A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Strict Machine

March 26, 2010
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Searching for a song that could be a theme song for lunar week and all it entails, no pun intended, and came across this music video by Gold Frapp. LOVE the wolf dancers.

Do you think she’s trying to send out a little red riding hood vibe here? Or does anyone know if she’s from a U.K. wolf pack?

Very cool either way.


The Ravening Red Wolf

January 15, 2010
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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
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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.

Worse than Punishment

September 21, 2009
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Okay, so now 3 people know about the mugging and the possibility of me having turned a Non into a Lycan.

I told Aimee, so now she, Conall and Bodil know. Which should mean, by rights, you’d think, that I’d have the guts to speak to my father, the Breukelen leading Alpha about the whole incident.

Yer Right.

What’s worse than making your parents angry?
Disappointing them.

Seeing the look of disappointment in their face back at you.

My father does silent and moody very well, but his face is far more expressive than he realises. He wouldn’t even need to say the words; I’d just see it there on his face, looking right back at me. Un missible, unmistakable and totally hurtful. It’s just, well, there are still some things that are hard to say to my father, even as an adult. It’s like a magical hold that a parent has over their kid. Invisible barrier that just sits there. I know it’s irrational and stupid and I should just get this over with. But I’m hoping that I can sort it out, figure it out, without having to possibly involve him.

I know, it’s wishful thinking. But I should keep thinking positive; after all, it could be worse.

It could always be worse.
Have to keep that in mind.

I should be happy that I live in these “times”. Because in ancient European lore, Armenian women would be condemned to spend seven years in werewolf form if they were found guilty of “deadly sins”.

Not sure how that works. I mean, it’s either slightly exaggerated history lesson to scare the bejesus out of young girls into doing the right thing – a bit like the whole “little red riding hood” fable (keep your virginity girls! lest ye be tempted to stray into bed with a werewolf in utter lust!). Because as far as I know, only Alpha werewolf’s can hold their wolf form for as long as they require.

Beta wolves like me, have to shape-shift during lunar week. We can bring on a shift during non-lunar week time to go to werewolf form at will. But the form only holds for so long. Usually a around five to seven hours, after that, the shift will automatically start in order to revert us back to our human selves. It’s just how it works. One body’s way of coping I guess.

Alpha’s get far more say in the matter. They have greater control and command from what I’ve seen.

Or of course, it could be even worse than that.

I could end up at Plum Island Animal Disease Centre. I mean, I’m sure my father wouldn’t send me there. I’m sure. I’m sure. I’m sure. I’m fairly sure.

Okay I think I’m getting a little paranoid about this whole telling my father business thing now. I mean, everybody knows Plum Island doesn’t deal with….our kind.

Well, okay, I don’t know that for certain.

I mean there are always rumours about that place. Seriously, scary, rumours, that I’ve heard ever since I was a kid. Which kind of make that place, something of an urban legend.

The kind of rumours that just don’t ever go away. So it makes you wonder how much of it is true.

Like the one about how bounty hunters are asked to capture werewolves for secret government testing over there. Or what about how werewolves of a ‘certain nature’ (read lycan or lone wolves) are put in there for the lab coats to figure out how much of threat we are to the humans and finding out all about our biology, the weakness, how it all works.

Or the scariest rumour I’ve heard is the one that never seems to go away.

That Plum Island is the place were werewolves are disposed of, and I don’t mean like it’s a jail.

Most pack wolves believe, that if you go to Plum Island, you never come back.

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