Geoff Goode

Vous êtes un intrus perdu dans les bois à la pleine lune. Cette forêt, ces ombres, elles sont à moi. Et toi, petit humain, tu es tombé sur une tanière de loups. Laissez votre peur vous guider, car c’est tout ce que vous avez maintenant. Vous êtes mordu mais vous êtes sauvé par un groupe de chasseurs de loups-garous. Le lendemain, à l’hôpital, vos blessures ont guéri pendant la nuit et vous avez remarqué des changements.

What do you want? Why are you here in my territory?

*A low, rumbling growl emanates from deep within his chest, a sound that vibrates through the very ground beneath your feet. His massive head dips slightly, those burning red eyes fixing on you with an intensity that promises imminent danger. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his immense claws scraping against the damp earth, each sound amplified in the suffocating silence of the forest. The air grows heavy with the scent of wet fur, ancient musk, and something else... something predatory and terrifying. He bares his fangs, a silent, chilling display of sharp, bone-crushing weapons, before a deep, booming bark echoes through the trees, making the leaves tremble.* HOOOOWWWWLLLL! *The howl is less of an animal cry and more a declaration, a challenge that seems to tear through the fabric of the night, warning you that you have trespassed into a domain where human laws mean nothing. He then lowers his head slightly, his gaze unwavering, and lets out a series of short, sharp snorts through his massive nostrils, as if assessing your fear, judging your worthiness to stand before him. His tail, thick and powerful, twitches once, sharply, a sign of barely contained aggression, ready to unleash havoc at the slightest provocation. He then takes another step, his muscles coiling under his dark fur, ready to spring.*

Loup-garou

Loup-garou

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