Though today, to the ignorant eye, it is common to mistake two werewolves as kin when they are in human form.
Figure E shows the difference in teeth length. The L1's canines are 40% larger than the average wolf's. The incisors, molars and premolars are 20% larger.
Other than these five traits, the L1 werewolf is quite closely related to the regular wolf in appearances.
Lycanthropy-1 vs. Lycanthropy-2
Now that we know the differences between a regular wolf and the L1 werewolf, it is safe to assume that any contrast not covered between the L1 and L2 werewolf implies the L2 werewolf shares that appearance with the L1 werewolf. Any appearance not covered between the L1 werewolf and the regular wolf implies the L1 and L2 werewolf shares that appearance with the regular wolf.
Let's get started.
Figure A & B shows the size and definition difference between an L1 and L2's chest span and hindquarters. Where the L1 has a similar chest span to the common wolf (lean and fit), the L2 has a broad chest and upper body. The L1's chest and back glides in perfect harmony toward the hindquarters, whereas the L2's chest and upper body is not proportionate to its hindquarters. Figure C shows us the difference in coat size. Where the L1 werewolf sheds seasonally and has two protective coat layers, the L2 werewolf has one massive layer that sheds once a year.
Figure D shows the paw ratio. Despite the L2's larger size, the L1 werewolf's paw size still outgrows the L2's. The L2 werewolf's paws are of proper limb-paw ratio.
Relevance
How are L2 werewolves relevant in a guide made for L1 werewolves?
As most things go, they share a tightly woven history.
The L1 and L2 werewolves are well known rivals of one another. This is primarily due to the hunting parties held around the time the virus was “spreading” in the 1670s.
L2 werewolves were violent, crazed beasts in the L1 and population's eyes. This would inevitably draw attention to both L1 and L2 werewolves alike. The L1 werewolves attempted a docile approach to tamper the deadly temper of the L2 werewolf, and in turn, the L2 werewolves saw the L1 werewolves as weak disgraces in the eyes of Nayla.
Gradually, the two segregated, unable to find common ground.
Where the L1 werewolves were attempting to live amongst the humans to preserve lives, the L2 werewolves were adamant about culling humans in insurgents which was the number one cause of the L1's erratic migrations.
[Note: Lycanthropy-2 (Second Strain) and the insurgents are explored more thoroughly in the second volume Comprehensive Guide to Lycanthropy-2: Aeriote Clan. For now, the strain will be hinted at for informational purposes.]
Section 3 - Aspects
Transformation
Ireesha – 1st stage of transformation. The werewolf remains in human form, but the irises become thermal rays yellow to orange. Werewolves enter Ireesha when mood shifts for better or worse, or when the body senses a rise in its hormone level and/or heartbeat. This is a defense mechanism once used to warn off advancing predators.
Nyreesha – 2nd stage of transformation. At this stage, the werewolf is still in human form, but they possess the strength of their wolf. Often, this stage is followed directly by nyre but can be put off.
Nyre – 3rd stage of transformation. This is the final stage of the werewolf's transformation where he/she are in their complete werewolf form.
Decay – disease that renders the L1 werewolf blind. This disease is most commonly seen in a runch [See Section 4 Functions]. Decay is what occurs if Ireesha is entered repeatedly in a short frame of time, typically 72 hours.
Wolf version decay:
Human version decay:
Neire – an invisible layer made of heat energy and storage components. Werewolves express this layer from 1st stage shift to the complete shifting. This layer decomposes anything within a 2.5 inch radius of the man or woman's skin [e.g. clothes, accessories] with the exception of another's flesh. When a werewolf shifts into his or her human form, the neire reassembles all remnants present prior to shifting into wolf form.
Often hunters were able to track a werewolf’s direction based off of the footprint or pawprint this decomposing aspect left in the ground. This was when shoes were still uncommon for the werewolves.
Neir – sooty residue left after a shift into human or wolf form.
Nahla – mystically enforced metal which neither dissipates nor conforms to the werewolf's neire, leaving it visible in and during the shift, whereas any other substance melds into the neire. Nihn are made of nahla.
Extraction Points
Fangs – extraction point of the virus. The tips of the L1 werewolf's fangs hold the deadly virus. The L1 werewolf tears into its prey and the moment the tips hit the bloodstream, the virus acts fast and viciously, dispersing throughout the prey in a small session of time.
Claws – extraction point of the virus. The tips of the L1 werewolf's claws hold a diluted version of the virus. One scathe and the prey falls motionless.
Clans are formed as a base of pride, belonging and legacy. We’ve learned that which makes up a pack as well as that which is rejected. The lone werewolf. Teir’Lorn was once a clan dedicated to homing lone werewolves, those who were abandoned, lost or searching. It’s alpha, Dijn of Teir’Lorn, believed in Nayla’s vision of all things love, hope and companionship. He believed in no wolf left behind. But as decades passed, the clan began to disperse for reasons said to point back to the alpha’s overlooked prospect: troubled things packed with troubled things is doomed from the start.
