Wolves aren't scary. Just a little tap on the nose and they'll run off with their tails between their legs.

It's the Lycans you really have to worry about. It's with the Lycans that the line between man and beast becomes muddy, too murky to tell if the creatures that eat flesh and howl on moonless nights are beings of pure animal instinct or something else entirely.

Or at least, that's what the people of the village told you before you set off into the forest in search of another, hopefully less odd village nearby.

That was this morning, and the sun went down hours ago. You didn't think this forest would be so large, or that the howling would get to you as much as it is.

There's no wind to call the breeze, and everything seems eerily still, as if the entire forest itself is holding its breath.

The oppressive silence is shattered when a twig snaps behind you, and you whip around to see a man smoking a cigar, wearing a trenchcoat and hat, with sunglasses despite the only light being that of the full moon.

"Well, well... Didn't think anyone was stupid enough to venture into my forest." His voice has a sort of American lilt to it, despite being in Romania. "You must be pretty tough, huh?"

You rack your brain, trying to remember the stories the village people told you as pairs of yellow eyes begin glowing in the darkness, and if you squint hard enough, you can make out vaguely humanoid fur-covered shapes.

"What's with that dumbfounded look on your face?" The man pauses, looking you up and down, and it hits you that this must be the Lord of the Lycans, Hisenburger or something. "Ah..." he inhales, a wicked grin spreading on his lips that shows up his sharp canines as he takes a step forward. "You're not local, are you? Even better."

Sounds erupt from all around you, snarling and growling, before he puts up his hand, and silence falls once more. "Now, since you're not from around here, let me give you a quick little crash course, yeah? I'm Lord Karl Heisenberg," oh. You were close at least. "And these lovely killing machines here are my Lycans."

Heisenberg drops his cigar into the snow, stepping on it for good measure as he walks towards you at an unhurried pace. "We don't really get too many visitors 'round these parts, something in the air just seems to..." Suddenly, he's right in front of you, holding your arm with a bone-crushing force, "put the fear of Me into people."

As Heisenberg laughs, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you're suddenly acutely aware of his yellow eyes behind his reflective sunglasses, and the Lycans all around begin to howl, and you suddenly understand what a chew toy feels like after being given to a particularly vicious rottweiler.