfortunate, as their soul is blackened further by the corruption they are subjected to, starts to change physically as the mental and spiritual changes become more pronounced.  The body shifting, becoming less and less humanoid.  Aspects turning to fiendish mockery of the pureness that had once been – eyes slitted like a cat or with the pupil of a goat, talons and fangs replacing fingers and teeth.  Forked tongues, blackened blood.  Even scales, tails, or wings coming forth as the body of the individual starts to reflect the damnation rotting them from the inside out.  This possession continues, the soul who once controlled the body growing smaller, and smaller, until it is devoured by the creature that now wears its flesh.  Eventually, the fiend takes control of the body entirely, and is fully and completely part of the world which the rest of us inhabit – except now, it cannot be cast out by magic, spell, or ritual.  Unless it is destroyed – a staggeringly difficult task – it will remain, spreading corruption, evil, and even having other mortals possessed by its will, a walking blight upon the world that destroys all it touches or even draws near to.

Be it possession, or summoning – a fiend remains here amongst us.  Wearing flesh that is not theirs, able to change themselves to appear as we do.  Hunting us and haunting us, and more powerful by far than any of us.  Even the least of them is beyond awful.  The sheer fact that individuals call them here staggers me – and yet, they do.  For power, for promises, or sheer, outright madness, these beings walk amongst us, by the hand of our fellow mortals, people who are outright determined to destroy themselves completely and utterly, for reasons of insanity that are beyond my knowing to comprehend.  And by the sheer cursed luck of others, who know not what they are becoming until it is too late.  If ever there was proof that there is no such thing as righteousness in this land, it is clear to see in the awful fate of the possessed.  Such a damnation is something I would not wish upon my most hated foe.


The Perils and Promises – Bargains and contracts.

Though it is a folly of the utmost order, the reason for interaction between most fiends and mortals is for those who either seek the quickest path to get their desires – or those who believe, rightly or wrongly, that they have no other alternative and are driven to a point of desperation that they will bargain their existence for whatever reason.

Whichever the case might be, the individual shall be either contacted by the infernal being, or they shall seek them out themselves by means of a summoning.  The former case is the less likely, but does take place – and it is seldom by coincidence that this individual who is sought out is usually one of the more desperate individuals, willing to throw all they have into the bargain, which shall be elaborated upon further later.

The bargain itself can be struck in a myriad of ways, which are strangely varied but nevertheless remain powerfully and potently binding despite that.  There is evidence of the flimsiest of bargains being struck by accident, with nothing but word binding the supplicant.  Then there are contracts, written upon pages, lined with legal minutiae and signed with blood.  In other instances, brands marking the seal of the contract are made – often in the flesh of the one who struck the deal.  In other instances the fiend might take something from the supplicant – hair, or blood, or even a piece of flesh – cut from the body, or a finger or toe, perhaps an eye or even the tongue, removed in an excruciatingly painful manner, for the fiend would tolerate nothing less.  They may even seal the deal with their own fiendish blood, consumed by the madmen who would accept such – a contract that may well end then and there as that poison burns them alive from the inside.

In either case, once made, the contract is perpetual.  There is no breaking it nor escaping it.  If there is, it is so far beyond recorded knowledge that to happen upon it would be sheer chance and thus as far out of reach as to be impossible.  Should the contract be physical and be destroyed, it shall either reform or the destruction shall be taken as a termination of the contract, in which case the debt shall be immediately called in, with the death of the one who made it.  A contract made often lasts until death as well, and that death shall be permanent.  It is no secret that there is magic that can call a body back to life after it has died – indeed, in some cases it is commonly employed, despite theories of the damage this does to the spirit and body both in subtle ways – but such is not possible in the case of those whom have made a contract.  Upon death, the fiend claims its bargain, completely and utterly, and I can personally and fully attest – that there is no undoing it once it has happened.  That soul is forever out of reach of God or man, and doomed forever to the Hell that they paid for.

And what is that they ask, for this eternity?  Sometimes it can be the smallest thing, but often times it is a matter of perspective.  Riches and power are the simplest requests, made by those usually of enough hubris to believe that they can avoid the cost.  Sometimes it is the love of another, or for a wish to come true.  Sometimes it is even selfless, to save the life of another, or several others.  Sometimes it is to make the impossible, to bring back a lost loved one, to undo a curse – or to inflict one.

It is indicative of the sheer power of a fiend that these wishes, usually whatever they might be, are then obliged.  The raw power of a fiend is best demonstrated by the vastness of their capability in granting the impossible to take place.  Youth restored, foes defeated, all dreams made to come true, truly a vast array of gifts can be asked for and granted, all for the seemingly insignificant cost of a soul.  I would hazard that as there are variants of fiend and they have a seeming as wide a discordance of power and ability, that only a few can make such extreme changes – but the fact is that they do exist, and they can grant the supplicant whatever they might wish.

Truly, it is ignorance that leads these poor, doomed fools to think that it will be as simple as that.  They forget what it is that they are dealing with, they forget that the malice that are incarnate of is, in every way, utterly without limit.

Earlier it was referenced that a fiend might seek out a soul of one who is so desperate that when given the offer, they shall choose to accept it, seeing no other way out of the predicament they shall find themselves in.  They are then lifted out of the despair they were cast into, and this might last years, maybe even until the end of their life.  But perhaps gradually, something shall be eventually made clear to them.

The architect of their ruin in the first place, was the very creature whom they struck a bargain with.  Either directly or subtly, clever or overt.  Fiends thrive on malice.  On destroying lives, and bringing them to the deepest depths of despair, out of sheer amusement and because they can actively profit from it.  It should never surprise anyone that they would then complete the ruin by claiming the soul of whatever poor creature they directed their endless malignance upon.

There are fiends who can take on the appearance of beautiful mortals, who go out of their way to entice otherwise devoted, good hearted and loving spouses into betrayal, a deepening betrayal and spiral, using spells and other supernatural charms to tempt and lure their victim into the most utterly forbidden of trysts.  These poor, lost and lovestruck fools, drowned in supernatural lust, then bring about the death of their own loved ones to prove their devotion to the fiend, often as a term of the contract which puts fiend and victim ‘together forever’.  It does so.  Upon the contract being completed with the death of the innocent spouse, the addled victim is slain by their ‘love’, and the soul claimed – just as is written, forever.  They could choose those who are not claimed by another, but to do so would be either too easy, or simply would not be as cruel and spiteful.  Given a choice the fiend will choose the darkest option.

What has been witnessed personally, and more than once, is what I choose the call ‘The Malignance.’  The Malignance is in reference to the wish being granted to the supplicant – but finding gradually or swiftly that their bargain struck has a rotted, blasphemous heart.  A person may wish to be granted the inheritance due to them – and find that their entire bloodline dies the instant the bargain is struck, giving them what they believed they wanted while removing all that they held truly dear.  A loved one might be returned to life – but have no knowing of who the person was that brought them back, or be returned in body only, or as a wicked illusion masquerading instead – indeed, it may even be that they are simply a fiend wearing the appearance of the one lost, taking time to make the lie ever more cruel.  Things that could go wrong, will go wrong, worst possible outcomes that could not even be contemplated take place.  All will be given to the supplicant that they ask for, but it shall wither and fade, rotting and falling through their fingers as they desperately clutch at it, reminded at every turn what they have asked for and gradually driven ever more mad and desperate as they realise that while the contract has been upheld, the one that made it not only never had their best interests in mind, but actively and gleefully pursues their undoing to the point of outright annihilation.  At no point is a fiend ever compelled to tell the truth.  At no point is a fiend ever compelled to play at the game the mortal has thrown themselves into with anything remotely resembling fairness.  It is abject folly, hubris or desperation that ever creates the illusion thus, the belief that the fiend has anything less than the destruction of the one who called upon it at the forefront of their mind.  And yet, mortals yield the very fabric of themselves to these creatures.  I can only supposition that it is ignorance on the behalf of some – and outright, inexcusable idiocy on the behalf of others to the point of madness, yet it exists.

And the fact it exists is why these awful events happen at all.  The belief that the fiend might be outwitted, outmanoeuvred, defeated.  The belief that a mere mortal can contend with an immortal, infernal being with millennia of malice behind it.  That can track that mortals every move, can know their thought and plans before they do, that can influence the world around them to their undoing as easily as drawing breath.  Belief, which while it may be a powerful thing is sometimes all too helpless before the crushing weight of reality.  That reality is this – no contract made can be escaped.  No fiend will ever let the requested terms be without unforeseen cost.  And no contract is ever truly worth it, nor to the satisfaction of the one that made it – each is a poisoned cup, that the bound supplicant is forced to drink from until they choke.

For one whom is exhausted of my continual elaboration of this point, I shall make it emboldened and clear now, so if nothing else they shall remember this.

MAKE NO DEAL WITH A FIEND.

It is already too late for most.  But maybe some will heed this warning.  If it is even one, it will be enough.



Protection, Warding, Exorcism.

It has been spoken of extensively thus far of the power and abilities of fiends, and the vastness of them.  This examination has gone on and it is at this point fair to think that there is little to be done against them.  However, for all their strength they are not invulnerable – nor are they unstoppable.  For their very otherworldly nature dictates that they can in fact be fought against, but not in the truly conventional means.

For all their power, there are means and ways to control, contain, ward and even banish fiends.  Due to the fact that they are unworldly entities, even while summoned thus to this realm they are never truly a part of this world.  They corrupt it, and change it, and they may warp it around them, but they are not ‘of’ it, and thus they can be warded against.

Salt, bone, blood, iron and silver.  By these five materials a fiend may be either bound, or warded against.  Each of these materials carry with them both fundamentals of the material world and seemingly, the essence of the immaterial.  Blood and bone are fundamentals of the flesh of the living, the very thing that all life derives from in one fashion or another.  Salt, as the barrier that makes water undrinkable, that pours from our very skin with water as we wither under duress.  Iron, which also is of our blood, the fundamental that makes it turn red as iron turns red as it rusts.  Each then of these four materials come from the body in some fashion, and thus have a connection to the immaterial by the very immaterial that dwells within us, our very soul, the very thing these creatures seek to corrupt and steal for themselves, and perhaps also our only defense as well.  Lastly, there is silver, the noble metal that is the bane of the accursed.  As it is for the werewolf, so it is for the fiend – silver burns them, harming their flesh.  Whether or not they react to it is another thing, but I know that the correct symbol made in these materials can keep them at bay.

A pouch of powdered silver, salt, blood or ash, and bone, with symbols woven to Ezrite and Halan effigies of exorcism and banishment placed upon the person or beneath the pillow will prevent a fiend from invading ones own dreams.  To surround oneself in a circle of salt will stop a fiend hearing your words spoken, as long as the circle is unbroken.  To keep a handful of salt in ones hand, if it grows hot it can indicate a fiend is near – but holy symbols wrought of silver, containing a vial of powdered iron and human bone from a holy person willing given for preference, can also warn a wearer of the presence of a fiend – once again, growing hot to the touch.  The degree of heat can also indicate just how strong the fiend is in its abilities – should the symbol grow too hot to touch, or even melt, then it is likely too late to flee.

Much of the rituals of protection are religious in origin.  Be it for whatever reason, a fiend can be warded by these rituals.  Symbols linked to the faith etched into ones very skin can hide a person from their sight should they seek to behold you over distances, giving one a chance to avoid them – but, only a chance.

For that is all it is.  A circle following the correct rituals that is placed upon the ground can contain a fiend – often used as a part of the summoning, and thus I shall not make a record of it here – will contain the fiend for a time, while the will of the summoner and etcher remains, but it must be, in every sense and fashion, perfect.  If it is not, the fiend will ignore it and destruction shall inevitably follow.  But even if it is, the surest and strongest method of containing the fiend, it is but a stop gap measure, a temporary one that will at best slow the creature down, while at the same time making it singularly and painfully aware of your own existence.

All of the measures given are simple methods to ward a fiend.  More complex and powerful methods exist, but not without cost – cost that cannot be paid lightly.  But a fiend can, and will, overcome them, depending on the degree of its own power.  A small, insignificant imp might be cast away by a cloud of iron shavings or salt, but a stronger more powerful fiend will stride through it heedless in its desire to tear you apart.  Nothing shall stop a truly potent fiend for long, not if it is in fact determined to reach you.  There are measures to slow them down, there are means to stop them drawing close, but they each require material, foresight, and above all, will.  Should that will falter, the fiend shall overcome them all as easily as one might open an unlocked door.  Nothing can protect you forever, not from one that has eternity and near infinite power to pursue you.

The second method of warding is the ritual of banishment, as noted primarily in the texts of Ezra.  This ritual, which involves use of holy relics, spells and holy rites, is the only method with which an individual possessed by a fiend might be saved from their fate. 

An afflicted must be kept contained within a ritual circle made of the five materials – typically, chains of iron, a holy symbol of silver, and a circle of salt and bone will suffice, the blood of the afflicted being the last piece – but this is not always the case.  Holy water, blessed by a priest as well as sacred oils are also important – the afflicted must be bathed and anointed in such.

Of course, it is not so simple as it seems.  For a start, the possessed are universally inhumanly strong, often possessed of otherworldly abilities.  Secondly, to begin the exorcism will force the possessing the fiend to exert its will without regard, as it no longer has need to hide its presence.  This will both hasten the change and empower the fiend as it no longer has reason to hold its power back.  At the very least, they will rail against their imprisonment.  At worst they will test themselves against it and find it insufficient, at which point mayhem and death will ensue.  The fiend will fight back against any and all attempt to prepare it for such rituals, which are both complex and fragile in an attempt to disrupt them.

In this guise, the possessed will be extremely difficult to deal with, particularly verbally.  Never forget that they are the perfect representation of falsehood as well as malice.  The possessed will lie, falsify, and insinuate.  They will erode the confidence and will of those who have them imprisoned, seek to seduce them into weakness, or relenting.  They will pretend to be the person that they have controlled, use secret knowledge of intimacy against those who entrap them.  They will attack the faith of those who seek to cast them out, speaking words in just the right way to attack the fears and doubts of such people.

The reason for this is simple.  In the end, while there are rituals in near every faith that might cast a fiend out of the person it has bound itself to, an exorcism cannot be successful unless the one who performs it is of true, pure and unwavering faith.  There are no simple words that will perform the job, and even spells that can normally banish a fiend will fail.  The binding to a living person gives the fiend a power it would not normally have, empowered by the flesh it has stolen.  Thus, when one of faith casts a fiend from a body, they enter into a contest of will with the fiend – a will that the fiend will do all it can to unsettle or break.

There are few who can exercise this will.  Maybe a handful of people in all the Core whom I would trust to have the strength of spirit and belief that would cast a fiend out of the flesh of another.  A contest of will between a mortal and a fiend cannot be successful without the weight of their faith behind them to empower them and guide them, and for that to be the case, that belief must be unwavering.  Even if it is successful, and by some mighty blessing the fiend is forced to depart the flesh of the possessed, two awful results are all but certain.  The first, is that the possessed shall likely die, or be driven mad.  If the fiend can kill its host before it is forced out, it shall do so out of pure spite.  If they somehow survive, by sheer chance, as I spoke earlier on the dangers of being exposed to the mind of a fiend, so too would it be the case here.  After sharing their thoughts and body with such a vile entity, for however long, the victim shall be marked by it not just in body but in the mind and soul.  The sheer trauma of so horrible an incident is enough to drive even the strongest of wills to outright despair, suicide and madness.  There are no chances of a clean break from such an awful union.  There are no happy endings to these stories.

Worse, when the fiend is cast out of the body, it is not destroyed – no, it will pass into a non corporeal form once more, and often times the first thing that it will then seek is a new host to attach itself to.  Hideously, the first target is often the one who managed to cast it from its prison, taking advantage of that individuals weakness after what is surely an awful struggle.  After all, what would make one of these vile beings happier, than to corrupt the very person that defeated them, however temporarily?  Who better to turn to the dark, and to bring others down also, than the beacon of light who tried to shine a light on their overwhelming darkness?