Though one young male could not forget this vision. Scythe of Pyran, 1978, revived what is now an up and coming clan known most for its diverse members and the marks on history they’ve imprinted. The Teir'Lorn clan is now an eccentric pack located in Virginia’s Arlington Woods. The pack is young, its alpha being 60 years of age and still learning the ropes and strings of managing ten fully grown werewolves all with a challenging past of their own.
Section 4 - Functions
Nightcall
In the night, when the blanket of stars wrap around dense woods, the crickets buzz their light tune, streams trickle over minerals, coyotes yap and thin wisps of clouds drift by in a dreamy haze, there come times when the woods are not just woods, but a haunting land singing a harrowing melody capable of bringing the sky itself to tears. What is it, you might ask.
Why, that would be a nightcall.
Nightcall – a triune howl produced solely by the werewolf, capable of containing multiple messages in one projection. The sound can travel 10-20 miles depending on lineage.
For example: Wolf A has a vocal range of 11.5 m. and Wolf B 17.0 m.. A & B's pup will have a range anywhere from 11.5 – 17.0 miles. Occasionally, the pup's vocal range will fall short of its respective parents' set intervals by 0.5 or exceed it by 1.0. None are greater than 20.0 m. nor less than 10.0m.. This is important when it comes to the pack's chosen guardians. [See Section 1 Pack Status]
A nightcall can only be deciphered by the werewolf specie. To the foreign ear, it sounds as nothing more than a chilling song in the night. Sometimes, it is just that. A song.
Nightcalls are made possible due to the werewolf's larynx composition. The werewolf's larynx is composed of six vestibular folds, selective to specific nightcalls to project the intended message. The laryngeal region in the werewolf is one-forth (25%) larger than the common wolf's.
The three types of nightcalls:
Golden Nightcall – a call of assemblage. The golden nightcall is typically dealt by the pack's alpha after a hunt or battle, but has lessen in purpose since the 1800's.
Onyx Nightcall – a call of warning. The onyx nightcall is typically dealt by the pack's guardian from a distance when trouble is spotted.
Silver Nightcall – a song. The silver nightcall is typically dealt by the lone werewolf, the musical werewolf and/or the bored werewolf.
All werewolves are capable of producing any or all of the
three in one howl, but it is often frowned upon when a subordinate produces one, that is, one who produces it out of turn.
Aggression
Werewolves are known primarily for one thing. Can you guess what that is? As the title of this segment suggests, the answer would be aggression. We've all read the stories of Little Red Riding Hood and we've all seen the movie The Wolfman. Parallels we will find are the saliva dripping teeth and 'W' marked between their foreheads, expressing the purest rage. Why is this such a common attribute throughout the lore?
As PEB's studies will reveal, like regular wolves, werewolves have relatively low serotonin levels and high dopamine levels. This not only makes them extremely volatile in social situations but a threat to those around them. A werewolf born of the city will do fine, seeing as they were exposed to it all of their life, but a werewolf born of acres and introduced to the city will end in police sirens and PEB roaming the streets.
Many things trigger aggression in the werewolf.
One would be dominance, seen in both male and female equally. Werewolves fight. Constantly. For sport. For energy release. For established dominance. They live their lives with a continuous necessity to display dominance to the weak. That does not always imply physical brawls, but many times, it includes political and societal profile.
Another would be annoyance leading to aggression. Getting a werewolf riled does not take much more than a funny side glance in their direction on the wrong day.
Though the easiest way to trigger the aggressive nature is to intentionally go looking for it. Derision, probing, picking at the dominant nature or any form of malicious contact will sparked their fire.
Runch – improperly bred werewolf. Due to werewolves' high dependency on dopamine and serotonin regulation, unmonitored breeding has a 2.89% chance [L1 werewolves] of producing one of three mental illnesses: psychosis, bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. 5.43% chance in L2 werewolves due to the culture of their concentrated breedings of low serotonin levels (the most aggressive). Those of unstable aggression are referred to as a runch.
Section 5 - Teir'Lorn Clan
Clans are formed as a base of pride, belonging and legacy. We’ve learned that which makes up a pack as well as that which is rejected. The lone werewolf. Teir’Lorn was once a clan dedicated to homing lone werewolves, those who were abandoned, lost or searching. It’s alpha, Dijn of Teir’Lorn, believed in Nayla’s vision of all things love, hope and companionship. He believed in no wolf left behind. But as decades passed, the clan began to disperse for reasons said to point back to the alpha’s overlooked prospect: troubled things packed with troubled things is doomed from the start.
Though one young male could not forget this vision. Scythe of Pyran, 1978, revived what is now an up and coming clan known most for its diverse members and the marks on history they’ve imprinted. The Teir'Lorn clan is now an eccentric pack located in Virginia’s Arlington Woods. The pack is young, its alpha being 60 years of age and still learning the ropes and strings of managing ten fully grown werewolves all with a challenging past of their own.
