#W:tA
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I recieved a copy of the new Werewolf: the Apocalypse corebook in the mail the other day, which is a bit exciting. Sadly, I couldn't do as many pictures for W:tA as I did for Hunter: the Reckoning because my wrists are messed up. But I got to do some, and I think this one is my favourite.
All my W:tA illustrations belong to Paradox Interactive.
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Every time I think I've found all of these, I manage to find another one. Glass Walkers cockroach joke goes here.
Anyway, another round of Nina, werewolfed, and luxuriously fluffy.
#werewolf#werewolf: the apocalypse#w:ta#female werewolf#wolf monster#ch: Nina#ch: Nina-WtA#thatartmagic#thatAUmagic
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Silent Strider Metis Theurge Illustration I did for Artfight 2023
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#werewolftheapocalypse #werwolf #digitalart #teamvampires #artfight2023teamvampires
Character belong:
Nergüi/Altan by @rogue-healer
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when your werewolves chase a frenzied packmate into a flooding mine reopened by a suspicious corporate concern and you’re listening to the Locked Tomb audiobooks, and you’re experimenting with your new Affinity anyway��
#rpg fanrt#wod#world of darkness#werewolf the apocalypse#werewolf: the apocalypse#wta#w:ta#the locked tomb#the river#the locked tomb spoilers#the locked tomb series#harrow the ninth#nona the ninth#gideon the ninth#The wyrm#The umbra
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Background beneath the cut - cw abuse
Klea Tends-the-hidden was born as a lupus to non-garou parents. One of the few wolf packs to still roam the Balkans, she lived a relatively isolated life. She was the runt of her litter, but possessed and unnatural cunning compared to her littermates, and was able to eke out a humble existence, and, eventually, ran away from her pack, where she started a new one with another lone wolf.
During her first pregnancy with a litter of cubs, Klea was captured by a group of poachers, following her curious interactions with one of their traps. However, she was caught, given her unfamiliarity with their methods. Caged, angered, she felt the rage boil up within her.
An hour later, a naked pregnant woman was found, in the snow, near the wreckage of a pickup truck which had fallen into a ravine. Unable to speak a human language and covered in blood, she was taken to a local hospital, where, in a stroke of luck, the nurse operating the ultrasound noticed the litter of wolf cubs in her belly. The kinfolk called the local sept, the House of Thunder, and they came and promply picked up the newly changed Garou, and helped teach her their ways.
Her cubhood was rough, to say the least, and she often faced derison and abuse, especially at the hand of the sept's men. She left the sept before she could be inducted into the Shadow Lords, and fled down to Greece, where she found a refuge and acceptance among the Children of Gaia, Black Furies, and Bone Gnawers. She ran with them for a year, learning a little bit about human society, and picking up an eclectic set of anarchist-oriented politics, and finding a love for music.
Eventually, she was drawn to visit America through a visit from Pegasus in her dreams, who told her that she must, once again, tend to the hidden things.
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moooore coyotes!!
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Back in 2021/2022 I GMed a Werewolf: The Apocalypse Game. I would think it went well as it lasted a year (with us playing once a week give or take) and only had one player drop out.
Here are the two 'main' antagonists. I say main as they where the most involved, I had 3 other bads on top of theses: Roxxy, another Black Spiral, Johanna, a Hunter and Ichika, a Kitsune.
Twin-Tongue, also known as Alaster Redgrave. A Theurge.
His counter part is a Ahroun. Looking back I think I could of made his character a bit more interesting, but the players really took a shine to Al, Roxxy and Ichika.
#werewolf art#werewolf: the apocalypse#w:ta#wod#world of darkness#one is misunderstood the other is just a ahole
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I HAVE A LITTLE BRO!
Ohmgods!ohmgods!
Happy!
@wanwannotfound welcome to the B.A.D. Sentai-Pack!
I will continue zoomies now.
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#Tinny kin don't mess around#Lillianna Davenport#kinfolk of the Glass Walkers#Red Bird#Lilly Bug#Bug#Lillianna#white wolf#werewolf the apocalypse#WW: WtA#W:tA#games#pen and paper#digital formats#The GCC#now on it's 3rd season#getting better every day
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Some FUCKFACE with mushrooms where there were no business being MUSHROOMS punched me.
I... might have blacked out a little but I'm sore as shit, I think I raged out and went all kitty form. SHIT he smelled awful.
Welcome to L.A. I guess. Missed a chance to get a spot at that motel. Now I need to figure something the shit out.
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My ahroun and a full moon.
#uzloart#Jasper#Jasper Jones#garou#Werewolf the apocalypse#W:tA#Dies#vampiri#glass walker#lupus#ahroun#giant mega moon attack
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You have no idea what she's saying, but you're still pretty sure she's telling you to go fuck yourself.
Another 'when I played Nina as a werewolf in a WtA game' throwback that I still like. Drew it during last year's October challenge.