If by some strength of will that is hard to imagine, that person resists, it may mean little.  The fiend shall not be destroyed.  It may be truly banished, by capturing it and casting it into the void.  But destroyed?  No.  It shall return.  It may return decades or centuries later, to seek out the bloodline of the one who defeated it.  For these beings are as infinite in patience as they are in malice.  They have eternity.
« Last Edit: May 13, 2019, 10:26:57 AM by Nemesis 24 »

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #14 on: January 17, 2019, 08:13:20 AM »
The Spread of Corruption, and The Fall.


To be aware of a fiend is almost as dangerous as being in contact with one.  However, ignorance will also not save you – if they turn their attention towards an individual who interferes, be they knowing or not the retribution will be merciless.  But awareness will at least grant the individual the means to nominally prepare themselves for what it is that they are going to face.

When the hand of a fiend is present in the world around you, there are clues and indications towards this fact, be it in the form of a bargain, or a possession.  In each instance, the circumstances will change, but similarities will yet remain.  The crucial differences can be noted in the individual case, but to be truly aware one must ascertain the true nature of what it is they are up against.

Keep in mind, this speaks only of fiends of contract or possession.  There are others – others who do not bother to deal in such ‘pleasantries’ and instead operate according to a far more destructive regimen instead.  It is no secret that beings such the one that destroyed the village of Creeana in Darkon some two hundred years past, a creature I shall not even write the pseudonym for, exist – a destructive force that haunts the Core possibly even now, inflicting wholesale slaughter for seemingly no reason other than its own sadistic pleasure.  It is not the only one – stories come and go of beings that can only be fiends that operate purely to exercise mayhem, beasts of butcher and unstoppable slaughter.  For whatever reason, these beings are neither interested in nor troubled by contract nor possession, leading to questions as to why – have they already achieved some goal that leaves them reckless, heedless of destruction?  I have seen what it takes to stop a truly overwhelmingly powerful fiend, and it is nothing short of horrific, and beyond mortal ability.  If a fiend can reach a point that such is what it would take to stop it, then beings such as this would be one of them – and it may well be that this state of existence is what drives others of its kind, a state that they can reach through their nefarious deeds.

This ‘Butcher of Creeana,’ as I have chosen to name it for now, exhibits the ability to corrupt the world around it.  Its very presence destroyed plant life, withering it around it.  It also seemingly warped the very world itself, changing the weather in its presence into a swirling fog, which followed it wherever it goes.  It has appeared in record time and time again, and each time evidence of this corruption – primarily of outright decay, but there is also evidence of madness in animals and other creatures – has appeared with it.  The presence of a fiend causes all manner of hideous manifestations in its vicinity, the range that this can spread to seemingly varies upon the power and evil of the fiend itself.

A fiend can unhallow holy ground by its very presence, violating blessed places such as temples by standing within them.  Other hideous phenomenon, and far more dangerous, include the dead rising under their own power from their graves, in physical and spiritual form, driven by rage and evil to return to their loved ones to slay them.  Water turns brackish, or to blood or even acid.  Crops and food rot from disease or from plagues of insects, livestock falls dead in the fields without a sound, leading to starvation and famine.  Rains of blood, burning water and poison, and the earth itself can split asunder, swallowing up the unwary or spewing forth noxious gases and flames.  Forests turn to dead rotting swamps, the air becomes thick with the noxious odours of brimstone, the dreams of people turn to nightmares that they cannot wake from, full of the most vile imagery that they could never normally contemplate, as the hideous mind of the fiend infects their sleeping hours.  These phenomena can either indicate the presence of a fiend – or prophesise their imminent coming.  A powerful fiend manifesting into the world heralds its arrival in this manner, the mere promise of its coming enough to warp the world as the barriers between our reality and whatever awful existence they come from grows thin as it tears its way into existence amongst us.

When an individual is possessed, it has already been mentioned that the body of the possessed starts to transform – taking on aspects of the creature that has bound itself to them.  They might hide this transformation with magic of illusion and seeming that will hide such, except to the trained eye – an eye that might notice odd blurring around features, such as one might see on a hot summers day rising off metal or stone.  But there are more physical markers that can yet be detected, many of which have already been mentioned above, but a fiend wearing the flesh of a mortal in possession shall attempt to conceal much of these signs.  This is for both reasons to act more freely and to hide itself until it is fully manifested – and because its power is, by measure of its possession, somewhat muted.  The phenomena however will grow more and more apparent, following the possessed where they go, as birds fall dead from the sky around them, the sun is made muted and dark, and all turns ever towards red ruin.

There are more subtle indicators.  A possessed individual will often use either trickery of spellcraft and mesmerism to control the mind of those around them to hide its presence, rather than sheer illusion.  People close to the possessed will act differently – often stiff, wooden, or wearing smiles that don’t reach their eyes and with a strangely fixed quality.  Suppressed by the will of the fiend, they will protect the possessed out of dark compulsion, knowing full well what it is but helpless to act under their own power.  They may repeat phrases to specific questions under this compulsion, acting as directed rather than as they will, usually to reassure others that all is well (when it very clearly is not).

The possessed individual themselves will also change in personality, and shall do so dramatically.  Their behaviour shall turn to guile, cruelty, malice, and even seductive in a manner that will be completely out of character for them.  Knowing that fiends of such kind have a predilection towards choosing those of an innocent nature, this is an exceptionally vile thing to do – an innocent will find themselves doing utterly dreadful acts, such as the mutilation of animals, murder of friends and other terrible acts, while unable to stop themselves.  The fiend, subtle as it is, impresses onto the victim that the action was their own, driving them towards madness as well as making them further vulnerable to the deepening strength of the possession.  The lasting mark of insanity grows deeper with every act, as does the power of the bond, and the fiend will not hesitate to pursue it to its utmost as quickly as it can.

In the case of a contract, the mark of a fiend is much more difficult to ascertain.  A fiend of bargains and contracts remains removed from the direct confrontations, at least nominally, and the mark of supernatural corruption is difficult to see.

What can be seen however is what happens to, around and because of the contracted individual.  As has been noted, this is something that often times takes place at the end of a period of extended bad luck and despair, followed by a sharp, seemingly impossible upturn in fortunes, before a steady and terrible decline.
An individual whose health has been declining for years to a wasting illness might suddenly come into full health, their youth and power restored inexplicably, their wealth sudden as is their presence, an unearthly charisma following them that captures the attention of all who witness them.  This might be whispered and rumoured of as an extraordinary change of fortune, but one that shall not be explained by the individual themselves, whom always manages a way to bypass the issue.  But this state of seeming perfection is but a ruse, and shall not last long – just enough, that the loss of it shall prove all the more bitter.

In the example above, the family of the ‘blessed’ may find themselves struck down by the very illness they avoided, dying while he cannot save them.  The very things they sought to protect will turn to ashes, their ventures fail.  All too late, they will learn what they truly valued, and will be driven to a state far lower than the one they found themselves in.  Or worse still, they themselves might change, losing something they cannot even identify further, the very essence of themselves as the corruption of the bargain struck changes them into something that those close to them cannot even recognise – a lesser reflection of the fiend that accepted their bargain, not even aware of what they are becoming as the bargain struck corrupts them.

This is the Fall, the Malignancy.  The ultimate destruction of an individual, in the manner of completeness that only a truly malefic fiend can manage.  Subtle, hard to spot from the outside, at least until it is too late.  Truly the most doomed in most instances are those that are close to those bound by the bargain, for above all else, the bound individual will not be the only one to tumble into the pit that awaits them.

The Malignancy is at its most awful not in what it does to the afflicted, but what it does to those around them.  The ones that they care about, the ones that they love, and whom love them in turn.  All of them, simple marks for the pleasure of the fiend, who shall turn their attachments against them, shall transform their bonds into their weaknesses instead.  For what better than to claim than one soul, than several?

One cannot begin to elaborate just how complex and malicious the plot of a fiend can be.  I have witnessed bargains struck to counter the bargains made of others, bargains struck to save others who have made bargains of their own.  I have beheld the utter insane folly of such prices paid, to witness these reckless fools reach out to drag those close to them to damnation in a mad, pointless plan to somehow try and gain advantage over the laughing dog faced fiend that played all of them for the fools that they were.  One soul, another, and another, and another, and probably more still that I did not witness dragged down together into damnation, because each of them tried to save the other, and all of them failed.

This is what makes the contract bound possibly even more dangerous than the possessed.  Once one is bound to a fiend, everyone around them is in danger, both physical and spiritual.  Perhaps the contract bound has a change of heart.  False hope of salvation, desperation, lies and outright deceit combine so that the individual who damned themselves, realising their folly, tries to involve others in their pointless attempt to save themselves.  It will fail, but the fiend will entertain it, because it will drag more poor fools into its net.  The contract cannot be broken, nor altered.  The damnation is assured.  But the poor fool will bring those they love with them, because they are too terrified or simply desperate to admit it.

Almost as bad, save that there is less chance of the soul being taken into damnation, is the simple fact that those close to the bound will be killed by accident, happenstance or fate – all of which is actually machinations of the fiend themselves, twisting the cords of chance to bring about the worst possible outcomes.  Following the letter of the contract exactly but never the spirit of it, the fiend understands that the contract is simply a thing to take advantage of to its own ends, even if the bound does not.  A wretch caught in such a situation as this will see loved ones die, ventures fail, newfound fortune turn to ashes, as the fiend shall follow and curse every single action they take.  When luck is most needed, it will invariably and inevitably turn foul.  Doom is inevitable.  All that changes is the manner and the length of the fall.  The Malignancy claims all that it comes to, in the end.


Conclusion.

Should a fiend cross path with you, do not come to this volume seeking words of hope.  There are none.  To countenance a fiend is to walk the path of doom.  To be possessed by one is to be dragged swiftly or slowly into madness, damnation, or both.  To enter into a bargain with one is to fling yourself to that ending, but not before chaining others to take the fall with you.  There is no hope, there is no light at the end of the tunnel, and there is no salvation.  Nothing is coming to save you.  But you may yet survive, for a while.

The methods of warding the fiend may keep its eye from you.  Or perhaps you shall do as I, and speak nothing for a year and a day after making the mistake of speaking a name you should not.  If all else fails, then you must harden your heart, and your hand.  In the end, your only salvation will be yourself, and your own strength.  Faith may guide you, granting you greater power than others, or it may be a strength of will from another fashion.  A blade in your hand, wielded with skill and force, and bound and wrapped with blessings and spell can give you an edge, but remember always you will be outmatched.  Your opponent is immortal, ageless, and has no desire nor reason to play fairly.  They will find your weaknesses and exploit them.  Whatever vulnerabilities you might have, they will learn.  You are fighting a battle against an enemy that is stronger, smarter, crueller and more wicked than you will ever be.  It will know every move as you make it, it will have counters and plans in place that you will not see coming, and if you hesitate for but a moment, you will fail.

Be sure.  Be true.  Be brave, for it is you and you alone that will decide if you live or die.  But most of all understand that you will simply survive.  If the fiend turns its attention from you, to something else, pray that it forgets you.  Hope that it will not come after you again.  Remember that dead eyed stare and cruel malice that beheld you in every action you do for all your life afterwards, and remember – your soul is real, it is true, and there are things that would take it from you, if you let them. 

Gods help me, I hope I never see that look again.  I hope I never falter.  I hope, though I have no reason to have any, but it is all that remains, even if it is but the hope of a fool. 

I hope.


Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #15 on: January 21, 2019, 07:31:59 AM »
Remembering Ruin.

I am reminded each time that I fight, and each time I train someone how to fight, of the usefulness of hatred.  That I am not fighting, nor teaching fighting, but killing, and for that, to kill, one requires hatred.

Hatred as a weapon, a means to an end, a method.  Hatred, controlled, focused and guided.  It is this that allows me to kill without hesitation, it is this that allows me to kill without regret.  It is what I was taught and what I learned all too well, to take that burning sensation in the pit of my stomach, fuelled by all that has come before and make it my guide in the field of war and bloodshed.

However, I am not blind to the dangers of such.  I am not ignorant to the fact that such hatred consumes the one who bears it, if is it not controlled.  Controlled, contained, and brought forth when it is needed.  Outside of that, it can consume you.  I understand this, I recognise it, but yet it changes not the fact that I struggle against that very hatred consuming all that I am, while I yet make it my means of survival, and my weapon.

In the name of hatred, I have done terrible things.  In the name of hatred, I have survived.  In the name of hatred, I have killed again and again, until the scent of blood grew so thick that I could no longer smell anything else, for days on end.  And in the quiet afterwards, when all else is gone, I have looked back on what I have done and known nothing but shame.  But I have survived.  It has kept me alive, when nothing else would, and when I had nothing in all the world – and no one.  It has driven me on when all else was gone.  It taught me to walk again when my body was shattered, it taught me to speak again when my face would not move as I wished it.  It remade me when I was broken, but I must look back and forward both and ask myself – what was it that it has wrought?

I ask this question because I have seen what hatred can do to the dead.  Of all the emotions that can embody the dead, hatred is the only one that can bring them back from death.  For hatreds sake, the dead return to their flesh, becoming something less than what they were and more a personification of the hatred they feel.  I have seen beings of black eyes and palid white flesh, malice and rage in their eyes which seemed to suck in all light, teeth bared amid lipless fury.  Reaching out mindlessly for the life that is present in all else but denied to them, that they might rip it from those who live to use it to fill the endless hole within themselves.  Malice, maybe, rather than hatred, a hatred born of envy, but perhaps simply a formless, unfocused hatred.

And then, there is the focused hatred.  The righteous hatred of the one who seeks vengeance.  The sort of hatred that can bring a spirit back to flesh so that it might hunt down the one who wronged it.  A hatred so intense it infects the world around it.  A hatred so full that it leaks out into others and drives them mad with fury, tearing at each other as this creature, this embodiment of vengeance and hatred, walks through any and all obstacles in its path with inexorable power to seek the one who would satisfy its wrath, with their death.  Not even the destruction of its body would stop it, as each time it was struck down, it would return again, unyielding in its quest.

I witnessed this being, fought against it.  I fought against it, as others who fought at my side were overcome with the sheer aura of hatred that surrounded it.  I faced it down, as I felt that hatred wash over me, and yet in that moment it did not drive me to madness.  At that time and in that place I did not have time to think upon it, did not have time to consider it.  I was in the battle of my life against an enemy that would not stay dead, that would return each time it was struck down stronger than before, all in the name of the hatred that filled it.

Afterwards, when the damage was done and the battle was over, I wondered why I, near alone amongst so many others, was not overcome by that hatred that exuded from it.  I saw people overcome with fury turn on each other and themselves, unable to control themselves.  I felt it myself, and yet I did not lose myself to the frenzy.

I look about myself now, and I know all too well.  I look at my life, at what it has become.  For I am alone.  I have once again pushed those in my life away.  I have once again let my hatred rule me.  And the hope I had to replace the hatred in my heart with something else, something better, is now gone.

The reason why the hatred of that being did not overcome me, was because its hatred could not overcome my own.  It could not find a foothold in my heart because my rage would not allow it, a bulwark against the wrath of another.  My defense, and my weapon.

But I look at the place where another used to be, and it is empty.  I look within my heart, and there is nothing there but the echoing.  Because I know now, that my hope, my wish, was wrong.  My desire to be something else was a foolishness.  We are what we are, what we choose to be, and what is chosen for us.  My path was chosen for me long ago, but when I die, what will I become?

I have long answered the question for myself, what I would do if I was infected by one of the curses that forms a monster from a man.  If my will was my own, I would end my existence.  I would not be so much of a hypocrite as to be anything else or less.  If I am to be made a beast, then I will end my life in the manner of a man.

But the dead such as these are shades of what once was.  They do not have will of their own as it was when they lived, only echoes of it.  So I must ask myself, if this is what waits for me, can I even stop it?  Could I have ever done so?

What waits for me, at the end of my road?  How quickly do I approach the end?  I do not know.  And perhaps I do not wish to.  Perhaps all I have is what is before me now, one step at a time.


