Beasts and the Men That Become Them
I've been thinking about werebeasts a lot lately after I saw a deeply awful video of a wolf bringing down a deer. My whole life, I've always enjoyed the hulking half-man hybrid type of werewolf, like the ones found in Skyrim. And of course I do! They're fucking awesome to look at.
But after seeing that video and seeing an ordinary wolf in action, it got me thinking: how is this not already enough? Is an ordinary wolf not already more than dangerous enough to tear apart an ordinary person? Hell, I'd argue it would take more than two or three people to reliably disable a wolf. The thumbs just feel like overkill.
It also made me wonder what kind of person would become a werewolf. Sure, you could do the classic bite victim, but that feels a little too random. Any shmuck could come down with the dog virus. But what kind of person gets cursed to become a wolf? A bear? A rat?
But enough yapping. Here are stats for beasts and writeups on their shapeshifters.
Designed with Wayfarer in mind.
Wolf.
2HD+1. Lightly armored. Teeth and claws that can kill a man (1d6).
The hunt and its ethos incarnate. Legends say that the first wolf was a hungry shadow that took form so that it could chase the man who cast it. The second and third were the shadows it cast itself.
The beast wants you to run, because it knows how to chase you. It can kill you in a fight, but will not take risks it doesn't need to. The wolf knows if you are already injured, and rolls morale with disadvantage if that is the case.
The wolf rolls damage with advantage if another wolf is attacking the same target.
On a damage roll of 6 or higher, the wolf bites down and will not let go until it is dead. Credit to Stella!
Werewolf.
When dormant, an ordinary person. When in bloom, same as Wolf, but non-silver weapons only deal 1d3 damage.
This is not a gift.
The man who becomes a wolf becomes so with sorcery. An offer of tooth and claw and blood and bone is made to the Man in Black. Some witches offer themselves. Others offer another without their knowledge. Oftentimes, werewolves have no idea what they are until it is far too late.
When the moon is full, the Wolf blooms from its soft, pink prison. The sight is so horrific that referees should feel free to test sanity when someone sees it up close. The wolf is born both angry and starving; it will not rest until it has eaten twice its weight in meat. Its humanity is dim and distorted, and it will seek out those that it loves most.
To be a werewolf is to be lonely, but not to be alone. Each person killed by the Wolf has a 2-in-6 chance of becoming a Wolfwight, a specter seen only by the werewolf. These undead haunt and harass their killer until the curse is ended. They will often have ideas on how the werewolf ought to end said curse, typically by taking their own life.
After about a year of transformations, scars will become apparent on the shifter. Those familiar with the Witching Way will know what they are.
Bear.
4HD+1. Lightly armored. Claws and teeth mighty enough to kill a horse (2d6).
Majestic as it is massive, this is the warden of the wild. All other beasts pay homage, be it by giving the bear distance or giving the bear their flesh for sustenance.
The bear is not often scared, certainly not by men and their metal. It roams the forest without fear, an errant sovereign in its polity. Those who challenge the bear or its unspoken, unknowable law will find themselves chased down, sundered by paws and fangs, reduced to ferment among the trees.
Mundane missile damage is reduced by 1 against bears.
Those struck by the Bear for 8+ damage must save or be pinned. Pinned targets are hit automatically without need for a roll.
Werebear.
Among the tall trees, when justice must be meted out, a totem is carved. The totem depicts the bear in all of its terrible glory. The justicar strips himself of clothing and restraint and devours his weight in meat, milk, and berries. Vomiting ruins the ritual.
When the meal is done, the man lays himself at the foot of the totem and falls into a sleep unattainable by ordinary men.
The man dreams. The bear awakens.
The Werebear will seek out the lawbreaker by their scent. So long as they are sated and full and fat, they do so with all the wisdom and memory of a man. Eating the lawbreaker's heart allows them to return to their human state when next they rest. But hunger erodes humanity, and the bear begins to forget.
Each day the werebear goes without eating at least twenty rations worth of food incurs a save to retain their humanity. Failure results in their humanity slipping, and the mind of the bear washing over them until they are satiated. If a week passes like this, the bear's mind will devour the man's heart, and no humanity will remain.
Rat.
1HP. Lightly armored and nimble. A bite that can draw blood (1d2) and risk disease.
The dim servant wishes he owned the king's palace. The wise servant knows that he lives there too.
Rats dwell within the bristles and fur of the world of men, living off of our detritus and growing fat upon it. They are killed if they are found, and so naturally they have learned to never be seen, never be heard. They live in packs to ensure survival, yet too many rats will become noticeable and give away the game.
Yet just as the rats lurk in the world of men, pestilence thrives in the rat's domain. When rats dwell too deeply for too long in one place, disease spreads. The rats themselves are immune as its heralds, but their human hosts are certainly not.
The rat cares not if it brings death to its benefactors. Plague only leaves behind decay for them to flourish within.
Wererat.
As 2d6+3 rats.
You are only healthy temporarily.
The plague passes many, but leaves few unchanged. Never again will you run for miles, your lungs betray you. You must forget how it felt to put heavy stones over your head, your joints now scream at you for trying. Death passes you but decay has come early. You must watch it wither your body. But you need not find it unpleasant. And you need not be alone.
The fever dream comes and you are met by family, or whatever you liken to it. They offer to share in your suffering, so long as you share with others. Those who accept awaken with an itching in their skin, but their symptoms alleviated. Freedom is nice.
Freedom is not free. The illness creeps back in with time unless it is cast back out.
Once a week, you kneel in the dark and feel yourself come apart, flesh tearing into segments, each clump of you sprouting fur and teeth and flesh as it thuds to the ground. When the mischief is full, they get to work. They scurry into food pantries, dining areas, trash pits and latrines. They take whatever food they can stuff into their gullets (the wererat often awakens feeling fuller and healthier than ever before). As payment, they leave behind the crawling, invisible mites of plague, spreading anywhere the unnatural paws touch.
The rats reform, and the wererat enjoys life without disease. Those around them begin to feel ill.