The Origins of the Armbrust Werewolves and the Reische Family Vampires

Treu knew there was a catch. “What do you want as a counter wager?”

I pointed at Frost, or, to be more accurate, I pointed at the necklace draped around his head. “That,” I said. This turn of events sent the wolf pack in an uproar but of a different sort then before. This time, there was no howls and laughter. There were barks of anger and worries. The general consensus was that I should be killed for even daring to propose such a deal.

Treu cleared his throat, and the crowd’s desire to hear the lines of the drama playing out before them won a silence over the bar. “What do you think, Frost?”

Frost shook his head. “This is your pool game, Treu.”

It was time for Treu to think it over again, but I didn’t hear murmurs from the wolf pack this time. I looked over at Frost, their ancient leader, and he was looking intently at Treu, who, by all accounts, will take over his role when the time was right. It was almost unfair for Frost to have him make this decision, even if it was obvious that it was a test. The necklace was the most valuable possession that the Armbrust Forest Werewolves possessed, and Frost was making him decide if it was worth putting it up against a crystal that could be their most powerful weapon against the vampires. Maybe he was doing it as part of the process of handing off the proverbial torch, or he could just be an incredibly selfish bastard who would rather have one of his pups take the fall for a bad decision than make the decision himself. Either way, it appeared Treu was elected to answer my wager.

The leather necklace with a thin, milky stone smoothed by a lake bed hanging from it was the Armbrust Forest Werewolves’ heirloom worn by every generation’s pack leader. My memory of the lessons about the matter may be a little rusty (mainly because I never actually paid attention during Pelican’s dry tutoring), but I remember this much. Of this general region of O’Dia, there is a common thread of folklore that ties together the origins of the local werewolves and vampires. Oscar Paul, an Eastern hemisphere merchant and self fashioned explorer famous more for his brazen boasts, led a band of his men into miles of dense forest located at the base of the then named Superstition Mountains and captured a small family of werewolves and vampires. He later set his sails west and spent the next decade hosting the equivalent to a supernatural version of cock fights. The only reason it made the history books was that the eye witness accounts of seeing these caged werewolves and vampires pass through villages on their way to his cargo ship were the first recorded “evidence’ for the existence of the creatures out side of folklore. These events transpired roughly ten generations ago.

After a decade, old Oscar got restless, sold his stake to a local crime family, and sailed towards whatever was his next grand idea of fame and fortune. It turns out that the new owners of the cock fighters were not as apt at keeping the power of the growing population of fighting slaves in check, and, through a combined effort, the vampires and werewolves revolted and killed the ruling family. One would think that such a singular origin and plight would have formed an undying sense of brotherhood between the two groups, but it didn’t happen. The direct reason for the split doesn’t really matter, and probably far too trivial to have ever been recorded in any culture’s annuals, but the underlying source of the feud is probably far simpler yet swiping. Werewolves and vampires have always been at odds with each other. It isn’t even that they are cut from different clothes. It is more like one group craps in the woods, and the other has its head up its own ass.