One step at a time.  But now I must take them alone.  And now, alone, I have forgotten how.
« Last Edit: January 21, 2019, 09:09:45 AM by Nemesis 24 »

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #16 on: June 10, 2019, 07:31:53 AM »
Chapter 5:  The Malicious Dead.

An analysis in two parts upon undead of a singularly hateful nature, and the discussion of the similarities and differences of their manifestations.

Part One – The Wight.


Classification.

Earlier in this volume, there was a chapter whereupon we explored the threat and dangers of the base forms of undead.  These beings driven by mindless command, unthinking savagery and endless, abominable hunger make up the bulk of the animated corpses that are found in our unhappy existence, but unfortunately, they are by far the lesser dangers.

There are other creatures of a far more dangerous type, that share the similarity of other undead – that they are creatures born from the remains of those who were once living themselves, that they are empowered and strengthened by the very essence of death itself, and that they are the enemy of living things.  But as we explore these stronger creatures, we also find evidence of a terrible, malicious intellect, that while driven in different ways, bears a striking resemblance due to the emotion that it is born from, a deep abiding anger.  The nature of that anger is both dependent upon and involved in the creation of these specific types.


The first of these variants, these malicious entities, is the undead creature known as a wight.

A wight is a type of undead driven by a spiteful, vicious hatred of life, a life that it both hungers for and also despises.  With a touch it can suck the life out of a victim, dragging it out of the unfortunate and into themselves and the bottomless seeming pit of their own hunger.  They draw no true sustenance from this like a vampire would or a ghoul would upon flesh, and yet they have a need if not a desire to do so – if for no other reason than to take it from those that have it.  This wretched malice is both the defining of the wight and the very reason for its creation. 

The formation of a wight is via four specific methods, but each of them have a common theme based upon the emotion prevailing at both time of death, and in the general life of the individual; the emotion of hatred.  The first method, is an individual who has lived an especially hateful, spiteful life who perishes in a brutal manner, and then is interred in a place of excessive deathly resonance – a cursed battlefield, a tomb full of other undead – can return back to existence as a wight.  A wight can also be created by others of its kind – an individual slain by the life draining touch of a wight will, if not properly buried or burned and purified, will rise back to life before long as a wight themselves.

In both of these instances, the wight shall very seldom have much of its original self remaining.  Be it from the trauma of its creation, the passage unto death, these manner of wights are but reflections of who they once were.  The worst example of the self, driven not by reason and rationality, but hatred and spite, and a furious envy of the life that others have, life that is now denied to it.  Very little of the individual whom they once were remains in such an instance, if anything at all, and they shall turn on friends and loved ones with the same ferocity that they shall turn on strangers.  There are exceptions to this however, as there are in most things – on occasion, particularly if the wight gave up its mortal life in a moment of excessive spite and rage, it shall return with more of who it originally was than most.  This sort of wight shall possess much of the skills, strengths and knowledge that it once held, but it is a memory focused under a hateful lens.  What it had it will now turn to darkness, and cruelty, and those from its life before shall likely be the first targets of its now loathsome existence, objects of its envy and hatred as those that lived while it did not.  As for friends and loved ones, of such wights that return with much of who they were intact – if there even are such things, the wight will treat them as they treat all living things – as hated adversaries and objects of spite.  A wight’s hatred of living things is absolute, regardless of what they might have meant to them before.

Otherwise, the creation of a wight is by the will of another; that will being via necromantic ritual and spell to create the wight from a corpse.  The method of this creation is obscure – it may well simply be a completion of the previous noted method of a wight, that the individual in question lived a truly vile life beforehand and thus, by violation through the wicked magic of necromancy, it rose again as a wight.  Or, it may well be that the individual did not die in the circumstances of living an evil life, and instead had the malice inherent in wights instilled into them instead.  I am inclined to believe it is not the latter case; one might say that the frequency of wights means that this is unlikely, but having dwelt in the world long as I have, I would declare such folly.  There are many living now even as one writes, and beyond, that could and likely shall rise again as this damned creature on their death.

The last method of creation is the darkest, and one of the rarest.  I have encountered it but once.  This method is that of a curse, delivered by another.  The method of that curse may vary – in the instance I knew of, a vengeful father to be, denied their child, took it upon themselves to tear the heart from the chest of the one who had taken the life of the unborn infant.  They had then marked the heart, and kept it – the woman in question was already, from what could be understood, a wicked lived creature, full of envy and hatred, and they soon rose again as a wight of terrible malice and exceptional power also.  The hole in their chest remained, still bloody, as the cursed individual sucked the life from others with a touch.  Hideously, some semblance of the person they had been remained, though it gradually and rapidly devolved into growing insanity and primal instincts.  This curse remained and empowered the creature, seeking its heart returned to itself – I do not know if it ever happened.  I do not know if the creature was even destroyed. 

A curse made wight is no less hateful than any of its kind.  The method of curse is not exact, and I would even theorise that it does not need such exactness in any case.  It is not the words that determine the creation of such a creature – it is the hatred, the malice and perhaps even the rage.  A curse spoken with enough ferocity to one such as may become a wight can create such a vile creature.

Whichever way it is made, whatever remnants of itself remain, the hateful nature of the wight, the absolute malice it holds towards all living things, does not relent.  All that changes is the manner of intellect it can bring to bear on its loathsome hatred towards the living, and how it goes about ripping the life from the unwilling to fill its own endless void.  A wretched creature, a malicious shadow of life given flesh, the wight exists only for this purpose, to end the life of everything around it, and never ceasing in its quest to find new life to destroy.  Great or small, nothing survives long in their presence.



Identification:  Physical Characteristics

In undeath, the appearance of the wight becomes an exaggerated caricature of the original appearance of the individual.  In a peculiar twist of fate and perhaps poetic justice, the features turn foul, twisted, and wicked, a reflection of the evil of the individual in life that may have once been hidden.

The flesh of the wight takes on a deathly pallor, a palid, greying white.  The flesh itself twists – body fat burns away to give the figure a wiry, sinewy look, as tendon and muscle hardens and takes the place, growing in strength without growing in mass.  Internal examination shows that this shrivelling extends to the internal organs – while they retain some faint amount of moisture, for the most part they calcify and harden, blackening without rotting.  Despite this seeming lack of decay, a wight will nevertheless have a charnel smell to it – faint, without being overpowering unless in close proximity, but it nevertheless follows the wight wherever it goes, either an indication of its decay, or a peculiarity of undead themselves of their nature – that the scent of death is not simply a product of decay but also an indication of necromantic magics in itself.

Wounds taken on death will ‘heal’, but not on their own – a wight must draw on the life of others to heal its wounds, feeding off life energy and death itself to do so.  The manner of healing aside, the damage repaired will not restore a semblance of living to the creature.  The damage as well shall also repair in an unnatural manner – the wight not feeling pain as it does so, as bones reknit and flesh stitches itself back together.  The exception to these wounds repairing themselves, is in exceptional circumstances – for example, the accursed witch who was made a wight as mentioned before had her heart torn from her chest.  This wound did not heal, though the blood no longer flowed from it.  The damage yet remained and did not repair no matter how much life the creature devoured in its path.  Whether this was a result of the curse or a peculiarity of the death wound was never made clear, but it ‘may’ make the wight difficult to identify from a zombie if this feature is present – it is other features taken in their total that make the difference more distinct.

It is a peculiarity in death that the hair, fingernails and toenails of the wight continue to grow even in its undead state.  This usually applies to the hair atop the head rather than the entire body, and it does grow in a haphazard state – as much falls out as grows, from most observations, but there may be wisps of hair that grow quite long indeed.  The fingernails and toenails become curved, foul and generally quite sharp – the nails of the fingers are far more akin to talons than anything else, often filthy with grave dirt, clutching at the air with the fingers curved in a seizing gesture like a bird of prey.

The tongue grows longer – it does not simply swell in the mouth as it may with a bloated corpse, but the muscular changes of the flesh extend to the tongue as well, making it grow longer, often hanging from the mouth.  Those wights who can manage to speak – few indeed but they are able to do so on occasion – will speak with a hissing lisp to their words, a venom placed upon their speech as a result that fully demonstrates their hateful nature.  The lips of the mouth will pull back, or desiccate entirely, exposing the teeth in a furious grimace that may well either be a result of the rage of their expression, or as before in the transformation of the flesh noted above, a reflection of the self manifested upon the exterior.  This perhaps add to the hissing nature of the speech of a wight, but it is hard to tell – each syllable is loaded with hatred and spite, forced between the teeth from a misshapen tongue, to the point that that even their howls are hissing.

The eyes are one of the last and truest differences between a zombie and a wight.  Whereas the eyes of a zombie are milky white, rolled up and rotting, all but useless for sight but somehow yet able to see, the eyes of a wight are black.  Black from burst blood vessels, and yet glossy, reflecting no light and somehow absorbing it.  They are equally dead, for all that, but they are a reflection of the wight itself – no amount of light can fill that blackness, no amount of life can fill the hole that they are.  Alive and yet without life, the wight destroys all it can and sucks what life it can into itself, to satisfy a hatred that has no ending.

When a wight beholds a living creature, those black eyes may burn with a light within – the colour of which may change, but is nevertheless a reflection of its own emotional state, the need and hunger within it, and above all, its fury to witness such before it.  At this point and this state, one can be assured that the wight shall either kill, or be killed or driven off – though to be fair, it is ever the case with these creatures.  Be assured that a wight will, without variance or fail, seek to destroy any living creature it witnesses, pursuing them with a nigh berserk fury, frenzied in their attempt to lay their hands upon their victim, or to cut them down with the weapons they hold.  Whichever way they may do so, the only satisfaction that they can find – brief as it is, perhaps – is to ensure that everything they lay eyes upon is as dead as they are.

This savagery is also an indication of what it is that an individual faces.  Wights can behave in an almost animalistic manner – running on all fours, crouched and bestial.  Or they may move in the manner of a man, but the defining characteristic of their behaviour is an overt aggression in their action, movement and mannerisms.  A wight is animated far more than other undead, faster and stronger.  It deploys tactics and skills it had in life in conjunction with its aggression – a cunning and strategy that lesser undead will not demonstrate.  More devious than a ghoul, faster and more reactive than a skeleton or zombie.  While nevertheless exhibiting traits and appearance that denotes it as an animated corpse, it does not behave as such – be it as an animal or living person (albeit an insane one) a wight will demonstrate its malignant intellect and instinct, far more refined than that of an ordinary, lesser animated corpse.


Identification:  Victim Physiology and Morbidity.

The signs of a wight are usually overt – their behaviour is such that their presence is announced without hesitation, obvious and callous.  The need for concealment of action (instead of physical presence in the immediacy) is something to be attributed to more thinking creatures, but a wight does not display any such need for things – whatever stealth or subterfuge that they display will be towards the effort of the kill itself, rather than trying to conceal itself from being active to a trained observer.  This is less a mark of arrogance as much as it is an insight to the mentality of the wight itself; but it will provide an insight to the method of identification of the damage a wight can unleash.

An ‘unfettered’ wight, that is functioning as a hunting predator in a living population, will work unceasingly towards the elimination of all living things it can reach, its every action and every turn of mind bent towards that purpose.  This will result in collateral damage of an extreme and in the aftermath, even an erratic nature.  Small animals such as pets and livestock will also be slain, chased down until destroyed.  While this habit may be resisted in the search for larger, more potent prey being the foremost concern, it does take an effort of will on the creatures part to do so.

The marks of a wight can be found quite easily in the aftermath of death.  The life draining touch of the wight will make its presence felt on the flesh of the victim.  The direct point of contact will take an appearance akin to frostbite, localised in the shape of a gripping hand – as though the hand of the wight itself is freezing cold.  The flesh at the points of contact will blacken, blood vessels rupturing beneath the skin and the muscles being basically destroyed.  The effect is obvious and hideous, and usually prominent.  Typical placement is around the throat, the face, the heart or an arm, though the throat is most assuredly a preferred target for the sheer amount of harm it seems to cause.  While the wight is not in itself cold in temperature, certainly not enough to create frostbite, its attack will mimic much of the sensation and damage.  This is the ‘direct’ point of damage however, but the extent of that harm extends beyond the unusual destruction of the flesh.

Beyond that, the victim of the life draining attack shall be rendered stark white in their complexion.  The colour leeched out of them, though they have not been bled.  There will be signs of aging as well – considerably so, in most instances.  The flesh will have withered and aged, the hair turned grey or simply fallen out.  Apart from that, the expression of the victim will be one of horror and terror – the last look on their face a ghastly expression of realisation upon the moment of their death, the circumstances clearly painful and traumatic.  Flesh of the lips will often peel back from the mouth, exposing the teeth in a rictus grin – an indication of the extreme pain in the passing, and also of the life draining touch ripping aspects of vitality from the living individual.

Beyond these obvious signs, the bodies of victims will also display marks of what can only be called sadistic tendencies.  Wounds – be it of weapon or of claw, or even bite – will be struck at vulnerable, crippling points.  Hamstrings, knees, kidneys – even the ankles.  This will remain true in the use of devices – wights can and do make use of rudimentary or even complex traps, depending on the level of mental acuity they retain after death.  These traps will be designed to weaken, cripple or inflict simple pain in terrible profusion to the victims – individuals who would then be made vulnerable to attack to the creature in question.

This sadistic cruelty, as much or even more so than the other indicators of the corpse, are some of the truly defining markers of the presence of a wight and its attacks.  The victims leaving trails of blood as they try to escape.  Indicators of a sustained, relentless attack coming in at several stages – first to cripple, then to weaken, then to torment, before the moment of death.  A wight prefers to toy with its victim if it can manage it, and if it has the intellect for it.  Otherwise its actions will be immediately destructive and murderous, with no goal other than to destroy the life it so craves and yet hates so entirely.  The wounds struck are also indicative of this – other more mindless dead will strike either randomly or with the intent to kill.  A wight shall seek to maim and cripple first, and kill after.

The bodies of those drained of life by the wight will not, however, remain dead and in their condition for long.  Their life force destroyed by the touch of the wight, they either return to life as either an animated corpse, or, if the infusion of undeath is sufficiently powerful, as a wight themselves.  This process does not take long – usually by the next evening – and if the corpse is not sufficiently blessed and sanctified by one of sufficient faith, or better yet, burned to ashes, it shall rise again within a day at most.  At that point, it will seek to inflict the very death that was wrought upon it, the hatred that created it now an infection that has taken root in their flesh, and must – by their very existence and the action thereof – be passed on to others.

« Last Edit: June 20, 2019, 10:59:45 AM by Nemesis 24 »

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #17 on: June 10, 2019, 07:36:57 AM »
Psychology: Method, Logic and Reasoning.

If there was a single overriding emotion that the wight might be best defined by, it would almost certainly be that of envy.

From such envy, do all their emotions derive.  Their hatred, their malice, their vile temperament and loathing of the living.  Envy, first and foremost, for the life that is denied to them.  Their abilities steal that life, their hatred towards all life is absolute.  They are enraged by their envy, for life is not just the thing that they crave – to have and to destroy – but it is what they are denied.

Envy in of itself is indefinitely precluded towards a negative outlook in terms of behaviour – it may inspire an individual to aspire harder, to seek that which others have.  In the case of the wight however, this is an impossibility.  The wight may envy the life that is denied to it, but that does not change the fact that it cannot obtain it.  Thus, and due to the overall darkness of thought inherent to undeath itself, the mind of the wight, wrought by that unavoidable and inherent envy towards that which it cannot have, turns to the most extreme, unyielding and absolute hatred borne of malice imaginable.

This intensity could be perhaps called madness, and there is evidence to show that as time progresses in the wight, if it retained intellect at all in the state of its transition to an undead state, this intellect degrades as the intensity of that hatred grows – or, perhaps, as the intellect of the individual wight weakens, its coherency and sanity fading, that overwhelming urge becomes ever more dominant.  It is impossible to tell which leads to the other, or which creates such a change, without an extensive examination of the wight – and with their behaviour, malice, and sheer intractability, there is no means to do so with any degree of safety.

