Moon Razor of ManBeasts
Upon the third storm-cracked night, under the light of a bloated blood red moon, the Razor of ManBeasts was crafted. A show of revenge, or the creation of a druid gone mad, no one knows for sure. But the ManBeasts walk the nighted forests now, ever since then, not a coincidence I say.
The winds howled through the trees; shaking them barely perceptibly at the base, yet violently near the tips. The supple treetops whipped and swayed, swatting at the ever distant starry sky. The moon was full and red, a drop of blood high in the sky. The harvest moon, a time of bountiful crops and plenty of feasts. Such a sweet irony that this night would birth such a ravenous murder of the human psyche and flesh. A beast would be born of a man, a horrible creature both supernatural and eerily pacifying.
Tonight, is the night of the ManBeasts; and it will be a bloody revenge we have upon the self-proclaimed civilized folk and their children. Tonight, while their stomachs are full of the food they birthed from a raped land; they will be torn apart and eaten in-turn, for that is the way of the ManBeasts.
A crude and simplistic tool, probably made for the purposes of a specific ritual or ceremony. It is a slender athame, viciously serrated along one side, it is stained dark red with ancient blood and has obviously seen a gory use. To the untrained eye, it would appear a fascinating relic of the past. A historical item no longer with a purpose.
However, when hefted and held on the night of a full moon, it pulses with a warm life. Like the beating of a war drum, or possibly your own heart, you feel a rush and a chill. A surge of blood and a shiver down your spine, as your hair grows longer at an astounding rate, your back hunches, your fingers turn to sharpened claws and suddenly you've forgotten all about the dagger. You smell blood, and you have an urge to taste it..
You awake the next morning. Your wife and child are dead, there is a half eaten internal organ in your right hand and vomiting is action of the hour. Your bile is stained red with blood and spotted with bits of skin. You wife... Your beautiful wife, or so she once was. Her face is gone, only a memory now. You child that you once held in your arms, your little angel, a wretched slumping figure, disemboweled, most of her is on the floor in front of you. Right where you just evacuated the contents of your stomach.
Welcome to your new life as a ManBeast.
About thirty years ago, the savage country was tamed and conquered. The lands of those heathen barbarians were turned into farms and villages for the good folk of this world. We thought we had driven them out and plundered their secrets, but something remained. The legends of the ManBeasts were the only thing to escape that land, some say they still roam the northern mountains looking for fresh kills. All that is left of that bold attempt at civilizations are rough, hand-built, cottages strained with the blood of the settlers. Ghost towns, where you can see a trail of dried blood leading out a door and into the street where it ends in a shriveled black mass of what was once human.
Notes and Clarifications (The Horror Revealed)
This is my spin on the legends of Werewolves. A Half-Man, Half-Savage Beast that transforms on the night of a full moon. At the time this story takes place, the Moon Razor is lying dormant in one of the abandoned houses. It was found in the woods by a settler and taken home, it was his misfortune to handle is on the night of a full moon.
The ManBeast is only a savage killer during a full moon night, other than that he is mostly in control. He has been through a lot of mental strain and has most likely gone insane, to the point where he is just an ignorant savage fighting for survival in the vast wilderness. He knows his crimes, and they haunt him, he knows he will never be able to return to civilization. So, he lives in the woods and waits for his judgement.
The dagger radiates magic if anyone attempts to divine such a thing, it seems to be some sort of revenge-driven transmutation magic that is powered by lunar cycles. It can
The word itself connotes something wrong or evil. Natural, freak of nature, nurtured by a mad alchymist or simply the last of its kind. These creatures must be unique and... well, monsters!
Producing physical or mental fear by either its appearance or its actions. Mutants, mythical beasts, humans, flora, fauna, anything goes. Lets expand the boundaries and our established notions of what monsters are and can be!
Check under your bed before turning of the light!
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? Responses (11)
A well-written take on werewolves. Liked the victim's thoughts/reaction to his curse. Well done.
It can... ?
Other than the abrupt ending, it's quite a good post. :)
I wonder who made the razor? Maybe a tribal shaman who wanted revenge for his tribe being pushed off the land.
Pieh owns the Moon Razer and wrote this on the night of a full moon, such the abrupt ending. The writing ended but the killing began!
A new take on werewolves perhaps.
Certainly a very atmospheric piece. A good spin on a werewolf legend.
Very evocative description of the attack. Me likes.
I like the use of a 'Moon Razor' as the item of choice in this piece. Adds a proper sinister connotation. So I have to ask, is there something after "It can--"? Otherwise I like Strolen's take. :)
I just got back to this piece, and I can't remember for the life of me what comes after "It can." We will go with Strolen's interpretation, as I can't seem to recall what I did last night and my breath stinks of carrion.
*Beats the dead horse*
...it can what...? ;)
Pieh, I like this. Its short, but well executed, it has some nasty visuals and is highly useable. All in all, a quality submission.
pieh did just one beast destroy a whole provice full of towns
Evocative and scary. Nicely done!