Jasper: The Beginning
… Even though he’d drawn blood, it wasn’t the zombie character who pummeled him to the ground. He was still trying to piece it together, but he was certain that the beating came from another source. Two. No, three men.
They came out of nowhere in wolf-like costumes and sliced off the head of the zombie dressed character with a large sword while Jasper was struggling to be free of him.
Jasper’s first thought was that he’d stumbled into a gang war zone of some type. Gang battles were nothing to take lightly. Although death was often a result of such battles, beheading wasn’t something that he’d read about in the news.
Traumatized to the point of being immobilized by what he’d just witnessed, he was unable to fight back when the three men proceeded to tackle him to the ground and pummel his body with fists, rocks, and, finally, a crowbar. It wasn’t until much later that he questioned why they’d left his head intact.
The attackers desire to closely mimic the character of the costumes they wore was both frustrating and shocking. He could only reason that there was some sort of contest or gang challenge that they were participating in to make them behave with such dedication even while mugging someone. If memory served him right, he was clawed and bitten by one of them as well.
Left broken and barely holding onto life, he felt certain that he wouldn’t survive more than a few hours. The possibility of someone of strong moral character stumbling upon him in that dingy alley and calling for medical help was bleak. If by some miracle someone did come along to rescue him in time, he’d definitely have to get tested for diseases that could have entered his bloodstream via
He grew weaker and weaker as he faded in and out of consciousness. Whenever his mind got coherent enough to realize his situation, he was surprised to discover that he was still able to inhale life giving air. He shouldn’t have survived such a brutal attack. Yet, the searing pain that coursed through every inch of his body told him that he’d done just that.
The question was… for how much longer?
Summoning enough strength to move his hand to his pants pocket, he was surprised to discover that his money was still there. He could feel that the designer watch that he’d purchased to replace the watch he’d inherited from his grandfather and had been stolen in a mugging while in his early twenties had also been left on his wrist. Things weren’t making sense. Getting drunk and, then, acting in character and attacking in such a way was one thing, but since when did robbers beat a man to mere inches from his life and then not rob him? Then, were they really robbers? They’d beheaded a man, after all.
The Curse of the Werewolf
The werewolf originated in the times of ancient Greece when their gods reigned supreme. During one fateful festivity, Lycaon, the son of Pelasgus, was in need of a meat to serve. Too lazy to go hunting for wild game or to slaughter a lamb, he served the Greek god, Zeus (who was the ruler of the sky and of all gods and mankind), a meal made from the remains of a sacrificed boy. This severely enraged Zeus. As punishment, the angered god turned Lycaon and his sons into wolves. They were to be looked upon by the rest of humanity as something to abhor.
Zeus’ lover Selene (who was the goddess of the moon) took pity on Lycoan’s family. She felt it unfair to make them pay for a sin that they had no part of. After much effort, she convinced Zeus to shorten the curse and allow them to enjoy humanity until they were of age to wed and breed. (This age, at that time, was their early teens when their hormones took over and a girl became a woman and a boy became a man). Instead of the curse being a constant, it would activate only during the hours of the full moon. All other times they were allowed to be human.
Although she campaigned for the pain that was involved in the shift to be eliminated, she was only able to have it become lessened over time.
As for humanity’s viewpoint on the werewolf, she was able to do nothing to change it.
As centuries passed, new gods came into play and Zeus’ power faded enough to allow certain branches of Lycaon’s bloodline to breed out the curse enough so that it often skipped generations. In some, it would afflict only one or two per generation. In others, it remained dormant unless they were exposed to a werewolf’s venom or scratch.
Because humanity abhorred and hunted them, they kept to themselves and hidden as best as they could. This meant that many with a dormant werewolf curse in their genes never encountered a werewolf. They had the good fortune to go through life never knowing their true selves.
Those who were less fortunate and encountered a werewolf had the curse awaken in them. As did those of a generation that followed one that was skipped, leaving them without others nearby to aid them in their shift.
Such is the curse of the werewolf.
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