Not least because the wight, feeling no pain and no need to halt itself, even in the face of mortal injury, is highly unlikely to stop.  It may show the foresight to retreat in the fact of excessive danger, but only to regroup and recommit itself to the fray.  Whatever instinct towards self preservation that might manifest it will not overrule the hatred the creature feels, and the desire – a lust, even – for revenge or simply to harm.

The tactics of the wight in combat reflect this.  What they can torture, they shall.  What they can harm, and draw out such harm, they will.  Their victims shall be tormented and cruelly made to suffer, as though the wight wishes to reflect their own tormented existence upon their victim.  If the act of death can be drawn out sufficiently, the hatred of the wight passes like an infection to the poor soul they have destroyed, and from such spiteful destruction a new hideous wight is made, to continue on that dreadful, hate filled legacy.  And so the cycle of suffering – enduring it, and inflicting it – is continued on relentlessly.

It is life itself that the wight despises, and yet envies.  Loathes and yet yearns for, but seeks to destroy absolutely.  The compulsion to destroy life grows ever greater – perhaps abated by the wight managing to consume the life of others by a touch, maybe exacerbated, it is difficult to tell which it might be.

However, as time, state and desire shift towards that single drive, the wight becomes an almost breathtakingly simple creature.  Thought becomes less and less prevalent, instinct rising ever more to the fore, and all driven towards that urge to destroy.  To rip life from others, to tear the living down.  But be it brutal simplicity or complex cruelty the direction, goal and motivation of the wight is inviolate.  Every thought is bent to the destruction of life, in every facet.  Even a wight commanded and controlled by a wielder of dark necromancy, or a more powerful form of undead will retain this absolute hatred towards all things living.  It is pure, undiluted, and untroubled by the more natural emotions and needs of living creatures – no need for food, for love, for companionship.  No desire for sleep, for warmth, for cold.  For water or food.  Nothing but death, and an absolute, completely attuned mindset to such.  The death of all living things, everywhere.
Truly, it would almost be admirable for its purity, were it not so utterly, utterly awful. 

It is wondered, considering the complexity of state of the wight, as to the degree of this change.  Was it always a part of them, held at bay?  Do these individuals linger perpetually upon that very brink, in life as in death, in death made manifest and absolute?  Do some of them perhaps not exist in such an awful, damned state as they live and instead the state of being is an infection that progresses the intensity as time passes onwards?  If that is true, could there be such an awful imagining as to think of a life fair lived and with a good, kind heart – turned at the end, by the touch of a wight to a hate filled shadow of who they had been in life.  Do these poor damned few instead hover, struggling with what they want, the unfairness of what has been done to them, while horrified at what they have become and what they do with but a mere destructive touch, until at last they succumb and revel instead in that awful fate?  If that is true, is there a fate more dreadful than to find oneself turned into one of these creatures?

It is wondered.  Perhaps it is better it is just speculation, rather than knowing.


Habitat.

A wights wickedness is easily and often reflected in where it lingers.  A creature so filled with a hatred for life surrounds itself with its opposite, the cold, lifeless embrace of death being its home, the empty void of the grave and life lost where it finds solace.  In darkness and in despair, in death and ruin.

Crypts, of ancient make, with the stones defiled by the very presence of these corrupting horrors.  Ancient battlefields, or ruins, places where death is known and can still be felt.  A wight decays living matter around it by its very presence – wood rots, water turns brackish and sour.  In crypts and tombs, they gather sometimes in number to dwell in the dark amidst the places where the touch of death is strongest.  From these places they either lurk perpetually, waiting for the presence of living things draw near, or in the case of the stronger and more wicked individuals, set out to hunt for life that draws too close to it.

A wight shall often make use of underground locations.  Be this the unthinking realisation of their own death and thus the fact they should be beneath the surface of the earth, or the more likely fact that a wight has no desire nor love of sunlight, it conceals them and their movements.  However, they are not strictly assigned to these locations in the singular sense – and in certain lands, it is quite easy for a wight to roam between such areas and find fresh hunting grounds that nevertheless suit its underground and nocturnal predilections. 

Due to their undead status and lack of a need to feed upon physical flesh, a wights lair is often quite free of refuse or evidence of its presence.  It does not create a home for itself, as it has no need of sleep.  It does not leave marks of sentimentality in its location, to indicate that the place it has chosen to lurk is a home.  Such mortal, living sentiment is either impossible to find or purely unnecessary.  The signs then of a wight are somewhat more subtle, being environmental rather than individually specified to show the presence of one or more of these creatures.

The air itself will hold the tainted touch of undeath to it – a peculiar, stale taste of old blood and metal, of still air and lifelessness overlaid with the smell of decay.  Death, be it old or new, pervasive and extensive.  The earth beneath the feet feels dull, heavy and lifeless, lacking the spring of living loam.  Plant life will decay and die, trees succumbing to rot and crumbling away.  Metal rusts at an accelerated rate, and stone cracks.  Glass shatters and is covered in grime, and objects of purer metals – silver, even gold – develop an obscuring patina.  In short, the presence of a wight in an area, sustained and continual, leeches the life from the very air and earth that they stand upon, gradually infusing it more and more with the unhallowed energy of unlife instead.  The lair of a wight is a silent place, where birds do not fly and living things do not approach nor linger.  A hole in the living world itself, and an external reflection of the creature that dwells at the core of it.

There is a subtlety to this, because such places will often enough have this manner of sensation to them regardless of the presence of a wight.  It is no secret that to stand in a place where death has become all too common that the land itself tends to change – that a graveyard is a place where the world changes towards darkness, but in some instances it is far more so than in others.  The trick to this matter however is learning to recognise when it moves beyond such a state and into the indication that a wight is in fact present, be it singular or several.  This knowledge is important, for the wight itself will almost certainly know that you are present, before one has even recognised the signs of the territory that they have wandered into.  By their extended stay, and the destruction of living things in the area, the presence of a living creature is something that alights upon their senses like a lit candle on a dark night in an open field.  Unwary, the intrepid explore becomes instead the hunted.  Destined to become mouldering bones or worse, a wight themselves, as they fail to realise just what it is they have encountered.  In all places that exhibit the characteristics mentioned here, keep your hand on your side and lights burning bright.  Even if a wight is not present, it is better by far to be cautious than not.



Misappropriation – Flaws and Mistakes to Avoid.

The foremost flaw of a wight, as it is in particular with near all monsters of this volume, remains the same that I have observed time and time again; almost exclusively, a foolish underestimation of the capabilities, skills, threats and above all sheer lethality of these hateful creatures.

The first part of news that is often surprising to individuals, is that a wight can walk upon holy ground.  It may well be because of its life draining aspect drawing from the very ground it stands upon, but while it may take no enjoyment from the action of treading on holy soil or even temples, it ‘can’ in fact do so, and function effectively.  Daylight irritates them, but does not stop them.  They may be impaired in either instance – limits of vision, or movement may result.  But they can wreak all manner of havoc in them.  That said, they are of course more at home in the habitats given previously – but one should not think that holy ground will in fact make them immune to the predations of these abominable creatures.

A wight does not exhibit the same durability as some of the more notorious forms of undead, it is true.  They do not have the mean to reform themselves after destruction of their physical form, and their undead flesh is carved as readily as though it were still living, however this the extent of blessings given to a prospective hunter.

A wight, while driven by its primal emotion of hatred, nevertheless exhibits a level of intellect that is beyond a weaker minded undead creature.  A simple, common mistake is to treat each wight as a simple undead, animalistic in its behaviour and actions, and while this may indeed be true for a number of such beings, it is far from wise to consider it the normal behaviour.

A wight exhibits higher mind function in its undead state; an ability to set traps, to hunt as stealthily as the most accomplished hunter, an ability to play on the strengths of its opponent and take advantage of them.  They can speak, wield magic, and use all of the skills that they had in life – what has changed with those actions is the intent.  Destructive and cruel, with a level of viciousness in the actions that most people simply do not have the capacity to consider, which can in fact play as a lethal disadvantage.  If one does not consider just how cruel and brutal a wight can be in its preparations, traps, and how it fights, they will not be able to prepare for it, inevitably coming up short.  A wights flesh might yield readily to the strike of a sword, but that does not mean it will stop them – a wight will in fact gladly take a sword through its stomach for the chance to bring its touch to bear, or to use the opportunity to slash the eyes of its opponent out with its claws.  It can survive such a strike, and even ignore it knowing no pain from such blows, but its cunning is such that it knows a living opponent cannot.  It can take risks, withstand strikes and, in its boundless, unceasing malice, use that as an opportunity to harm its opponent in such a way that they cannot easily recover – or continue the fight at all.

The touch of a wight, as already mentioned, has a seriously debilitative effect, destroying flesh, rupturing blood vessels and necrotising the tissue.  A touch is all they need, for in the right place it can easily prove fatal.  An individual struck by a cleverly concealed trap, crippled by an expert strike, once hands are wrapped around their throat, the fight is over.  The ability to fight back will be eliminated in mere moments alone, the airway ruined by that life destroying touch.  A perfectly executed hunt that while it ends in savage violence, is methodical in its execution.  In truth, it does not even need to be such – a wight bearing heavy arms and armour will also prove a dreadful opponent, unyielding in the face of harm, and driven by an unnatural savagery and strength that can overcome the hardiest defense, without even a true need to defend themselves in return.  Whatever damage might be inflicted can be undone by the very life of the one they fight against, as they rip it from them in their death.

Underestimation of these creatures, be they a cunning trapper or a brutal warrior, is the easiest and simplest mistake to make, and it is made by a failure to realise when one is predator, or prey.  As with all contests between dangerous opponents, the task falls to be one or the other, and a proper predator works to ensure that such a balance is tipped firmly in their favour rather than the opposite.  A wight has the advantage in such a confrontation, by means of their weapons, skills, and undead nature.  Stepping into their territory makes one vulnerable, and they do not hesitate to play upon that vulnerability whatsoever.  Any foolish, reckless misstep, any overly cautious action, either one is punished in kind.  Because though one wight is a mindless, life hating wretch, the next one will be one with the light and knowing of murder in its intelligent, gleaming gaze, and it will find a way to hunt down and destroy those that it beholds, never knowing peace until it is erased.  Even if the particular encountered wight is a mindless creature, that by no means makes it a simple target – indeed, its frenzied, berserker like attack may well be the exact and only thing it needs to overcome its target.

Make no mistake.  The bones that litter tombs and graveyards aplenty are those of would be heroes and hunters who sought to overcome a wight in its habitat, thinking that they had fought such opponents before and triumphed.  They had not, and though there are souls left behind to mourn their folly, theirs is now food to a monster, the life they lived now a distant memory to satisfy a hateful malice that can never know what it is to be satisfied.



Weaknesses and Vulnerabilities.

The most fortunate thing to understand with a wight is that unlike other, more potent undead, it does not have innate qualities that make its flesh or form resistant to damage.  While it may ignore a sword thrust into its heart as being immediately fatal, it nevertheless will cause an extreme disruption to the physical form of the wight which may very well be enough to destroy it entirely.  Removing the head by severance or destruction will kill it, as will a sustained and brutal assault on its form.  But there are dangers to be aware of.

To be in close proximity to the wight means it can also touch its attacker, and bring that dreadful life corrosive touch to bear.  Not just that, but it can also repair damage done to it by its touch – in drawing the life out of its victim, the wounds of a wight repair themselves and heal.  It does in fact incite the wight to throw itself at its attacker – knowing that if it survives the counterattack of its victim, it will surely win the day by draining them of their life.  Thus, while it may prove vulnerable to damage, the damage itself must be swift, it must be of overwhelming force, and preferably at a distance.  If this fails, then in close quarters, one must seek to either destroy, or disable.  Removing the arms, or legs, slows the creature down but does not destroy it – but it does buy time, valuable time.

The sheer aggression and malice of the wight also proves in the favour of the prepared and cautious hunter, for an ambush or trap is only so effective as long as it has the element of surprise to support it.  By being prepared – without being afflicted by an overabundance of hubris – a hunter can be ready for the attack of a wight by studying its previous history – how it has attacked people, what it has done, its preferred methods.  By doing so, the hunter can ascertain predatory habits of the individual wight and prepare a reprisal accordingly.  Be they a shadowy creature attacking from darkness or making use of more direct tactics, one must plan against the method of attack used, and employ an appropriate counter as they would against any who would use such methods.  On top of that, they must make use of the appropriate amount of force.  A wight is almost always an ambush hunter, at least alone.  Its senses and abilities make it extremely difficult to sneak up on it, unless it is otherwise distracted.  Knowing when and how it is distracted is however a risk – though it is fair to say, be it that option or surviving an ambush oneself, there is little chance of engaging without risk to the self.  Thus, one must instead plan to minimise risk as much as possible.

Wights also do not enjoy bright or searing light – they can work in it, but they have no love for it.  It makes them flinch or even back off, if presented suddenly and unexpectedly, which can buy a hunter a valuable instant otherwise denied.  This goes doubly so for fire; fire damages them, and hinders them, and the light of it gives them pause.

Their limbs can still function, even if damaged or broken – severing them however does end the connection to the main form, and they cannot operate independently.  But as with nearly all undead beings, the wight operates at full strength until it is fully disabled, or destroyed entirely – conventional pain of living flesh does not slow them.  This violence may grow into berserk desperation as it is either weakened or in the presence of more living entities, but if the form has been properly disrupted, even at their full strength they won’t be as effective.  A wight that is cornered, pinned, and driven back by bright light and fire will be destroyed, and the more completely, ever then the better.



Tactical Methodology:  Locating and tracking the target.

As has been already noted, a wight is generally an ambush predator with a hatred for living things that borders on – if not outright strays into – an obsessive insanity.  They often employ methods of stealth and deception, and can be surprisingly difficult to hunt down.  However, there are both devices and methods to be used to locate, track down, and finally destroy a wight.

As mentioned above, a wight drains the life of creatures – obsessively, in the more mentally deranged cases.  This makes it possible to track the trail of destruction the wight leaves, simply by following all the corpses that it has left in its wake – small animals that could not flee from it, or larger, their bodies left uneaten on the ground, the colour and vitality leeched out of them.  These may very well lead to a location that a wight might haunt – a tomb or other such necrotic domain.  There may be other undead – animated corpses, of flesh or of skeletal varieties.  Lesser, more mindless wights who attack without tactics.  But behind them all might be the more potent, and more cunning creature that is waiting for the right opportunity.

Ground glass, worked to dust, can be cast to ground or air.  It reflects well in firelight, even in darker shadows.  Hurled into the air it is best to hold ones breath or cover ones eyes – least one be blinded or forced to cough.  But it can highlight the form of a wight using the shadows, or even show their steps on the ground should they be close.  Water blessed by the ministrations of a righteous person of faith also works – it sears the flesh of the wight, to the point that its efforts to hide will prove impossible.  The trick of it of course, is knowing when and where to cast the objects.  For this, you must remove possibilities.

One of the more surprising effective methods is by creating a shadow.  By this, one means illuminating an area where a wight might reside.  Fires, lights, and glows, to create a heavy amount of light except in a certain area.  The wight, its effective hiding places narrowed, will move by means of its hunting instinct and by its dislike of light to an area darkened.  At this point, one brings forth their weaponry.  The trick is not finding where the wight ‘is’ to make use of such things as holy water, or glass dust, or fire or divine magic – no.  It is about removing the places it ‘could’ be until there are less or no options remaining.

This can prove difficult if the wight has chosen its hunting ground well.  In which case the more risky and difficult option proves the only remaining one – to lure it to oneself.  Usually this requires hunting alone, rather than in a group – or rather more accurately, wilfully separating oneself from a group to become a vulnerable target.

Such as it is with wolves seeking calves from amongst the flock – waiting till one is separated and vulnerable to attack.  So it is with a wight.  If a group of hunters presents itself, it will lurk in the shadows or out of sight, waiting for an opportunity to present itself and one of the hunters to isolate itself and thus become prey.
Again, this is dangerous.  The wight will only make its attack when it is sure that it will not be stopped in the midst of it.  It will choose a target that seems vulnerable.  This creates a strong element of outright risk of death in the person choosing to expose themselves.  There are, however, ways to mitigate this.

