A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

The Ravening Red Wolf

January 15, 2010
1 Comment

This is the fable I was told, it’s also know as the story of Roter Reitwerewolf or more universally as Little Red Riding Hood. See if you can pick the moral of the story.

There once was a beautiful woman with hair of spun gold the colour of flames.

She had come across a small cottage, deep in the Ardennen and let herself in. It was not her home. She was in fact far from home, in a land that existed in a memory of time long past. But she needed to rest.

A hunter lived in the cottage, and upon his return from a hunting trip, he found the woman in his home.

The hunter knew by her beauty alone she was trouble. Piercing blue eyes and such pale smooth skin, delicate pink lips and ripe bosom. It was unusual to see someone of her beauty in his part of the world. A dark corner of constant battle, for souls, minds and peace.

She did not belong here, in his land, in his heath. Yet there she lay before him a heavyset cloak of red, wrapped around her. The woman was startling to the contrast of his drab and bare cottage. The hunter thought the cloak might be a drape of some kind, shaped to be clothing that served her protection from the harsh elements of the land. Or her drawing card to entice men, like him. The cloak reminded him of the dark colour of bloodshed.

“What are you doing in my home?” The hunter growled at the woman, startling her.

“Please, I only seek shelter and food. I shall not stay more than the sun rising.”

The hunter looked her over head to feet “Why do you run?” He asked.

“I do not run.” The woman laughed. “I was out walking and lost my way, before finding myself here, in need of shelter as night falls. There are creatures in the forest, that make noises that scare me.”

The hunter frowned deeply. “There is mud along the bottom of your cloak and you are without shoes.”

“I slipped on the mud near the brook, my shoes came off and I lost one to the stream. I had no purpose for just one shoe. So I left it behind and decided to walk on.”

He looked at the woman suspiciously. The hunter grunted. “You may share what food I have.”

“Are you a hunter?” She said pointing to the knife in his hand.

He nodded his once.

The woman looked about the small cottage and stood before the fireplace, warming herself. When the hunter looked over at her again, as he prepared the meat stew they would eat, the woman had taken off the cloak and dropped it to her feet. She was naked

“For food and shelter, the night ahead, I will let you lay with me.”

The hunter stopped carving meat for the hearty stew. With bloodied knife still in hand, he walked towards her. He had never seen anyone as beautiful as her.

“You do not know what you say, nor should you say it.” He said, stopping before her, his eyes gazing over the curves of her body.

The woman looked too beautiful to ignore, she smelled like woodland flowers.

“But I am here now, do you not seek comfort from me?” She asked him, watching his face carefully.

Before the hunter could clear the thoughts of her from his head and return to his dinner work, the woman snatched the knife out of his hand and stabbed the hunter through his heart.

As she pulled out the knife slowly, the woman watched the hunter drop to the ground.

“I am not what I seem and you are a fool to believe so. And I am a fool if I believed you would be gentle with me, or ask nothing of me in return for food and shelter here.”

The woman waited until the hunter was laying on the ground with barely a breath left in him.

She threw her head back and letting out the howl of the victorious wolf. She looked back at the hunter and plunged the knife into his chest again.

“When I said I wanted a morsel of food, I meant you.” She growled and crouched down on all fours beside the man.

A ripple of the hunter’s blood touched her hand, as it seeped out of his side and sprayed out wildly into her face, from his open chest. The woman smiled and licked her lips and bathed in the glorious red life.

Outside the moon shone full and proud. And again she howled. The sound echoed far and wide, the sound of victory, the call of the werewolf.

Roter Reitwerewolf’s wolf, sensed the moon and ripped through her. She shook violently, arched her back and dug her nails into the floorboards. Her body stretched, bone pulling against skin. Red and golden fur burst along her arms like flames, her nails changed to claws, her legs, became the powerful legs of a wolf.

She cried out, feeling alive as the shape shift pushed her human form inwards, and a werewolf stood, growling over the dead body of the hunter. She tore apart the man on the floor.

You see, the hunter meant no harm to the wair woman. But she did not see the situation of her being there that way.

There was a war brewing, between God’s people and his beasts in the hunter’s home land. A war of what was seen to be right, and what some people believed to be wrong. A war that Roter Reitwerewolf was ensared in.

Hunters had set up posse’s, who by night time, with flaming torch in hand and guns at the ready, searched long and hard for the abomination of woodland black magic. Roter Reitwerewolf was being hunted. They tracked and chased the wair, whenever the full moon followed the blue moon.