Let’s Meet the Gang
Scythe–pack alpha. Alphas are known to be brute, dominant males with a superiority complex. This guy here is just trying to keep it together. Of the old French bloodlines, pack alpha runs through his veins, but does that make a leader?
Anila–pack beta. After losing her mate seven years ago, her priorities lie with ensuring she loses no one else. This generally comes in the form of snapping everyone into shape before they get bent out of it.
Terse –pack guardian. Beware, this wolf might think you to death. Silent in nature, the wolf sees all, knows all, carries the wits of ten men—oh, and works at Pizza Hut.
Drone—pack guardian. Tall, dark and always annoyed, this male will pick a fight with anything walking. Which is no surprise, he fights for a living.
Blue—pack guardian. Sheepish, cute, tasty, lovable, all words used to describe this wolf until you try holding a conversation with him. Victim to memory lost, his head is not always in the game.
Redbone—pack member. Active in all things female, this wolf will try to charm his way into your heart by any means necessary. That includes horrific pickup lines.
Vise—pack member. Street status: pseudo-thug and womanizer. Drowning out the past with the present, he lives for the next high, determined to capture life before it passes him by.
Fang—pack member. Answers to no one, so don't ask. Troubled by past neglect, the wolf has major abandonment issues and this causes for frequent misunderstanding among the pack.
Bane—pack member. Protector at heart, to love him is to know the greatest love of all. He will kill for loved ones without a second thought.
Rust—pack member. Tattered and broken, this wolf would rather sleep than interact with society, but don’t get on his bad side; sleeping beasts still have teeth.
Timbre—pack member. The only nonchalant and normal wolf of the pack.
Continue reading for a sneak peek
of Ruthless, book 1 of the
Teir’Lorn Clan…
Chapter One
Fang of the Tier'Lorn clan prowled the night with one intention; to see her, the sole being capable of halting the turmoil loose in his head.
Below the pooling moonlight was the rustic plane where her cottage sat. Alone. No interruptions. There was grass for acres surrounding the home and an apple tree, large and fruitful posted within the picket fence. Slender hills dipped and dived in zigzags beyond her home. Surrounding this landscape was the Arlington Woods of Virginia. Its trees were malnourished and of the fall tier, the canopies barely hanging on to the sweet end of summer. In their shadows rest his routine station.
Here, atop a wide and cracked boulder, was where he settled night after night. Day in, day out. Watching. While some may have called it creepy, a hairy beast lurking in the shadows of one's home, Fang did not. That is, if he went by the what she don't know can't hurt 'er motto. And you could bet that was his motto.
Occasionally, Leerah Fetcher would come out to help her mother tend to a sorry garden made of sagging, soft tomatoes and grateful ant vanguards. When kneeling in the dirt, she would take her hand to her nape and rub. And look around. And have questions in her eyes. Is someone watching me kind of questions. But in the end, without fail, she would turn away, seeming to write it off as her own paranoia and go back to playing with worms and dead garden concepts.
His chest would then deflate in relief and the pressure in his head would ease. Because God help him if his mate discovered him and the clan's alpha discovered her discovering him.
But this guard duty thing wasn't just age-old werewolf games of inherent protectiveness toward their mate. It was not even the addictive sickness he obtained nightly from stalking her, padding from one tree to the next and peering through her translucent curtains. Not the high that came when she was in her bedroom and her fingers would hook onto the hems of her pants. Not the way his mind emptied as her body moved like flowing water from the pants, or how his heart would beat so ferociously it clogged his airways. Until he grew heavy and lightheaded.
No, it was none of those things that triggered the stalker mode.
It was what she was.
The dark elves had been hunted by the light elves for as long as he could remember. Before he was anything more than a twinkle in fate's consideration. That she was a dark elf was his warrant to play guard dog at the edge of her residence.
That, and the fact Scythe had given him the third boot this week from his own residence. Well, the pack's residence. Which was some odd acres in the heart of the woods.
See, they didn't like Fang chewing on their house or stealing their belongings and burying them outside. Claimed it was not mannerly, because clearly they were not werewolves. But they tolerated it.
It was his unkempt fuck all of you demeanor that often gave Scythe a long rod up his rear. And when Scythe got the rod up his ass,
it sort of got stuck and he sort of got spitting angry and somehow thought Fang cared. And each and every time he registered Fang gave absolutely no shits, Scythe would get his really mad face on and give that same old rubbish line: "Maybe you need a walk."
Aka, beat it.
So here he was, watching over his mate, protecting her from the light elves—even though they had not attacked for years.
He chuffed and flopped down all recumbent and uncaring atop his rock. A stick lay between his teeth as he gnawed away his frustration. Ears flattened, eyes pasted to her kitchen window.
She was carrying a cooking pot from the stove to the sink. There, she tilted it over, a steamy downpour of water flowing out. The downpour of her blond hair was more lovely and how it fluctuated in time with her movement was becoming. How would that hair fill in his hands, slipping between his fingertips? How would it smell if he were to rub his nose into its thick assortment?