Firstly, prepare the time that this will happen.  Have hunters out of sight but armed to attack with bows, rifle or crossbow when the wight strikes.  Second, disguise the target so that it appears more vulnerable than it actually is.  Third, have a means of knowing where the separatist is at all times; if they survive the initial attack, and are prepared, armed, and able to hold the target off for long enough, the other hunters can regroup and strike in tandem.  The best possible way to manage this is to ensure that the bait of the wight is in fact in a location that the wight cannot escape from once it has engaged.

Bring the wight to you, if you cannot bring yourself to it.  It is inevitable that it will, for its desire to rip the life from those that have it will become an urge that will overrule whatever sense of self preservation that it might have – if it has any at all.  Play upon this and use it, while also keeping at the forefront of the mind that the creature will have intelligence, savagery and cunning in abundance, coagulated with malice.  Never be so foolish to underestimate it, for all of its animalistic nature.  But once you have tracked it down, or allowed it to hunt you down, now must come the time to strike, once all avenues for its retreat have at last been cut off.


Tactical Methodology:  The Technique of the Kill.

When the wight is isolated, and cornered, it will respond with savagery, rage and hatred now driving it to attack.  But this is where it can be destroyed.
Fire, used as both defense and assault, will damage its form.  Blades of good strong steel, perhaps blessed by the hand of those of a divine leaning, will destroy it.  A good, sturdy covering of all exposed flesh is also strongly recommended, to protect oneself against its touch – if all else fails, keep the creature at bay with spears, or crossbows.  Vials of holy water placed in crossbow bolts will burn the wretched monster from the inside out, at which point, in its agony, it might be butchered by a sustained assault.  Another method is to pin the creature in place with a heavy spear, with a heavy crosspiece behind the point – enough to pin the wight in place, but not to allow it to drag itself down the spear to its attacker.  While the wight could in fact pull itself off the spear, it is honestly extremely unlikely to do so – remembering its malice and hatred, the thought of retreating even for a moment when it is tactically advantageous will not occur to it.  Fruitlessly it will attempt to reach its attacker, straining with all its might, which admittedly is significant.  But if there are others close and also attacking, this then will be their chance to see the battle finished.

While damaging the limbs will not slow it, a hard strike with an axe or heavier bladed sword will remove said limb entirely.  Continue to do so to remove both a means to escape and a means to fight.  Once the wight is either disabled or unable to fight back, remove the head.  Once the head is removed, the body should by this point become inert – and at it is at this point that the wight must be burned.

Pouring oil onto the corpse, dusting it with salt and ground silver, and setting it alight will do in a tight situation, but a full burning of the body, and scattering the ashes at several crossroads afterwards, is a sure fire way to ensure that nothing is ever able to return. 

Is it brutal, to think in such terms?  Possibly.  But a wight is a being of limitless, endless malice.  It is an embodiment of the absolute worst aspects of a person that it held in life – a twisted mockery of who they might have once been, an insult to their legacy, and a defilement of their living memory.  They are, in truth, a tragedy, for all their hate.  So destroy them without hesitation, without pause, and without pity.  What they are is not who they were, not any longer.  And thus, the wisest and kindest thing one can do for them, is to destroy what they’ve become.  Even if they were a miserable creature in life, no sin is so great as to condemn a being to such a woeful form.  Destroy them, and then pity them.  But do not hesitate, for they shall not.



The next half of this chapter shall deal with the second counterpart of the hatred filled undead – but in this case, it shall be of vengeance.  It shall be an examination of the revenant.

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #18 on: June 20, 2019, 10:49:26 AM »
Addendum.

I write this work from a position of academia – to theorise, to prove, to catalogue my encounters.  Perhaps by doing so, I tell myself, I shall make sense of my part of them in the world.  Perhaps by doing so, I will learn why I subject myself to the nightmarish experience of what it is I have encountered, striven against, and gathered all my scars against.  Perhaps those who come after me will learn enough, that one might survive the terrors that they must endure to live in this place we have no choice but to call home.

To do so however, I must confront a simple truth.  Academic study is a field that grows, and changes.  All too often, theory has been disproven by an anomaly that did not conform to the previous ideal.  How many procedures of medicine, of alchemy, of physic of mind and body have learned was faulty, and adapted and changed?  Such is the manner of society, to question that which we believe we know, and it is a poor sign of the academic mind to hold on to a theory that has been thoroughly disproven. 

I am a poor academic at best.  My robes are replaced with steel and leathers, my quill a sword, my expertise not from literature of previous minds but bought in blood – mine or that of others, in a trail that stretches behind me as far as the eye can yet see.  I see no reason to make myself all the more inadequate in my craft by refusing to admit a truth I never expected to see.

When I started writing this volume, my opinion on therianthropic creatures was a blunt one.  After my experiences in Verbrek and Sainte Ronges, I confess to a pervasive feeling of aversion to all of them; I was of the opinion that not only were the creatures dangerous, a plague and a walking disease, but they were fundamentally deceptive in every way.  Each and every one of them a walking falsehood, evil and cruel in the core, and deserving only ever of the mercy of death in the very best of circumstances.  I saw their cruelties first hand.  My family was torn apart by them, the one I was born with and the one that I made.  My hatred knew no bounds and I saw no reason, none whatsoever, to ever temper that savagery, not least when it made me as notorious a killer of such creatures as I had become.  Mercy was a fools errand, and these beasts were, to me, deserving of no such thing.

I wonder now, haunted by the contemplation, just how often was I wrong?  Just how many died that died not wickedness, but in anguish and terror?  How many did I not free in my misplaced vengeance, but how many did I fail?  Maybe it was none.  But if it was so much as one, it was one too many.

Now, I am compelled to quantify my words carefully.  I have encountered a great many different kinds of therianthropic creature.  I have been deceived by them, I have had them attempt to take my life many times over, and I have witnessed first hand not just the ruin they leave behind but the lies and falsehoods they have created.  Most, if not virtually all therianthropes are of this ilk – sinking into the depths of their curse in one fashion or another, giving in to their base nature.  Do they do so because it is easier?  Do they do so, because those around them relentlessly remind them of what they are, what they have become, or perhaps have always been?  I do not know, nor do I fully know my part in such cases where I have seen it.  I may have more blame than I care to admit, but I must also remember that the action of another is not my own.  I must, for the guilt would then be overwhelming if it were not so.

But I have encountered now, individuals who have been afflicted with the curse, who did not fit in with my world view of things.  They did not conform, they did not follow the route I thought already prescribed to them, and so many others had as well.  They chose a different path, that of defiance.

They tackled their affliction, as best they could.  It was themselves and yet larger than themselves, and had all of their weapons to use against them in merciless retaliation, a piece of themselves that never stopped fighting for control.  And yet, they remained defiant, understood what it was they faced, and as hard as it strove for control, they remained steadfast, despite all that it made them, in denying it control.

Could they stop it from changing who they were?  No, and it was folly to think that anyone could do so.  The changes the curse renders to the psyche are impossible to deny, as the subconscious (particularly in the heat of the moment) does not allow for such.  It may well be that those that have in the past broken so utterly were those who refused to contemplate the change that was upon them.  Or perhaps these souls that endured had something that burned in them that burned all the hotter.

But I do believe, at this point, that each of them had if not the full strength then certainly the ability to look at the part of themselves that was a thing of harm, a monstrosity of pain to others, and tried, beyond all else, to deny that part of themselves from being all of themselves.  Were they flawless in the attempt?  No.  But who could be?  Did others die for these moments of failure?  I fear they did, and that knowing such is almost inevitable is something that anyone who wishes to pursue this must truly contemplate, and judge themselves by.  But it is folly to think that any of us are truly innocent. 

Were these ones who struggled, were their lives worth more than those that died when the curse became too much?  Knowing nothing of those who fell, we would call them nothing but innocent.  But in this life that we live, it is naοve to think that there are more who are innocent, than not.  Perhaps it was the case here.  We can hope.  We cannot know, but either is possible.

What we do know however, is that these who struggled did something that I realised others do not.  Have not, and will not, and I realised all too late that I was amongst those that failed, no less than those afflicted by therianthropy that fell utterly to the curse.  They, unlike so many of us, truly faced the worst of ourselves.  Confronted it, understood it.  Faced it and stared it down.  What strength of will must that be?  What awful, truly terrible things did they see in themselves, what truths did they uncover that lies could no longer hide, not even our own delusions?  They looked at themselves, and saw a fractured mirror, scrawled with their sins.  And they did not look away, but they did not surrender, either.

It created something.  A thing so rare, so precious, that it could have changed everything.  An unwavering defiance, a bravery in the face of the truly monstrous that would not quail.  An unquenchable will that burned bright, to change the world, to turn it against the tide.  What then, could they fear when they had defied so much?  What then, could they not overcome, when they had defeated that most awful of foes, the worst of oneself, an enemy against which there is no defense, whom shall bleed us again and again until we are broken, unless we have that will to simply not give in, no matter what?

I wish I could have seen it.  I wish that I could have beheld what a will so fierce could have wrought.  A fire that burned bright, then was snuffed out by those who thought they knew better, by those who refused to look upon their own mirror, for fear of seeing something there that they could not bear to confront.  I have learned at last that the first act of those unable to confront the darkness inside them is to unleash it upon others, and to justify it as deserving, because it is easier than shame.  I should know.  All too late I have looked upon my own reflection.  All too late I now realise it is covered in so much blood that I can no longer see myself.


Will the memory of one lost be enough?  Will it give others the strength to strive, even though despair crushes down upon them?  Will the other for whom hope fades endure, or will they be broken by the rightly perception that those around them have failed them?  They would be right to do so, even though it is yet wrong in all that it would result.


Verinne Van Haute.  What was it that you saw, when you looked upon yourself?  What did your reflection show?  I hope, at the end, that it was clear.  I hope that it had pride, behind the fear.  I hope you looked the world in the eye and it looked back and knew.

For that memory that is all that remains, I will have hope.  May that hope become faith and may that faith sustain me, even if I do not deserve it.  May it be a reminder to me, that I am the one that lives.  May that life mean something, so that hers did too.  Such a turn of events, that between her efforts and the efforts of another I will keep nameless, two therianthropes taught me the meaning and importance of self reflection, of looking to oneself and seeing what is truly there, and defying it so that the world might be a better place. 

For that lesson, I will have hope.  Truly, though they deserve more,they are at least owed this.
« Last Edit: June 20, 2019, 11:01:42 AM by Nemesis 24 »

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #19 on: March 18, 2020, 09:40:50 AM »
A Continuation of the previous dissertation of the wrathfully emotive Undead.

Part Two – The Revenant


Classification.

In my early days of this field of study, I learned of the nature of curses from one of my mentors.  Monica Belmonte showed herself to be an expert in the field, her Vistani heritage having born fruit in that her knowledge of such dire afflictions – the creation, nature, and severity – was first and foremost amongst our number in those days past.  She explained the Vistani curses, which are indeed no folk story based on mere bad luck, with as much candour as she deemed fair – believing quite rightly that some knowledge is not for the knowing of those not of her blood, which I did not dispute.  But it was with clarity and firmness that she once reminded me of the danger of wrath and death becoming intermingled.  At the time of death, the final emotions of the departing are powerful things, and awful things can be created from the power of that emotion and the death itself.  She warned me to beware of it, in the future.

I was not entirely sure of the reasoning why until some years later, when I encountered my first Revenant.  It was then that I understood why she advised such extreme caution.  Now, after struggle and seeing first hand what it can create, I understand all too well the lesson she was trying to impart.

It is no secret that we live ever in a time of death.  Few lives, if any at all, are untouched by bloodshed and tragedy in our unhappy lives.  Indeed, in some nations, individuals merely pass from one grief to the next, forced to open fresh wounds on the soul time and time again until the moment they become an injury to some other sufferer instead, a memory of who they were but now are lost.  And, by our studies, we can see that more than we might wish of such corpses return – animated dead or sentient, or more besides.  A fragment of who they once were perhaps remaining, withering away as time and decay corrupt what they were entirely.

But this is not always the case.

Some deaths, all too many in fact, are born out of treachery, or injustice.  A life unfairly ended in a manner that would bring horror and disgust more than the action might otherwise create.  And in some rare cases, the unjustly slain experiences the full weight of this awful injustice in the moments before their death.  As they perish, however, as they fall from life into the silence of the dark void, they do not go quietly – they do not pass in silence, or in sorrow, or defeated.  No.  When they die, they die in wrath.

Imagine if you would, a rage so great that it denies death.  A fury, a hatred, that lifts a soul back to the world.  A need for retribution so utterly powerful that it transforms that dying light into a blazing inferno, an embodiment of vengeance so profound that it curses oneself into an undying state for the sole and terrible purpose of finding any and all who ended their life so unjustly and be they man or monster, be they base or noble, be they peasant or king, will never, ever stop seeking a way to destroy them.  An individual who willingly curses themselves to a hideous existence, for the sake of revenge, choosing damnation over salvation by one fatal and absolute step.

This then, this manifestation absolute of vengeance, retribution, wrath and justice, is what is known as a Revenant.

A relentless spirit, a Revenant rises either into the body it wore in life or into any other that is found near to where its own was destroyed, if no body remains.  It then transforms that body over time, taking on an appearance identical to the one it had in life.  It speaks with the voice it once had, but in a colder, harder voice.  It moves with an implacability to its step that would stride through whatever obstacle in its way, inexorable and unyielding, unafraid and unfeeling.  The intensity of its emotion, of its rage, does not weaken in its deathly state, but instead grows ever and ever stronger – a deep feeling of wrath so unbelievably powerful that it can warp minds and corrupt the very air around them, almost like a miasma that infects those who come into contact with it.

All of its being turned to one and only one focus.  Be it out of sense of revenge or justice, it is not clear.  But the Revenant seeks but one thing, and one thing alone.  The utter destruction of the one who bloodied their hand and sent the risen avenger to the embrace death.  Should they be cut down by another hand, they will return again not hours later, and once more seek out their target of their undying fury.  Over and over again, stronger and stronger each time, calling arms and armour back to their new form, this avatar of retribution will never stop coming for the one that killed them, to return the favour to them as utterly as can be imagined.

Unlike other undead, much of who and what the individual was remains in the Revenant.  Indeed, it may be said in many instances that the entirety of who they once were is retained, except now all that they are and were is instead viewed through a lens of wrath.  While knowledge, skill, and intellect remain intact, what personality they once had is now hardened, tempered in the fires of their hatred for the one that wronged them.  Utterly focused to one point, one anchor, to seek and to destroy their foe, needing never to rest, nor sleep, nor to pause.  In short, they will never stop, not even slow down.  As relentless an enemy as one could ever hope to dread.

It was this, this terror of vengeance, that Monica warned me of.  To die in injustice, perceived or otherwise; to die and to die hating utterly the one that robbed you of life that your anger itself becomes a curse.  Not simply a curse to the one that ended your life, but a curse to yourself as well.  The Revenant, the avatar of retribution, born out of murder and ended by it as well.  For only in the death of the one they seek will their existence fade at last, and they shall return to the end of their life that they denied, their retribution achieved at last.

But one must ask the question.  Of all the undead, of all monsters in fact, I am confronted with a startling and sobering truth of realisation.  These entities, robbed of justice, robbed of life, brought back to their existence from the rage of their death, seeking retribution for the foulness done to them, one must ask the question, in a world where such crimes go unpunished and the guilty are not even absolved, but instead merely ignored – one has to ask the truth of the matter.  Are they unjustified in what they seek?  Are they to be judged by their new and awful nature, or are they to held not by what they are but what has been done to them?  At the end of all, in the moral question, in the question of the right of justice for wrongs done, are they wrong?

In this examination maybe there is an answer.  But the more that one looks it becomes clear that this is a matter of interpretation or individual circumstance.  Not all revenants are undeserved.  But that does not mean all of them are justified either.  In the brutal reality of justice without consequence, there are always prices to be paid, and always in blood.  The question then is asked – whose?  And in that answer, perhaps we will have the knowing.