For Roter Reitwerewolf, it was the only way she knew to survive.

She sustained her werewolf for the whole night, after feeding on the hunter.

In the morning, she slipped into his clothes, and tied an old shirt around her head, as a scaf, covering up her beautifully, alluring hair and headed off. She looked like a peasant again. Hiding amongst the village people of the Barrle-Hertog and Barrle_Nassau.

Disguised as one of them, outsmarting the very people who were hunting her, hunting for a red wolf.


Werewolf instinct

January 13, 2010
Leave a Comment

After hearing “Werewolves instinctively go after that which they love the most” The other day, this statement got me thinking about what that meant or could mean.

Of course, it was said by humans who were in no way inclined to be werewolves themselves. I didn’t get lupine in their scent. So the statement coming from those that aren’t what they talk about, could be seen to be ignorant. Kind of like, you know, you can’t say that’s the truth of the matter, unless you’ve lived the truth of the matter.

At first, I took this statement to mean, that werewolves will ‘attack’ those they love the most. As in your loved ones, boyfriends, girlfriends, family and anyone who means anything to them.
As if that makes sense!
Hurting the ones you love the most to show what? That you care? Care enough to rip their throats out?
Please. A little dignity.

I took this statement to mean, that it was a rouge werewolf, one who could not control itself under moonlight, and in it’s loss of control it some how only sees or targets people it loves (ie recognizes) to attack and kill.

It could be said that this is type of reaction is indeed a reflection of who we truly are. That’s of course, complete bullshit, unless you buy into the old time marketing campagain of the werewolf image that has long, ‘dog’ed us.

We do not project the monster from within, even after taking wolf form, because it’s not a reflection of who we are. We have needs, baser needs when in werewolf form, but that doesn’t make us all that different to the rest of the animal kingdom and just because you’re labelled “a predatory animal” that doesn’t make you a monster. It just means we won’t be stood on or roll over for anybody. Werewolves, know how to survive.

Nobody truly reflects who they are to the outside world right? I mean, if they did, then why use make up, cosmetic surgery?

But people, we’ve come along way from the dark ages of werewolf persecution and scalping trials of the 1600’s. But the werewolf image is still more monster than any other supernatural being since.

So then I thought, what if they mean this statement in a good way?

Go with me here, let’s just assume those speaking were playing nice and tolerantly to my kind.
Because it’d sure make a change of pace.

Anyway, so what if this statement meant, that werewolves, instinctively go after that which they love the most, in a protective sense. I mean, you’d be hard pressed to find too many random attacks from werewolves these days. We aren’t mindless animals you know. When we shape shift, we still have a mind, an animal’s mind as much as we still have the instinct of our wolf shape and the predatory hunt.

And most creatures know, who’s top of the food chain and automatically who not to fuck with. I’m happy to say werewolves command respect in that sense. Do not fuck with the werewolves and they will not kill you. Simple really.

Werewolves are pack animals, they do not live alone. They do not work alone, they do not isolate themselves on lunar weeks or full moon nights. We instinctively go to what we know. We work with familiarity and routine. We adapt to circumstance. We protect those that we love and we will fight to the death, to ensure our pack survives.

Now if these people, had known that, their statement might make a lick of sense. But I’m guessing, they didn’t know that. Or they really just don’t have a clue about modern werewolves. Which got me thinking, they’ve heard to many kids stories. Like the most famous of them all, Little Red Riding Hood.

That ‘fairy tale’ has been told so many times, and changed, that nobodies really sure who started it or why or weather it’s got truth to it or it’s pure fiction.

There are a few popular versions that the Breukelen tell it as. Apparently they all have different meanings, that’s why there’s so many versions.

But I’m going to tell you a version, I was told of that fairy tale, only the Breukelen don’t call it Little Red Riding Hood.

We werewolves call it The Ravening Red Wolf. So stayed tuned for Part 2 of this post.

Once upon a long ago…

October 23, 2009
Leave a Comment

I got sent a link to the Wolfman trailer by @booklover73 on Twitter and it got me thinking about the tale of The Wolfman I was told as a child.

Since it’s almost Halloween seems appropriate to share it, so gather round gentle readers, and read along to this dark tale.

Once upon a long ago, there was a land in chaos.

In the United Provinces of the Spanish Netherlands the king of the land, was not pleased with his kingdom. He believed to rule his kingdom properly, everyone must follow his rule under, his god. He wanted the people of the provinces to have one god only.

