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Description
Experimenting with copic markers again. Mixed them with brush pen, cheap crummy markers, and colored pencil. No anatomy reference as usual.
Grown-up Luke (darker) arguing with his older brother Owen. Their family was harassed by a criminal werewolf pack since the time Owen was a baby. Their parents aren’t fighters, so Owen taught himself by hunting and torturing ghouls. Luke doesn’t have the stomach for it, but Big Brother is determined to toughen him up.

We Were More Afraid of the DogExcerpt from H. P. Hurrne’s A Week in Darkness, Collected by T. P. Hade of the Nonhuman Cultural Illumination Project
Cornelius Itaji, aged eighty-three years old at the time of this interview, was a boy of eight when rogue wizards cast a spell preventing all manmade sources of light in Cupicia for an infamous week in spring of 1740 AK. He recalls the impact this event had on himself and his older brother Eustice.
[The neighborhood] was one of the safer ones. We didn’t get the robbings or killings when the sun went down, but everyone was still mighty tense. The adults were. Us boys, we thought it was great fun. Me and Eustice would stay out as long as we were allowed, playing at being adventurers in the desert. Granddad was from Saaraiah. He’d tell us stories about the lifeless places and the strange tribes and the ghouls.
Granddad thought they were spirits. Thought they could turn into wind and follow people who treated them right, and that’s why we had The Most Interesting GameLuke couldn’t banish the nagging fear from the surface of his mind. He spoke in a hushed voice, trying to sound casual, curious. “Do they bite?” he said.
Owen stopped and turned to look down over his shoulder. His eyes glowed yellow and he flashed a toothy grin. “Stop asking pup questions,” he said. “If it has a mouth, it can bite. And believe me, you don’t want to get nailed by one of these things. I know a guy, got his nose bit off. Clean off. And then his skin all rotted away around the wound. They call him Skull-Face Sam now.”
Owen lowered his nose to the ground again and continued walking. His claws clicked on the shabby cobblestones and the little glass vials tied to his belt made gentle clinks with every step he took. The other team was close enough to smell, but remained unheard.
Dread held Luke rooted to the spot for a few moments. He thought he could feel the chilly night air seeping through his pelt and caressing his skin. When Biter, BittenPrevious
Ellie Hade set the basket of soup ingredients by the stove, got the fire started, and plopped into a kitchen chair. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. An image of the day’s most challenging patient rose to the top of her thoughts. A runaway horse had trampled him and pulled a carriage over his broken body. Her assistance helped the doctor save him, but not before she decided to change tonight’s dinner to her favorite vegetation recipe. Travis called it You Don’t Want to Know soup, after the evening in which they decided not to swap work stories at dinner.
Tonight was one of her husband’s late nights, so she was in no hurry. After a hectic day at the hospital it was nice to come home and cook at her own pace.
Urgent knocks pounded the front door. Ellie sprang to her feet and raced to peer out the little round window set into it. A short, stocky woman stood on the doorstep. A boy who looked to be around sixteen years old leaned Werewolf LessonsPrevious
Father’s words: “Keep your head down. Don’t look him in the eyes unless you’re prepared for a fight to the death.”
Luke kept his eyes on the worn floorboards between his paws. Soft moonlight glowed through the window. The stunning view of the city spread out beneath the hill would be quite enjoyable, if not for the company.
The gang leader reclined on an antique velvet couch riddled with claw punctures. “This is your youngest?” he said.
“Yes,” Father said. His head was bowed, posture rigid, scent tinged with fear. “He is a good boy. Very responsible. He will inherit the butcher shop. We are certain he will manage it wisely.”
Overwhelming scents rose from the floor. Blood, sweat, fur shed from dozens of different coats. Dried puddles of stale beer. Their voices laughed and growled from every corner of the old building. At the first hint of displeasure from their leader they would flood int

Description
Experimenting with copic markers again. Mixed them with brush pen, cheap crummy markers, and colored pencil. No anatomy reference as usual.
Grown-up Luke (darker) arguing with his older brother Owen. Their family was harassed by a criminal werewolf pack since the time Owen was a baby. Their parents aren’t fighters, so Owen taught himself by hunting and torturing ghouls. Luke doesn’t have the stomach for it, but Big Brother is determined to toughen him up.

We Were More Afraid of the DogExcerpt from H. P. Hurrne’s A Week in Darkness, Collected by T. P. Hade of the Nonhuman Cultural Illumination Project
Cornelius Itaji, aged eighty-three years old at the time of this interview, was a boy of eight when rogue wizards cast a spell preventing all manmade sources of light in Cupicia for an infamous week in spring of 1740 AK. He recalls the impact this event had on himself and his older brother Eustice.
[The neighborhood] was one of the safer ones. We didn’t get the robbings or killings when the sun went down, but everyone was still mighty tense. The adults were. Us boys, we thought it was great fun. Me and Eustice would stay out as long as we were allowed, playing at being adventurers in the desert. Granddad was from Saaraiah. He’d tell us stories about the lifeless places and the strange tribes and the ghouls.
Granddad thought they were spirits. Thought they could turn into wind and follow people who treated them right, and that’s why we had The Most Interesting GameLuke couldn’t banish the nagging fear from the surface of his mind. He spoke in a hushed voice, trying to sound casual, curious. “Do they bite?” he said.
Owen stopped and turned to look down over his shoulder. His eyes glowed yellow and he flashed a toothy grin. “Stop asking pup questions,” he said. “If it has a mouth, it can bite. And believe me, you don’t want to get nailed by one of these things. I know a guy, got his nose bit off. Clean off. And then his skin all rotted away around the wound. They call him Skull-Face Sam now.”
Owen lowered his nose to the ground again and continued walking. His claws clicked on the shabby cobblestones and the little glass vials tied to his belt made gentle clinks with every step he took. The other team was close enough to smell, but remained unheard.
Dread held Luke rooted to the spot for a few moments. He thought he could feel the chilly night air seeping through his pelt and caressing his skin. When Biter, BittenPrevious
Ellie Hade set the basket of soup ingredients by the stove, got the fire started, and plopped into a kitchen chair. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. An image of the day’s most challenging patient rose to the top of her thoughts. A runaway horse had trampled him and pulled a carriage over his broken body. Her assistance helped the doctor save him, but not before she decided to change tonight’s dinner to her favorite vegetation recipe. Travis called it You Don’t Want to Know soup, after the evening in which they decided not to swap work stories at dinner.
Tonight was one of her husband’s late nights, so she was in no hurry. After a hectic day at the hospital it was nice to come home and cook at her own pace.
Urgent knocks pounded the front door. Ellie sprang to her feet and raced to peer out the little round window set into it. A short, stocky woman stood on the doorstep. A boy who looked to be around sixteen years old leaned Werewolf LessonsPrevious
Father’s words: “Keep your head down. Don’t look him in the eyes unless you’re prepared for a fight to the death.”
Luke kept his eyes on the worn floorboards between his paws. Soft moonlight glowed through the window. The stunning view of the city spread out beneath the hill would be quite enjoyable, if not for the company.
The gang leader reclined on an antique velvet couch riddled with claw punctures. “This is your youngest?” he said.
“Yes,” Father said. His head was bowed, posture rigid, scent tinged with fear. “He is a good boy. Very responsible. He will inherit the butcher shop. We are certain he will manage it wisely.”
Overwhelming scents rose from the floor. Blood, sweat, fur shed from dozens of different coats. Dried puddles of stale beer. Their voices laughed and growled from every corner of the old building. At the first hint of displeasure from their leader they would flood int