Identification:  Physical Characteristics and Markers.

The revenant is rather unique in terms of undead beings, that it is in fact in its purest form an insubstantial spirit.  This spirit is invisible to the naked eye, and indeed may well dwell entirely in a separate level of existence – perhaps the veil, between life and death itself.  This spirit finds its way to a corpse – if possible, its own, and takes possession of it – rather like a ghost or perhaps a fiend possessing an individual, but in this case only if the individual is already dead.
If the corpse possessed is the original host form, the changes are noticeable, but not entirely drastic.  But the most notable features will generally revolve around the complexion, the eyes, and the death wound of the revenant, the killing strike that took their life.

It should be noted this appearance can vary considerably.  The variations encountered have had differing abnormal appearance descriptions as to impede efforts to identify them clearly, but there appears to be common features that may well be the result of varying factors in either the persona of the revenant, or the circumstances of their death, and creation. 

The most extraordinary ability of a revenant however, is put on display when it possesses another corpse that is not the one it had in life originally.  If the original body is destroyed, or damaged to a point that the spirit is cast out of it – an act it cannot do on its own, but can be forced into such a state – then the spirit finds and inhabits a new corpse.  When it does so, a supernatural occurrence takes place in that not only does the new corpse seemingly manifest the equipment, arms and armour of the original form, but also its very appearance.  The facial features, even the gender seem to change and warp to become the original form, taking on the same look.  This extraordinary effect makes the revenant extremely easy to recognise – which, one theorises, is precisely the point.  As a walking embodiment of the retribution it wishes to inflict, by its very appearance it reminds the one who killed it of what they have done – which is a very effective method of letting the target know not only what, but also who.  This loud proclamation of guilt – or the perception of it – is written large in their very being.

In the case of some revenants, the complexion and features of the animated corpse will change.  In some instances there is record of an otherworldly, pale etherealness to their form, closer to that of a ghost made physical, the features unmarred and perfect.  These are more notable, but they are not universal.  In others, they are rendered far more monstrous – the eye sockets empty, the flesh rotted and yet the decay halted.  In short, recognition with any sort of absolute surety is difficult to ascertain from these features alone, and yet the one whom they seek will always recognise them instantly – and likewise in return.

The flesh of a revenant knits back together when it is struck or damaged – wounds repairing themselves in moments, the undead flesh stitching itself back together.  However, some wounds yet remain on the animated corpse.  While it is not always entirely possible to tell, it is my theory that these wounds are the wounds they had received upon their death.  As though a reminder of the murder they suffered, the killing stroke remains obvious.  Perhaps it may even still bleed, a truly ghastly thing to bear witness to.  This wound will not heal regardless, but it also does not slow down or hinder the revenant in any way.  Indeed, if the head is struck from the body it continues on relentlessly, though it may not do so for long before the link of spirit to form is severed.  Should this link be cut, in either the original or stolen corpse, then it shall fall apart – turning to dust and ashes on the spot, as though whatever fire lingered then burns itself out from that instant.  This of course not being the destruction of the being – just the form that it wore. 

There are two key features however, that identify the revenant for what it is, if the previous features listed confuse – and they may rightly do so.  But two things that separate them from other undead in both their features, and what it is like to stand in the presence of one.

Should a revenant turn its gaze upon its target, if it has eyes or simply empty sockets, their gaze will turn to a fiery white inferno.  As though the rage that propels them blazes hot in that instant, as the object of their fury is brought before them.  Like two suns in the sockets, they burn bright and furious enough to banish darkness, and once they lay eyes upon that target there are few, if any forces that can make them turn away.  They will direct that flaming stare singularly and perhaps even to the point of being blind to all else in that moment – but it is near impossible to tell if that is simply because of an emotional state or some other manner of drive.  The very inexorable compulsion may be what creates that dreadful flame, as the terrible wrath of the revenant is unleashed upon the object of their hatred.

Aside from this, the revenant looks how it did in life in terms of height, weight, and what it was wearing at the time of its death – even though what it once wore will now be stained, or rusted.  Perhaps ragged and damaged; a figure in armour would now wear rusted, untended gear, as though to indicate quite clearly that the dead will push on regardless, ignoring anything else as of no importance.  A drowned dead would bear the hideous appearance of one spent immersed, perhaps even continually dripping water in copious amounts even months after the fact.  A burned victim may even still smoke, but that is purely conjecture and has not been witnessed.  The key of near all of these appearances however is that they are always the one that will evoke the most guilt, shock, and shame in the killer – the appearance designed in death to signal the crime of the killer, to lay bare the wretchedness of their actions, as the revenant chooses to show to the world what the one who slew them has done, writ large upon their very flesh.  They wish to be seen.  They wish to be recognised, and they desire their retribution to be witnessed and understood.

The second recognisable aspect of the revenant involves standing in its presence.  Close proximity to a revenant is able outright warp the emotional state of a mortal observer to a shocking degree, in a truly extraordinary way.  In my studies I have in fact been shocked to learn that this emotional response can vary fundamentally between individual revenants – a second hand report spoke of a sensation of terror in association with the revenant they encountered.  To stand close to it created a feeling of fear – an echo, one might almost theorise, of the fear of the victim.  Even though the target was no present, this fear of their hunter was such that it manifested even in people that the revenant had no care for or sought to target – except as being individuals in the path of the revenant.  An echo of a reminder of mortality, of frailty, in the face of inevitability made manifest that sent the observer into a flight response of outright panic.  Supernatural and terrifying, this ability could send crowds running from a revenant in terrified response, perhaps to clear the way between it and its hated foe.

For my own part, this echo was twisted when I encountered a revenant.  It was not fear that overwhelmed the minds of those around me, but instead an irrational and excessive rage.  A rage so complete that it led to allies striking against each other, a preface of carnage at the mere approach of the beast, and forced me to defend myself against my own friends who would have torn their companions apart with their own teeth if necessary.  I to this day regret having to strike down one of my own students as his mind was shattered by the alien fury crushing in on it, but choice was taken from him and from me much as it had been stolen from the creature we were opposing.  This fury may not in fact have affected the target, the fear becoming dominant instead, but we were unable to ascertain this with any sort of clarity.  What was clear was that this revenant, a being that had been trapped underground in a sealed underground chamber until it was freed by circumstance, had exhibited an aura of rage so overwhelming that it had exuded for hundreds of feet, perhaps even miles, affecting the minds of both people and imbuing the normally empty minds of lesser undead with a fragment of its own rage.  Lesser, shambling undead were drawn to the area of its imprisonment, where they began to actively prey upon passers by and woodsmen.  Each of these undead, imbued with the rage of the one that had called them, acted with a degree of savagery to their victims that I had never seen before in mindless dead, and have not since.  They soaked the forest that they haunted with blood, and would have continued to do so had the beast beneath their feet finally been released.

It made an interesting observation.  While the revenant could inhabit another corpse (as this one eventually did after the entrapped one was destroyed) it could not willingly leave the corpse it had first inhabited – its original, in this case.  But the entrapment did nothing to assuage its rage, nor its desire for vengeance.  In fact, based upon the observations of the growing strength of its call and its own physical power I would in fact theorise that it grew stronger, and stronger over time until its release was more or less inevitable.  The fact that its rage could spread over such a wide area even if it took years to achieve, and command other undead beings of lesser or zero sentience through that – whether conscious or not – indicates that these beings only grow stronger over time, as though the inferno of their emotions burns only hotter as time progresses, along with their outright power.  However it also showed that trapping a revenant does not stop it.  In fact, evidence shows this makes matters worse.


Identification: Victim Physiology and Morbidity.

This is a curious marker, and one quite unlike other creatures of murderous and monstrous intent.  There is little clear indication in the death of an individual that it was done by a revenant that would be obvious over a different kind of killer or monster.  The revenant can be as individualistic in their killings as anyone else might be, without a defining characteristic to show who and what they are and what they are doing.  There are however a few matters to consider, primarily to do with secondary and primary victims.

This differentiation however seems to only occur in what could be called the ‘classic’ case.  A classic case of a revenant attack is identified in the bodies of the fallen, and the aftermath, but it should be warned that this can easily be altered by atypical behaviour.

If we however look at a classical case, a secondary victim is incidental.  This will be someone who simply gets in the way of the revenant, or tries to oppose them and stop them from getting at their target.  Whatever means the revenant needs to use to get past this obstacle, up to and including death, will be utilised, but they are never the focus of the revenant, who while being inconsolable with rage at their killer, will not care about anyone else except as a mild hindrance.  As such, if a secondary victim is located at a scene they will be struck down, but simply.  After a killing blow (if one is necessary to stop the opponent) they will pay them no heed.  They shall instead lie where they have fallen and the revenant will continue its relentless pursuit after its true objective.

This description of the nigh on ‘ignored’ death of the secondary victim becomes relevant in the recognition of a primary victim if one is indeed present, and whether or not they are the only (or remaining) target.  A primary victim can be identified by the degree of violence inflicted upon them.

Rage is an ugly emotion.  Even when it is tempered by justice or retribution, rage is a darker, animal aspect of the spirit that tears at the individual.  When it is unleashed in an unfettered state, by an empowered individual blind to all else but the satisfaction of that rage, the end result can be shockingly violent.

I do not need to dwell on the details of dismemberment, or brutality of force applied to the person of the victim.  Perhaps the revenge might well be poetic, a mirroring of the death dealt.  It may be quick, it may well be protracted.  But it will and perhaps only to the right eye and understanding, stand out as different. 
If the primary victim is slain, the revenant will not be present.  They will fade away into dust – probably leaving an otherwise inexplicable outline after the death of the primary victim.  In the unusual (but not impossible) instance of their being multiple primary victims, especially if one of them is not present, this will not be the case, but the primary victim will show marks of the brutality of vengeance upon their person.  The body might be torn apart, or smashed to fine paste by hammer like blows of unnatural strength.  It may be ritualistic, but it is almost assured to be brutal.  In the instance where I found a revenant had come across one of its long dead victims, the withered corpse was smashed to pieces and violently rent apart.  Had the person been alive, it would have been the exact same story. 

The difficulty all of this presents of course, is that none of it is supernatural.  As such there is nothing to distinguish such killings except for interpretation, and external connection.  Knowledge of the individual, of those connected to the victims, or evidence of a revenant that has completed its mission is possible but it is very important to remember that these entities are, compared to many other versions of undead, extremely rarely encountered.  It is as a result all too easy to either miss the indications of a revenant, or overlook the possibility of one existing.  As a result, one must look to the indicators mentioned previously that could denote the presence of a revenant.

As a revenant may leave survivors in its single minded drive, they should be able to describe the appearance of the attacker.  If the revenant is instead a brutal creature – or more methodical, in that it leaves no survivors to warn the target – then this will not be possible.  It is on that point important to note that a revenant is capable of thought, and of cleverness, and tactics – but this is dependent on how well it can control its rage, which will always be the core of its existence.  But a multitude of slain can still give indication.  The aura that exudes from the revenant, be it of rage or of fear, will induce behaviour in its victims.  Blind panic causing them to flee means that the dead will be either in a state of running with wounds to their back, or generally cowering, with weapons cast aside instead of put to use.  In a rage, they will attack each other instead, turning on one another in an explosion of violence which may very easily be entirely uncharacteristic.  The trouble is that any number of things could cause these to happen, and none of them are definitive.  They are at best indicators of the possibility, a piece of the picture.  A witness is the best chance but they are far from guaranteed.

Always consider the possibility and presence of anger.  Smashed objects or furniture is often a sign of a violent entry, but remember that the rage of a revenant is personal.  As such, objects that either indicate the person they seek or that hold intense personal value – an heirloom, a painting or other portrait, sculpture or other marker that is in particular of the likeness of the target – would be a singular focus of that rage, to the exclusion of all else.  The revenant is also relentless in its absolute directness, and its ability to always know where its target is – no matter where they hide, it knows.  And so a revenant might reveal itself by its sheer directness – coming through windows, shattering doors, even going so far as to tear itself through walls to take the swiftest, straightest line to its objective.  Unstoppable and unyielding, possessed of unspeakable strength and feeling no pain, they would stride into an inferno to emerge as a blazing, skeletal figure driven on only by that unending hatred to cut down the one they are fixated upon. 


Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #20 on: March 18, 2020, 09:50:48 AM »

Psychology – Method, Logic, Reasoning.

How to describe this?  Of all of the creatures of this catalogue, none are as universally single minded as the revenant.  Every single aspect of its existence is bent on its goal.  It is unreasoning – any attempt to dissuade it from its objective by words or even by force will not be countered.  Its destruction means nothing to it, for there are always dead to be found.  It has no fear and no reason to fear.  In its death, all reason to fear was burned away, and its hatred so outweighs that fear that even the memory of it is buried.  It is uncompromising – whatever bargain might be struck, whatever thought of finding a ground of agreement is as though trying to negotiate with the tide or the rise and fall of the sun and moon.  There is none.  Whatever compromise that gets in the way of it achieving what it wanted is as dust before a hurricane to be blown away before it can be even contemplated.  To expect the revenant to have a moment to consider it is folly of the highest order.

One must, in horrified fashion, contemplate a degree of grudging admiration for the sheer purity of purpose this entity exhibits.  An absolute focus, an inexorable and inexhaustible drive to achieve its goals.  Morality and external influences are either ignored or simply do not register on the psychological contemplation of the revenant.  They ultimately do not influence the decision making or final choices that the revenant makes in its pursuit.  That is not to say it is a purity borne of ignorance – it can think, it can reason, it can plan.  But all of that intellect, however poor or admirable it may in fact be, is directed into that singular goal.  Every scrap of its energy is bent towards the absolute destruction of the one whom it cursed itself for, just for the chance to destroy.  This blazing, infernal exactness to seek revenge is so utterly overpowering that it burns away absolutely anything that might be even remotely considered unnecessary. 

But this does not mean that its methods and especially its reasoning are as flawless as its determination.  In fact, it is accurate to say that the revenant has a flaw at its core ideal which is almost as dreadful to contemplate as its existence.

There is evidence that the unthinking zeal of its hatred is not universally justified.  Nor are its methods.  But the important thing to remember about the hatred of a revenant is based on its own personal and limited perception. 

A revenant may not in fact be fully justified in their belief of revenge.  They can mistakenly believe that the one responsible for their death is deserving of their hatred, or even worse, have an incorrect belief of who it is that got them killed.  The truth of the matter is in fact potentially irrelevant.  The belief of the revenant at its moment of death could be fully mistaken.  The accuracy of the desire for revenge is less important, or even irrelevant, compared to the intensity of the hatred with which the individual forms their dying curse.

At the moment of their death, when the curse is formed, a revenant is subject to mortal fallibility and mortal imperfect perception.  This lingering mistake follows them into death and is perhaps the last lingering remnant of their mortal self.  The mortal self may also have been entirely deluded at the point of death; they may well have entirely deserved the ending they received.  They may have been a monster in life who was ended in a richly deserved way themselves – but by personal delusion or overweening arrogance, a magnitude of hubris painful to imagine – the act struck them as unjust to such a degree as to spark from that delusion a vast and unspeakable rage, which forms the core of the vengeance curse.

There is no guarantee of righteousness in a revenant, nor of truth in justice.  There is no universal weight of law and justice dictating the actions of the revenant.  No divine hand drives them.  They are created by themselves and cursed by themselves, and that hatred is what defines them.  Hatred which, however justified it may be to themselves is still only applicable by their standards.  And as such it is flawed.  It is based on emotion, and not logic.  It is formed out of fury, and not contemplation.  As such, it does not care of the damage it causes.

Collateral damage is inevitable when faced with a revenant.  Tragedy shall follow them as they cut down and tear apart those in its path to get at its target, individuals who may well have no choice in the matter.  What care such an unfeeling thing for innocence, for leaving orphans and defenceless unprotected beings in its wake?  Nothing, for they are to the black and white view of the revenant non-existent. 