The people of the seven provinces had always lived good lives. But when they told the king they did not wish to follow his god, they made him mad. The King formed armies of men in silver who were dispatched to make the people, listen to his decree. When they did not, they often met with death at the end of a sword, or were hung.

The people lived in fear of the kings silver men.

The men in silver were many, and always travelled as large groups on horseback. They carried swords, and they never left a village standing. Their arrival always signaled that death would follow to those who opposed the king.

But there was one village the silver men came to, that history would prove, to be different to the others they had conquered.

In the province of Uterecht, most of the villages had heard of the warring these men were bringing across the lands. A man named William, had spoken to them, told them of what it meant to fight the kings’ rule. William formed many friends, who rode with him across the provinces spreading the word of what was coming to those who did not do as they king wished.

The villagers of Maarssen, knew they could save their own village if they sought the council of their neighbors the Breukelen for help. They knew it would not be long before the silver men visited the town and burned their houses for not following the King’s decree of one god for all.

The village of Breukelen was also a small village, filled with families, farmers, blacksmiths and women who made the finest patterned materials of silk and wool. They like the Maarssen were a happy village, who were happy to live their lives from day to day, doing as they always had.

After speaking to the elders from Maarssen they decided the best way to save their villages from ruin and keep their people alive was to join their defenses.

The war of the silver men, was always moving closer to them, every day.

Together they sought out their surrounding neighbors for help in protecting the lands they lived on and their people.

They formed groups of messengers. Each group with a member from the Maarssen and the Breukelen was told to ride to a village and seek their support for the war.

The villages were spread wide and far.

The evening two of the messengers reached a village, but it was already too late.

Every house in the village burned. Bodies lay slain in the streets and pierced through pitchforks as a warning to those who rode through, of the might of the kingdom’s silver men.

Flames burned crops of wheat. The night sky was so blackened from the smoke of many fires, that the stars could not be seen for three whole nights. Instead of sunlight for those three days, ash rained down from the darkened sky.

Few animals managed to escape being slaughtered. Horses ran scared through cobblestone streets. The cattle of farmyard animals, whined so loudly that it was said the messengers thought they were crying and screaming at the same time, as they stampeded the nearby lands in confussion.

But one man, was found alive in the village.

On his knees, he wept.

He wore a fur across his shoulders, and a helmet with a wolf’s head on it. He held a younger man, in his arms, his eyes closed, blood staining his clothes.

“He was my brother.” The Beserker told the messengers.
“He fought the soldiers. He tried to stop them from coming into our village. We are peaceful he told them. We have artists here. Artists do not need to seek god or war. We have taverns with mead that you will be given all night. Beds for you to rest in as long as you need. But the soldiers did not care. I could not get to him, before they drew their swords and cut him down. A woman screamed and then they began burning our homes, killing our people.”

The messengers listened to the weeping Beserker. They offered to help the Beserker bury his brother, so he could be at rest. The Beserker, was so angry by the thought of parting from his brother, he yelled at the messengers:

“I will ruin the fires of the one god and king in blood and love. When the moon is next full, I shall walk amongst those who seek to destroy us as a man. By nightfall they will only see the beast of their creation, an animal that abhors mankind, and only seeks to fuel his revenge through their death. I will tear them apart with my teeth and cut open their flesh. I curse their life if it can not be this way for them as it is for me!”

The messengers, tried to help calm him down. But he would not be parted from his dead brother nor listen to the messengers who told him to join their cause. The Messengers realized there was nothing further they could do and left.

It is said that after three nights of falling ash from the sky the darkened smoke cleared and the full moon was able to be seen.

The messengers continued to form their alliances with the villages, and fight the silver men’s armies. Reports came in from far and wide of a lone creature, not unlike a wolf but some said more like a man, seeking out only the silver men and those they protected under the king’s rule. These people would be found dead, their throats torn, their hearts missing, with only claw and teeth marks on them. It was often said that wild animals, wolves in particular had attacked them.

But those two messengers always thought that this was the Besersker’s curse to carry as the Wolfman, forever seeking his vengeance, yet never satisfied.

    Arrooo! Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

    Join 465 other followers

    Follow A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn on WordPress.com

    Go hunting if you dare…

    May 2018
    M T W T F S S
    « Oct    

    Search for posts

    Blog Stats

    • 49,193 hits
%d bloggers like this: