Chapter Text
Humans. Such strange creatures. Compared to Lycans, humans are physically weaker, they lack the instinct that make Lycans such terrifying predators... yet they always seem to stand against your kin, always sticking together, facing death head on. While your kin use Horses, axes and bows, humans use weapons they call ‘guns’. Able to fire metal at insane speeds, able to tear apart a Lycans body with little effort.
Humans fear your kind, though it doesn’t help with how often your kin tend to attack their home. Though from the words humans have spoken, it seems like there are a few that the humans fear more than Lycans. People referred to as ‘the lords’. One such lord lives in a giant home, a ‘Castle’. Why would a human require such a large home? Your kin use a stronghold to house the whole pack inside.
Over time you began to understand the human language but couldn’t speak it. At first, your kin welcomed you into the pack, welcoming you as one of their own, but over time that welcome slowly turned into disdain. The pack turned against you, eventually making you an outcast. As you spent time near the human village, the others turned against you, claiming you were weak, unfit to be among the pack.
You weren’t much of a hunter like the others. They would hunt for sport, just because they could. You would hunt to eat, that was it. The Lycans would often attempt raids on the human village, always falling to the humans superior weapons. The worst among the pack was Urias. Stories were spread around the pack, mentioning a fight between Urias and the lord that lived in the castle. Apparently the fight was short lived, Urias running away after his hammer was sliced to pieces. What kind of weapon did the lord use to be able to perform such a feat?
Though he maintains control over the pack, his rule is often questioned with said questions leading to Lycans being slaughtered. Urias was powerful indeed but to run away from a fight solely for losing his weapon sounded cowardly. You and your kin have faced many humans who have put you close to death but never have any of you run away.
You eventually chose to leave the stronghold, finding a home outside of the pack. You found what humans call a ‘house’ though it was rather worn down. Over the years, you watched and listened to the humans, learning their ways. The main one being cooking. Your kin always ate the flesh of prey straight off the body, ripping and tearing as they lapped the blood up with their tongues. You had learned how to cook your prey, how to store the meat for another meal. Venison tasted far better cooked than raw.
Over time, you often looked at the castle, wondering who the lord inside was. A faint scent could be caught coming from the castle, familiar... yet foreign to you. Perhaps one day you would find out what that scent was.