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Werewolf Running (writing snippet)
12 years ago
General
I was writing, today, in between doing work. What came out was a bit odd. I like it, even though I'm not sure I'm going to ever do anything with it. So I guess I'll leave this here.
The character's name is Ramstel Dane but beyond that, I know nothing about him.
This is his introduction.
Months like this went beyond “terrible”, verging from the “catastrophic” into “apocalyptic”. The droning hum that filled the trees wasn’t from a helicopter, plane, new form of military hardware, or even a hobbyist’s toy jet. No technology seemed to exist anymore. As Ramstel dodged by moonlight between the gnarled boles of ancient, vine-hung trees and leaped across pools of algae-filed, stagnant water, he risked upwards glances at the giant hornets pursuing his shaggy form.
He wasn’t used to the expanded world his nose and ears revealed. And while navigating by moonlight was far easier in the blue-tinted landscape of his lupine vision, he still didn’t fully recognize his color-shifted world. Myths about dogs only seeing in black-and-white notwithstanding, had trouble adjusting. Having to do so as he fled the murderous insects only made matters worse.
His fur was damp: soaked with wetlands muck and, to a lesser extent, blood and ichor. The blood was his own. The ichor was not. The latter came from the first of the insects that had dive-bombed him. His claws may have been small but a seven-foot-tall werewolf could rip through the exoskeleton of any bug … even one the size of a German shepherd. But the sting of those wasps was like a sword. His right arm and shoulder each bore throbbing wounds that reminded him not to let the beasts get to close again. All he could do was keep running.
I had this image in my head of a world converted by the magic-like science of people from the far future, intending on "restoring" a sense of wonder in their past. They are temporal engineers and engaged in an undertaking to put humanity back on a path that would prevent or alter their sterile version of the universe from coming to be. And so while there is no magic, they have created things that simulate curses, spells, magic, and other such stuff while actively removing technological items.
Ramstel, in my mind, had been one of the people of the present when everything suddenly went haywire and the future-folk started their experiment. He survived an attack by a person converted by an artificial virus into a werewolf and contracted the disease, himself. Now, a month later, he's exhibiting his first change.
Why he's running, why he's fleeing giant hornets, where he's going, and what his motivation may be, are unknown to me.
It could be anything.
But for now, I'm just sharing this bit of whimsy with you.
Enjoy.
Yours,
Sylvan Scott
The character's name is Ramstel Dane but beyond that, I know nothing about him.
This is his introduction.
Months like this went beyond “terrible”, verging from the “catastrophic” into “apocalyptic”. The droning hum that filled the trees wasn’t from a helicopter, plane, new form of military hardware, or even a hobbyist’s toy jet. No technology seemed to exist anymore. As Ramstel dodged by moonlight between the gnarled boles of ancient, vine-hung trees and leaped across pools of algae-filed, stagnant water, he risked upwards glances at the giant hornets pursuing his shaggy form.
He wasn’t used to the expanded world his nose and ears revealed. And while navigating by moonlight was far easier in the blue-tinted landscape of his lupine vision, he still didn’t fully recognize his color-shifted world. Myths about dogs only seeing in black-and-white notwithstanding, had trouble adjusting. Having to do so as he fled the murderous insects only made matters worse.
His fur was damp: soaked with wetlands muck and, to a lesser extent, blood and ichor. The blood was his own. The ichor was not. The latter came from the first of the insects that had dive-bombed him. His claws may have been small but a seven-foot-tall werewolf could rip through the exoskeleton of any bug … even one the size of a German shepherd. But the sting of those wasps was like a sword. His right arm and shoulder each bore throbbing wounds that reminded him not to let the beasts get to close again. All he could do was keep running.
I had this image in my head of a world converted by the magic-like science of people from the far future, intending on "restoring" a sense of wonder in their past. They are temporal engineers and engaged in an undertaking to put humanity back on a path that would prevent or alter their sterile version of the universe from coming to be. And so while there is no magic, they have created things that simulate curses, spells, magic, and other such stuff while actively removing technological items.
Ramstel, in my mind, had been one of the people of the present when everything suddenly went haywire and the future-folk started their experiment. He survived an attack by a person converted by an artificial virus into a werewolf and contracted the disease, himself. Now, a month later, he's exhibiting his first change.
Why he's running, why he's fleeing giant hornets, where he's going, and what his motivation may be, are unknown to me.
It could be anything.
But for now, I'm just sharing this bit of whimsy with you.
Enjoy.
Yours,
Sylvan Scott
That's my two cents anyway.
That's part of the issue: I'm not sure what story I'd tell in this world. Heck, I've got so many stories in my head, I'm amazed I need any more!
It is, after a fashion, a sort of "apocalypse". This world setting is pretty much the end of civilization as we know it and the emergence of a kind of "fantasy" world with an emphasis on anything-but-safety.