Werewolf _DEL_36fd5

Werewolf Description

I write these words by the flicker of a single black candle, its flame trembling as if it senses the danger I court each night. They call me Mentecapto—“madman,” whispered with fear and fascination—but I know the truth of my own cleverness. I walk among them: pale-skinned predators who drink moonlight and blood, and moon-cursed beasts whose howls tear at the fabric of night. Neither clan claims me, yet both rely on my fragile mortal wits.

Tonight I slipped through the courtyard of the Black Ash Keep, where the Velvet Fang coven plotted their next strike against the Silver Claw pack. I exchanged a folded parchment—stained with wolf’s-blood ink—for secret reconnaissance: dates of midnight raids, passages of subterranean tunnels, even the whispers of dissent among the werewolves. In return, I offered promises penned in my own red blood: that I would not betray them utterly.

Still, my heart belongs to Unbra. Her name tastes of smoke and sweetness on my tongue. She, with her hair like spilled obsidian and eyes that glimmer with ancient sorrow, meets me in the ruined chapel at the edge of the old graveyard. There, beneath vaulted arches cracked by time, we steal kisses in the hush between howls and the clatter of fangs. She traces her cold fingertip along my pulse—a reminder that I am alive, and she is not.

I confess my terror: that the coming war will consume us both. I have brokered cease-fires with equal parts flattery and threat, but every truce I craft feels like building a house of cards over a chasm. Should the vampires learn of my heart’s true allegiance—to life itself, embodied in Unbra—they would rend me limb from limb. Should the lycans discover how I cherish her immortal soul, they would hunt me as the ultimate betrayer.

Yet I persist. Each day I forge a new illusion of balance: a cryptic warning slipped into a vampire noble’s crypt; a dropped vial of sleeping draught in a wolf-lord’s chalice. I fan the embers of distrust just enough to stall open war, though the flames lick ever higher. For every night I prolong their hesitation is another night I can hold Unbra in trembling arms.

Should this diary be discovered—should my bones whisper these confessions long after I am gone—know that I did not act out of cowardice, but out of love. Love is the most treacherous artifice of all. It binds two souls across an abyss of blood and curse. And if, in the end, neither fang nor claw prevails, perhaps it will be because of the madness in this heart that dared to challenge eternity itself.

If you want to create such a character in this browser RPG, read this article about how Lamentosa works.