In the dim grey of many shades that is the reality of life, a revenant does not distinguish or differentiate.  It is either incapable of it or uncaring of it, and therein lies the truest rub of its actions and how to judge them.  They are not about right or wrong, about justice or fairness.  They are a desire born of revenge and only by that revenge do they die, even if the damage they cause on the way is incalculable.

Perhaps the most awful thought to consider with a revenant and its habit of causing collateral damage is to contemplate the idea of vindictiveness.  This notion is disturbing, in that it seeks to cause the maximum possible harm to its target before taking its life – more simply put, the revenant take revenge on people close to the target as well, before killing the one they truly seek.  This could be seen as an extension of the curse itself, or it may well be the mind of the revenant, turned to this horrible purpose; blind to the fact that unjust death is what brought about its own existence and instead simply consumed by the desire to cause harm, they inflict that harm as widely as possible to cause both emotional and physical trauma to the one they seek.  At such a point it is fair to say that there is no element of true justice, of weighted response.  This behaviour is a vile act of vengeance and nothing more.

How do we know which of these automatons are righteous?  Dialogue with them is possible but it is circumstantial.  My own encounter with a revenant showed it to be a creature that by its long imprisonment and insane, infectious rage had degraded its mental faculties until it could do no more than howl its fury.  But that was an exception and not the rule – from other studies and reports they have demonstrated an ability to communicate, even if their objectives and discussion was of a singular nature, be it direct or attempting deceptive – the latter being unlikely.

I have but theory, unsupported by evidence except partial and incomplete observation, as to the nature of a revenant and a clue to the righteousness of its nature.  Personal observation of a revenant proved that it bore a singularly hideous appearance, rotted and blasphemous, its eyes sewn shut and yet burning.  It was in the end proven to be of a ruthless nature, uncaring of the cost of its revenge, even against an indirect influencer into its death.  More than that, in life he was described to be a somewhat cruel and even vindictive man, who had a habit towards violence.  In every way, his final appearance appeared to reflect the man he had been and the monster he had become.

Other descriptions painted a revenant to having a significantly more fair appearance.  Inhuman, yes – and distinctly lacking in life, but not nearly as monstrous or distressing as the creature that we strove against.  I have guessed and wondered, if this change in appearance was somehow a reflection of the righteousness of their rage – as an avatar less of revenge, but more of justice.  Could the flesh and vessel of the revenant be in fact a physical representation of the nature of the hatred, and the very mind of the creature itself – if it be foul, corrupt, and hateful, the flesh is warped and made hideous, but a being driven by justice just as much as it is empowered by its dying fury, have a countenance that is instead a reflection of righteousness?  Is such a thing even possible?

It is difficult to truly say.  As it stands there is nothing but guesses to be made as to whether or not this is accurate, and it may quite simply be entirely wrong.  The nature of death and the manner of it, the tortured flux of the possessing spirit that is the revenant, may mean that these beings are as varied as could want, and in line with this chaos is their motivations.  While it would be conveniently simple to break things down into such elegant lines, to attempt outright to do so smacks of the very black and white viewpoint of the revenant itself, and therein as it is for them, is there danger.

This supposition of physicality becoming a reflection of mentality aside; it does not change the revenant themselves.  It does not alter their single minded drive, be it wrathful or righteous.  The point we return to is the initial one; while method, motivation and even justification may differ in each revenant, and with it the validity of its entire existence, and while the drive of the revenant might be rage or true (and perhaps mythical in this sorry existence) righteousness, the absolutism of that mental state is universal.   The belief and the drive is as writ in stone and sealed by contract.  While it may be controlled even temporarily by an extreme discipline of the self, this is a circumstance so unusual and rare as to be highly unlikely.  It may even be impossible, but observation could prove this otherwise. Regardless of that fact, a revenant remains what it is – a fixatedly obsessed individual absolutely and inhumanly focused upon the achievement of its goals.  This mental state does not allow for interference or misdirection, and falls rapidly back onto force as a primary option to bypass obstacles whatever they may be.  In short, be aware that if one enters into negotiations with a revenant, they are not seeking to change a mind that cannot change – they are simply trying to buy time, however desperately.  A revenant cannot change its mind, without ceasing to exist.  If its hatred was to die, it would wither out, and the being itself would be no more.  But what hope could there possibly be, to turn a heart that set itself on fire to see its will be done?



Habitat.

No singular habitat defines a revenant.  It is however quite defined by its status as an outcast creature, and the location it takes up will reflect that.  As such, it will usually find a place that it can be alone.

However, the nature of it and the intensity of its goal dictates that a revenant will be found in rather unusual locations.  While it is undead, it gains nothing from lingering around mindless dead, and it has nothing in common or to be gained by being around other monstrous creatures that might tolerate its existence.  Unless they can directly and immediately aid the revenant in achieving its goals, it has no use for them and no reason to linger.  That it knows where its prey is to be found, its ability to track the general location of the one whom it is bound to by curse, means it has little reason to remain.

By the same token however, a revenant can hardly operate in polite society, or even openly in impolite society.  Its nature is obvious to the observer after even but a brief moment, and as such it must operate in some measure of secrecy.  But one should remember that it has no need to rest, or sleep, or even pause.  Its only need for subtlety is so that its target does not know it is coming until it is too late.  But the revenant itself cannot be stopped.  If its body is destroyed, it rises again.  If something is in its way it will go through it.  The presence of a revenant does not remain hidden for long, unless the one that it seeks is able to keep ahead of it.  In truth, the knowledge of the presence of a revenant is only known by the fact that the one it seeks manages to survive for any length of time.  As such, and due to their determined natured, they can be found anywhere the one they seek might be, be it in the wilderness, or cities, or even upon water. 

A revenant is only secretive in that it aids its objective.  Beyond that its wrath supersedes any sort of logic of long term planning.  It does not hide because it does not need to.  After all, what can stand against that which cannot die?  But by this same knowledge, this knowing of the presence of a revenant, we can draw a related fact – where a revenant is, and where it is known, its target either recently was or in fact still is.  As shall be revealed, knowing the target of a revenant is the most important knowledge one can possess if finding oneself in opposition to it.



Misappropriation – Mistakes and Flaws to Avoid.

The first and simplest mistake with the revenant is forgetting its singlemindedness.  It may be able to communicate (or not as the case may be) and it may be able to reason, but its goal is singular and entirely inflexible.  Attempts at deception, misdirection and falsehood are at a distinct disadvantage, not least due to its ability to locate the one it seeks so easily.  It has no time for games, or trickery, or falsehood of any sort; obstacles are to be overcome or destroyed, and anything between the revenant and its target falls under the category of obstacle.  Such razor sharp focus and absolute directness of purpose requires, if not demands, single minded tactics in reply, be they to fight, or to run.  Running is the safer option, but it is done so knowing that the revenant can track where the target is running to – at least vaguely enough to be able to set out in immediate pursuit. 

The fact it is an undead being makes this concept much worse than it sounds.  A living person needs to sleep, eat, and otherwise rest itself.  It can only move so far for so long, and run for so far and so long.  A revenant does not.  It has no fear of sunlight, it feels no exhaustion whatsoever, and it does not need to eat, sleep, or even breathe.  A person may take a fast boat to a deserted island, and the revenant will stride into the water and walk across the bottom of that depths in total darkness ever closer to chase them down, knowing when they are getting nearer.  Snatches of safety are all that can be managed, and they are above all, brief.

Should the pursuit catch up, the target and those protecting it must fight, but that is in no way a simple solution whatsoever. Before the fight even begins the presence of the revenant can turn the tide in its terrible favour.  Due to the fact it can warp the minds of those too close to it (be it with panic or rage, or other primal, deeper emotions) it is extremely dangerous to directly confront the revenant, or to stand in its path.  It does not need to even fight you to either cause you harm, or scatter you in mindless fear to other danger. 

Should this weighty presence be overcome by one of a strong, focused mind, the creature remains incredibly dangerous.  It feels no pain, and is powered less by earthly muscle, flesh and bone as it is by the force of its fury.  This lends it an overwhelming strength, and unspeakable durability.  Its wounds that it suffers are ignored, and heal before the eyes of the one who caused them.  In most cases they are ignored entirely – arrows cannot sink into that strangely durable flesh, piercingly only slightly and falling free.  This combination of raw power, incredible toughness and its mind altering presence creates a close combatant that is a step above nearly any merely physical opposition, and a revenant can walk through a company of ordinary soldiers to get at the one they seek with an awe and terror inspiring lack of difficulty.

Should one manage to overcome the entity, which is no small endeavour, the problem then lies that unless the revenant is completely destroyed – an extremely difficult prospect, as shall be explained – it shall return.  Exact period of time is unclear.  It may be hours, it may be less.  As long as there is a body it can possess, it can reform itself – just as it was before, with gear and weaponry, as though called from the aether – and come again.  And while it must possess a corpse, there are no shortage of such things in the world we live in.  Once the spirit finds one – and I would theorise they know instinctively where the closest might be that is suitable – the hunt begins once again. 

Even if one is aware of this, and by some power of arms or magic defeat the revenant, the next time it returns will be an entirely new challenge.  Not only will the revenant be aware of the tactics that defeated it the first time, it will in fact be stronger.  Each ‘rebirth’ of the creature makes it more powerful in some way.  The entity that myself and my companions fought against grew to staggering strength each time it was struck down, a mere two or three destructions of its physical form lent it an amazing strength that was only barely overcome.

In short, a revenant is a powerful single force combatant that returns more dangerous each time it is forced to take a step back.  It is as perfect a nemesis for its opponent as can be imagined.  Its weaknesses limited, it nevertheless is a creature that can be overcome – but finding the nerve and ability to do so is extraordinarily difficult.


Weaknesses and Vulnerabilities.

There are but two ways to destroy a revenant, and only two.  Only one of these can generally be regarded a success without having a clear picture of justification and guilt of the target it seeks.

Before we get to that difficulty, we must examine the opponent itself.  A revenant ‘can’ be killed, or at least disembodied.  They can be trapped, and disabled.  They can be defeated in combat.  But it is an uncommon feat of arms, requiring extraordinary skill, strength, and durability. 

The more effective method revolves around disabling the revenant.  Its methods are straight of line and entirely direct, without guile and without complication.  This means that if you have a line of interception between it and its target, if you can ascertain its location or where it is coming from, you can prepare for it in advance.

The logical thing to put in place will be, initially, a trap.  The straight minded logic of the revenant means that it will be less likely to notice complex mechanisms to indicate a trap, which could be as simple as a pit to lock it in place.  These traps might only buy moments of time, but the revenant will push straight through them or into them, especially if the target of its wrath is within reach. 

The mind of the revenant is what gives it that single mindedness, but a lack of tactics on its behalf is also its weakness.  It allows opportunity for observation, and study, and learning of weaknesses.  If one is able to conjecture a method to keep the target out of the revenants reach for long enough, a proper weakness can be observed.

But again, the optimal method is to trap, imprison and eliminate.  Because the only way a revenant can be killed is by either the aforementioned method of it claiming its target and ending their life and the conditions of their curse – and existence as a result – or by falling a second time to the hand of its target itself.
This is important to mention with extreme clarity to any would be hunter.  Either a revenant kills the targets that it has put in its sights, or that target kills it.  If the target kills it, the curse is broken, and the spirit either passes on to its final ending – or it is destroyed entirely.  In either case, it is cast out, and unable to return, and the circle of hatred ends.  But it only ends with a death.

The difference of this is the separation between success and failure.  But this of course returns back to the age old question – is the vengeance of the revenant deserved or not?  It is not at all unfair to say it is not when others start to die simply for being in the revenants path, but if the act of the target, the nemesis of the revenant is found to be so abhorrent, so appalling, that the temptation of justice being carried out to those of a moral standing, could they in turn see fit to turn aside instead?  To turn the other cheek and let the deed be done?

It is difficult to give a moral answer.  That is a question for each individual case of these rare instances.  That is a moral puzzle for each hunter to solve themselves.  That, in the end, is the weight of guilt that they choose to bear, be it for one reason – or another.

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #21 on: March 18, 2020, 10:00:15 AM »


Tactical Methodology – Locating and Tracking the Target.

The work of tracking a revenant is one of the more intriguing lines of investigation that any hunter could find themselves involved in.  In short, once the evidence of a revenant exists and it has been certified that it is active, you are almost certainly tracking down a murderer as well.  The murderer of the revenant.  After all, to be created, a revenant is one who dies a mortal death at the hands of another, in a manner involving cruelty, or hatred, or betrayal – or all three.  This almost universally speaks of murder, first and foremost, as murder is an action built solidly on these three terrible states.  So, in order to track down a revenant, one must find who it seeks, and to do that – one must usually also solve a murder too.

This is of course not the simplest matter.  No one likes to flaunt their sins, and murder is the deepest sin of all.  The one kept darkest, and most hidden, and in this case extremely well hidden because the murder was not punished.  Conventional law having most likely failed, for the death of the murderer by lawful execution would also mean the death of the revenant as well with its mission completed (at least tangentially), this killer is one who would simultaneously wish the crime hidden entirely.  This can create an extremely risky set of circumstances that must be made aware.

Firstly, the perpetrator of the initial crime is going to be torn between overwhelming moral and practical compulsions.  They may simply run to escape guilt, as futile as such is with a revenant.  They may try to deny it happened at all and destroy evidence, ignore advice and deny the danger inherent in such denial out of sheer desperation, a futile attempt to pretend the goings on are not happening at all.  They may in fact try to eliminate those who have become aware of their deeds, a singularly dangerous proposition if this murderer is someone with the power to do so.  Someone in a position of hierarchy is of particular danger.  For the hunter must ask themselves, what does this person have to lose?  What have they done, and would do to protect what they have most likely killed for before, and would kill for again?

If nothing else, one can at least make a reasonably accurate assumption as to the nature of the revenant based upon the behaviour of its target.  A killer who has killed, and is likely to kill again to conceal the deed does not, at first impression and likely deeper examination, offer much hope of being an accidental victim of the revenants wrath, if one is being delicate.  But in all instances, supposition is perpetually worthless.  Perhaps they did so to protect the life of another innocent, just as they would now, someone for whom they would condemn themselves to protect.  Fate is fickle and cruel both in this world that we live in, and circumstances are never as clear as they may sometimes seem. 

So, as one tracking and hunting a revenant, as an investigator, you are obligated to investigate.  To find deeper truths and hidden meanings, to act on knowledge and never upon mere guesswork.  The knowledge of the deed may well determine your actions, the harm the revenant shall cause, and the harm you can allow to take place.

If a revenant is justified, will you allow it to kill others to take revenge, even if they are innocent?  If it is not, what lengths will you go to?  Can the object of its wrath be the one to land the final blow to destroy it?  Can it be done?  Should it?

Who lives.  Who dies.  One must answer these questions and be responsible for the answering of these questions.  Like a shadow, the choice you make will follow you from the moment you make them, always.  One way or another, a question will likely always remain – did you do the right thing?

The core of your investigation will go through this.  It is the basis of the investigation and where you will find the truth, as deeply as it may be buried.  You must understand that in order to make correct decisions moving forward, as you must in any investigation, you must do so with the most complete picture possible.  Unlike any other victim of a monsters attentions, the target of a revenant has the most reason to hide and the least reason to co-operate.  And what story they come up with, you must learn to question.

If the chance arrives, if the possibility arrives, the revenant should be heard as well.  This is difficult, and will require the quickest, simplest questions that can be answered.  Expecting the revenant to stop and allow its target to escape is neither wise or logical.  But in a moment of pause, you may be able to find out what you need to know.  The core of this will be that before that moment, you must be aware of the questions you need to ask ahead of time, and that will generally mean back tracking.

Be intelligent.  Observe the movements of the revenant – where it has been, what it has done, what it has said.  Find survivors, find witnesses, and ask questions.  Who had they once been?  Who were they close to?  Why are they after this person?  What sort of person were they before?  Where could they go?  Why would they hold such a hatred?  Question after question, always drawing on logic rather than supposition.  You cannot as an investigator afford to take an incorrect guess.  You must know, and knowing needs evidence.  With the most complete possible picture of who the revenant was, who it is they seek, and the circumstances that led up to it, only then can you make the decision you are truly most at peace with – and act in the matter as you see fit knowing that. 

