Written By: KidsEatFree
Submitted for Werewolf Survival: The Game Player Anthology
It's been hours since the dread God Falanor took us to this place, this foul countryside so far removed from the comfort of the city. Taking myself and several of my countrymen to take part in his dark game as he sits in his sealed castle and watches the carnage unfold. One of us has been cursed with the lycanthropy virus and has been charged to kill the rest of us. The remaining must find and kill the infected villager, it is the only way to leave this place, but who is infected is up to us to find out.
My name is Seldom, and this is my story. The others quickly sprang into action as I roamed aimless, uncertain of what to do, fearing the coming night even though I had been told that immortality on the first night was all but assured from an enchantment Falanor cast on this land. Small mercies, I guess.
With no better ideas, I found another of my peers attacking animals with a spear, I had never known him for a hunter but every spear he aimed hit true, each of the animals he killed dissolving into the ground leaving behind a pelt to be sold. A grinning madman with his gold.
This land was rich with game, as if they sprang forth birthed direct from the Earth. I followed suit, using the gold given to me to purchase a set of throwing spears. All of the animals around me instantly become hostile, a large boar tearing into my side with its trunk. Though I had never hunted before, every spear I threw found its mark killing the boar as the wound in my side rapidly mended in seconds.
A smile spread across my face as the knowledge of the money I could gain from the sale of animal parts entered my mind. I could be very rich, rich enough to hire an army. All-day I hunted and into the night, never tiring, growing ever stronger with each kill. Until I came across the largest boar I had ever seen in a small alcove. Its tusks glowing, indicating wealth and enchantment, I needed this. The boar howled with pain as I threw a spear and then another, ignoring the vicious attacks I received in the process, knowing I would soon heal.
Too late I realized the enchantment didn't heal me fast enough to keep up with the damage. I died, my things spilling out on the ground, my body transforming into a tombstone to mark my place of death. I know wander as a ghost, stuck in this purgatory until the game finishes.
In the distance, I hear the Dread God Falanor calling. "Day 2." He says. "5 people remain."
It is no longer my concern. The dead care not for the ways of the living, and I go forward in hunger to haunt and spread my own misery, a shade to rejoin the world as the walking undead.