If you so choose to pursue the revenant, you cannot simply outrun it.  You must complete your investigation of it sufficiently to know not which way it went, but where it is going to be.  This means knowing where its target is as well – something it will already have a good indication of due to the nature of its curse.  The hunter must be better.  By being ahead of the revenant, you can prepare for it, ready the ground for it, and ultimately trap it.  There, you can – within reason – perhaps control the environment sufficiently for the target to break the curse by destroying the revenant. 

It should also be noted that effort should be made to try and prevent the revenant tracking its target.  This is difficult, as the revenant always has an idea or understanding of the direction that the accused is in, in proximity to themselves.  However, circles of salt surrounding the target, writ in the symbols to ward away both entities of oaths and evil, may in fact obscure the supernatural senses of the revenant, allowing for opportunity to buy time – however brief.  It does not stop the physical senses of the revenant whatsoever, and it does not in any way prevent the revenant from reaching the target physically either – it is a method to perhaps buy time, maybe hours, but it may be just moments instead.  It is, in short, a theory rather than a tried and true method – revenants are rare, and works describing them are even rarer.

Again, it warrants emphasis.  Only successful, accurate investigation of a revenant, how it came to exist and who it is after will allow you to manage this route.  If you cannot do so in time, or make a mistake in the examination, you will fail.  We all of us make mistakes, but in such a circumstance as this, the weight of failure is a life lost that we ourselves must bear the burden of.  For the sake of that burden, you must not just be thorough – you must be right, too, and so for that you must never make a guess, especially one that ignores evidence.  Getting an investigation correct is not a competition – the point is not who is right, but whether or not the innocent are protected, or avenged as it were.  Be wise and be clear in your investigation.  Nothing else will stand.





As has been stated before, the only way a revenant can be killed is by succeeding in its mission or being killed directly by the one it is cursed to seek.  Only by the hand it hates most can the link be severed, the spirit banished, and the cycle of death and hatred ended.  In the face of this obstacle is the many abilities of the revenant itself – its unliving power and potential, its single minded relentlessness and fury, its very presence a distortion of the mortal mind.  It is no small obstacle.

As was made mentioned in its weaknesses, its single mindedness is its greatest weakness.  One must be readily aware that this single minded nature is not something that the revenant can divert without difficulty if they can do so at all – formed out of such raw, overwhelming emotion of hatred the revenants fixation is that of one in a towering fury, be it blazing and roaring or ice cold and focused.  It is the source of their strength and also their flaw, in that you can count on that directive nature to prepare for it. 

A collapsing trap of stone was my method for catching the revenant I faced in Barovia.  Drawing it into combat and stopping it in place long enough for allies to bury it in stone and pin it.  I have no doubt that its strength would have eventually pulled it free from the trap it was in – indeed, it is worth making a note of this.
A revenant will tear itself apart to get free and kill the one it seeks vengeance on.  It will rip a trapped limb from its body, shatter itself on a great fall, drag itself on a broken body – broken, but rapidly healing – to get at the one it seeks.  You cannot trap it with pain, and you cannot deny it with anything less than complete immobility.  There is no simple way to achieve this.  In fact, you should prepare for a full retreat and have the means to do so immediately if the attempt at containment shows signs of failure.

A fully empowered revenant can shatter stone, burst through wooden gates designed to withstand a siege engine, and walk through an inferno.  You can hack it to pieces – it will keep coming.  And keep healing, repairing itself, and growing only ever stronger.  As of hatred it is, you only feed that hatred the more you try to deny it of its prize, and in doing so make it all the stronger.

Thus.  You deny it this rage, you act with swiftness.  There is no room to taunt or play games with a revenant, so your methods to entrap it must be both accurate and absolute.  Enormous weight, pressure and obstacles that render it helpless and allow the target to retaliate.  If you have successfully applied your method of investigation you will be able to get ahead of it.  You will have time to prepare the ground, the place, and maybe even when this avatar of revenge will appear.  At that point, when it is a case of one or the other dying, you have a chance.  The only chance you will get. 

A trip wire or signal drop trap that deploys a reinforced cage, or pit fall, or even a collapse is the recommended measure.  It is non lethal, and imprisons the revenant long enough for the target to break its death curse.  A lethal trap may destroy the revenant, or spell or barrage of attacks – though admittedly the attacks in question would need to be extraordinarily powerful to overcome its innate strength – but this would defeat the purpose, for it would soon reform into another body.  Only by the hand of the accused can the deed be done, and if at this point such measures are being taken then they must be worth such protection. 

The final blow may be surprisingly simple.  A blade blessed by divine power, or even a simple spell to give it a magical imbuement, wielded by the hand of the accused will cleave the flesh as easily as any other.  A revenant trapped under rubble may have such a blade driven into the throat or heart – it may even be easier for the target to do so.  It may well in fact be a replication of the blow that originally ended their life – I have theory, but only that, that the circumstances of the second death must have similarity to the first.  In the case we handled, the revenant was originally trapped and killed in a cave in.  In their final death, they were similarly trapped under rubble and then slain by a blow to the throat wielded by their foe.  And with such a blow, as a mortal blow to a mortal being, a revenant is either reminded of their first death – or the loop of its death is finalised and closed.

This is but a theory.  It could well have been coincidence.  But it is worth noting that some measure of replication enacts as ritual, and in curses of all kinds, rituals are paramount to their breaking.  Thus, an attempt to recreate circumstances similar to that first death, in some fashion, may well be worth trying to enact for the sake of ritual.

Should this admittedly enormous task be overcome, there is admittedly little peace to come along with it.  You have prevented a death, but you must realise that it can come at the cost of justice.  Or perhaps you will understand that such justice has a price to it, that is too great to bear.  What innocents perish in blood after the fact?  What hatreds are born in the aftermath of death?  It is a simplification in the end to claim that with the death of the accused at the hands of a revenant, the cycle of hatred, of loss, of pain, is ended.  Someone else always pays, be they loved ones, friends – or children.  In the end, robbed of the one they care about, and with no foe left to despise for taking them away, they turn instead to other choices.  Others who failed them.  Others, that in their hurt, broken grief, they will come to blame.

The cycle of hatred does not end.  It simply takes another shape.



Conclusion.

This is perhaps the most difficult of these summations that I shall write in this volume, and not because I divided it over two classifications.

In this examination, I am reminded firmly of who and what I am.  I am a man driven to where I now am by my anger, and by my hatred.  It has been an overwhelmingly powerful guiding force in my actions.  Out of anger, I devoted myself to learning the ways of the monstrous, and by the force of my rage I came to know their minds, their being, their very fabric and do so without pity nor mercy.  I did so out of revenge, for the twice told loss of all that I once held dear.  Twice my life was undone by the obscene, and the monstrous, and thus I gave myself in to hatred that created.  I would not forget and I would not forgive, and it lent to me a focus that narrowed further, and further, into a razor sharp point, until I was blind to all else.  It burned, even though it burned cold and deadly, threatening to sear outwards at all moments.  But a fire consumes, and what it consumes it destroys – not just without, but also within.  Such a fire requires a fuel, and when it cannot burn hatred, it burns other parts of the soul instead.

I cannot change the road I took to come here.  I cannot change the choices I made in the past, to become who I became.   I cannot bring myself to ignore them either, and pretend that they never happened, for they did and the choices that my path led me to believe were right at the time are now burned into the back of my eyes, to replay again, and again, each night that I sleep.

Each of these creatures, the wight and the revenant, are beings borne out of the darkest depths of humanoid emotion.  Abject malice and spite, absolute fury and rage.  Both aspects of hatred, that powerful, poisonous prison that gives souls a power and drive beyond the norm, but burns them away to blackness.  For all its heat and potency, it is a finite thing that one day leaves behind a shell of what was, replaced instead by the emotion, and nothing more, unreasoning and uncaring.  Both wight and revenant are two differing sides of the same coin – two separate creations of hatred, reflected in different ways – specific and general, personal and spiritual.  They are for this reason a terrifying reality, and a horrifying realisation of potential fate.  While some scrap of sanity remains in us, we must contemplate becoming such an embodiment of our hatred as what it is – a living hell of an existence, imprisoned by the very worst aspects of who we are.  Of who I am.

I admit, I have fear.  I have felt hatred of such intensity that I could taste blood and smoke form in my mouth, as though my words were poison that ripped and burned my flesh from within.  I have killed and survived death by my hatred, as it gave me strength even as it ripped parts of my heart away, casting them into a black abyss I could never recover them from.  And from those wounds, I wonder if my fate is to be as I have studied, understood, and come to dread.

But I have also learned through lessons beyond believing, the importance and power, of forgiveness, and implied in that forgiveness, also of hope.  I have witnessed cycles of hatred end without violence, though I admit they are rare and precious things.  And I have been told words that took the broken, ripped fragments of my heart, and sewed them together, with the very fragments of the heart of another, given freely and openly that mine might have been saved from the hell of my own making.

In my moments of quiet introspection, I know that the cycle has not been broken completely.  I still have the capacity of wrath, of hatred, and I know that fire remains there low in my heart, ready to burst into inferno once again.  But I am aware of it now.  I know it now.  I know what it costs, how it came to be, and I know also, the power that defeats it.  That the greatest gift we can be given is not simply the forgiveness of another, but to learn, through pain and suffering and sorrow, that we can in fact forgive ourselves.  Even – or perhaps especially – if we do not deserve it.

If I am honest, I am not sure I have managed it.  I do not believe so, as much as it shames me to admit it.  That I saw loved ones die to prove the power of it and that I still feel guilt makes me wonder if I disrespected their sacrifice, and that knowledge burdens me with shame.  That, and the shame of the things I have done and know I could have done differently.  The lives I destroyed, the lives I took, the lives I left behind to live on and never know.  How long before I do as I once did, and bury that shame beneath the only emotion I ever felt that let me ignore it?  How long before I rely on hatreds power once more, to force myself to forget that which haunts me, so I can run from it into an abyss where I cannot even remember my own name, only that which I seek to destroy?

I know not.  But allow this to be my will and testament.  On the day of my death, burn my body, render it to ignoble ash.  Scatter that ash over four crossroads over four domains.  Let this be the moment that I say, I would rather be a voiceless, lost, and wandering spirit condemned eternal to wander, than to be a prisoner of hatred once again.  I beg you, if any live on that day that love me, if I have not been cursed to be the one to survive when all else fall until only I remain once more, grant me that small mercy.  I have seen one condemnation over the other.  I know which I would rather choose.


« Last Edit: March 18, 2020, 06:15:40 PM by Nemesis 24 »

Nemesis 24

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Re: The Method of the Kill - Thoughts and Lessons of Jean Renaud.
« Reply #22 on: May 28, 2020, 08:47:58 PM »
Entry.

I am a father.

It is a discordant thing to even write such down.  A jarring experience to realise I am, and was for some nineteen years, a father all this time.  Father to a child I never even knew existed, and now I must confront all at once the terror of being a parent.  I am a father.  But I am not the one she wanted, or hoped for.

It is a dagger to my soul to admit it.  But yet here I am, knowing it to be true.  I can feel the yearning in her silence, but the disdain in her address.  Renaud, she says, to remind me each time that her name is not mine.  To remind me that I left her, and left her mother.  That I chose my brothers instead and the road.  Remind me of the lie I told myself, and the stupid, worthless decision I made to leave them.  Even though I did not know, even though I believed the lies told by others and myself, it reassures me of utterly nothing.  I was a boy, longing to be a man, and I made the choice that men I aspired to be had made before.  A childish decision.  The decision of a wretch and a fool. 

Her mother is dead.  So are the men I chose to ride beside.  So are the others who came after.  Each time, my family has died.  The family I made, and abandoned.  The family I came from, who taught me the lessons I rejected.  The family I chose, and built.  More than once.  Each time I have survived, and they have fallen or broken, or finally seen the truth of me and walked away.  I wonder which amongst all my sins, which was the one that earned me this punishment.

I wondered also if those that I left behind would forgive me.  If they knew the deeds that I had done, that were worthy of being remembered.  I have prevented calamity on a scale most dare not dream, and saved more lives than I can count but yet I am filled instead with shame.  Because I know now beyond all doubt that they would not.  She does not.  My daughter deserved a father, not the broken wretch that she instead must look upon.  She does not understand me.  She does not know me.  And I do not know her.  And each of us rage, our frustration at our mutual lack of understanding driving anger to the forefront, our shared defense against confusion.  Of all the things we could have had in common, the thing we share is our means of self destruction.

I never realised what comfort there was in understanding until it was gone.  A silent understanding, without words, that there was simply someone out there who knew and who understood.  Who knew what we faced, what we lost, and what we had to sacrifice.  I did not have to say anything and neither did they – they knew, in the blood we had shed together.  Our memories entwined, I did not have to explain what it felt like.  I did not have to explain why I now fear the dark, why I do not sleep, and why my memories are haunted of an awful darkness, trapped, with a monster hovering over me waiting for me to move that it might pounce.  I did not have to, because someone knew.

But now I am surrounded entirely by people who do not.  They do not know me.  And now, even when I want to say the words, I cannot.  Because I do not know how, and they would not believe me if I did.  And so, despite the fact for the first time since I was a child someone of my own blood is near to me, and I have never felt more alone.

They laugh and smile, and even as I watch I can see the lies, hidden behind falsehoods, behind deceptions.  A game they play that they believe they excel at.  It is unending, unyielding, and it swallows up everything in a fetid swirl of false words. I am left wishing to scream and to lash out, to fall into the bloody work and brutality that is all I am famed for, all that I am useful for.  And I long for it, for at last in that moment, that single heartbeat, things are at last clear and simple, with no complications, and I will at last be able to breathe.

I have been found by my daughter, and I am already losing her to the game of lies.  It is my own fault, just as all the rest of it is.  And because I am a coward, rather than confront it however futile and useless it might be, I instead cast myself upon the barren shores of my work instead.

How fitting it is that I now choose the chapter that, like my predecessors before, shall leave me forever cast out of Barovia.  And the deadliest of opponents, save one.  Perhaps this will be the end of me, an ending I fight even as it inexorably drags me downwards.

By my own hand, I have ended the existence of vampires.  I have wept in the silence that is my own that others may never know, all because in their ending, they all share the same expression.  They all feel the same overwhelming emotion, shining brightly in their pale features just before they wither into dust.  Relief.  Relief that the agony that is all they have, is something they can finally let go of. 

If I could speak to my daughter, and she understood the words that I simply do not know how to say, if I could find a way to understand her that she she, that someone might finally know me, and in that knowing forgive me, and teach me how to forgive myself, for I am tired.  I am so very, very tired, and this constant bleeding hurts, if I could speak and someone could know I may, at last, know what that relief feels like.

Instead I am afraid.  Everyone in my wake is dead, or lost, or damned.  Those few that endure do so by making me either foe, or rival, or forgotten.  But even though I have defeated so many of my foes through odds that should have been insurmountable, I have lost more than I can bear.  And so I am terrified, because I do not know what to do with my daughter.  I do not want her to become another me.  She does not deserve that.  She is the finest thing I have ever had even the smallest hand in doing, the most frightening thing I have ever seen, and I am the most undeserving father and man that ever was.  But I push her away with my fear, and she pulls away because she cannot forgive me, and now, at the end of things, she is all I have left; and I must confront the fact that one way or another, I will lose her forever.

Here at the end, I understand.  The relief, the ending, the letting go at last.  I will cling to this last spark with broken, bleeding fingers, I will hold on to it as long as I can, because I have to.  But it will be a relief, when I can hold on no longer.

I hope I am not missed.  I hope my name is spat upon.  May all piss upon my memory, and forget me in scorn.

Better that, than this grief. 
« Last Edit: May 28, 2020, 09:01:35 PM by Nemesis 24 »