Once again, tho, to dispel any (COMPLETELY UNDERSTANDABLE) confusion: this is AU. In her canon setting, she is distinctly Not a Werewolf.
#werewolf#werewolf: the apocalypse#glass walkers#female werewolf#w:ta#ch: Nina-WtA#ch: Nina#thatAUmagic#thatartmagic#shithead
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A Thunderwyrm Approaches
In Session 6, an elder garou has died in the service of Gaia at Sept of the Trillium Glade. Painted-Hills, the only temper on the Hammer Butte Hunters, was killed in the Newberry Caldera while witnessing a fellow wolf-born garou complete his Rite of Passage. When the players heard this audio, they all grew to move towards this source, confused that it would suddenly die down. When a thunderwyrm hatchling surfaced, they were surprised at how small it was, and the cub, aided by their berserk frenzied den mother Culls-the-Tainted, took it down with ease. Little did the gathered garou know, this hatchling was merely trying to outrun a much, much larger one.
Bird Audio: CC-BY mchekic "milancekic"
#Dead Mountain#Hammer Butte Hunters#Elk Prairie Sentinels#werewolf: the apocalypse#W:tA#World Building#Antagonists#Sound Design#Thunderwyrm
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The end of last night’s werewolf session. A homid with a klaive and zero Rage, a crinos who is stealthier than the night air, and a mysterious flooding mine with a frenzied Shadow Lord inside…
Never invite strangers to your direct action, you don't know how deep in Hauglosk they are!
This was about 45 minutes in Sketchbook, an attempt to study shadow and werewolf shapes.
#rpg fanrt#rpg fanart#werewolf the apocalypse#werewolf: the apocalypse#wta#w:ta#oc art#2024 remains the year of sketching!
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Rating: G
Ship: Artemus / Female OC
Fandoms: Wild Wild West TV series, Werewolf: the Apocalypse game
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She didn’t know New Athens’ location, but roads always led somewhere. She found one and began walking in human boots, assuming she’d eventually find civilization. People meant information, and she had the name of a town and man to look for. The land would provide for her if she got hungry or thirsty, but she was spared the need to forage. A stagecoach came rattling her direction, and offered her a ride if she paid the fee.
She did so with reservation and parked on a hard wooden bench between the door and a well dressed man with a fondness for blue clothes. Across from her was another man, and she immediately bristled. They were sizing her up.
Her people called themselves Garou, but the rest of the world simplified it to “werewolf.” They weren’t the creatures represented in folklore or cinema, but they shared a special connection to Luna. It gave them Rage. Blessing and curse, it allowed them to change their shape and gave them power. Too much of it could also make them lose control in a blind frenzy where a Garou wouldn’t recognize friend from foe. It leaked from her in a supernatural aura and usually made people unconsciously take a different seat on the bus. They gave her extra space in cramped hallways or stairwells.
Horses could smell the blend of human and wolf, but the two men inside the stagecoach took it as a challenge they didn’t fully comprehend. Some deeply buried instinct identified her as a threat, and they reacted accordingly.
She had no quarrel with them, and they either had a substantial amount of iron in their spines or they were complete idiots. Thrill seekers and morons were also blissfully unaware of Garou. She didn’t think they fit those profiles, so she endured their overt scrutiny.
Let them have a good look. I’m not going to hurt them, but I’m not an easy target, either.
Melding confidence with good manners, the good looking man in blue turned his eyes away first. It wasn’t possible for her to look entirely benign, but arranging her expression pleasantly, Recycle nodded in acknowledgment both of them.
Pretend it’s the subway or a city bus.
One of the passengers might be the key to freedom, but she wasn’t in a position to strike up a conversation. What did people talk about? Crop rotations? Marriages? Who put in a new fence or bought a new cow? They weren’t inclined to chat with each other to give her a clue, so she did what any normal person would do when stuck on public transportation. She ignored them.
Time dragged on. Her digital watch was left behind with the rest of the clothes she arrived in. If minutes or hours had passed, she could only guess. It felt like a fiscal year, and her fingers itched longingly for her absent phone. A few rounds of a game, web surfing or listening to music would have helped time pass. All her wonderful, familiar, comfortable tech would bring unwanted attention at best, been deemed witchcraft at worst. Was witchcraft still a thing in the old west? She caught herself reaching toward a pocket for a phone to look it up on the internet.
The stagecoach pulled to a halt in a town which practically fit into her house and the drivers helped two women aboard. They took seats across from Recycle, poised and comfortable in spotless dresses which modestly went to the wrist and ankles. The only allowance for the heat was a conservative opening in the front, trimmed in lace. Neat little hats which served for style rather than function perched on their heads. Their hair would have taken Recycle two hours and an arsenal of products to pin into similar fancy curls, but it looked average wear for them.
Crazy, and for what? To attract men? To feel pretty? Maybe both. Maybe they just like it, but I’m going to keep mine stuffed under a hat for now.
Their pale skin suggested they didn’t spend time toiling beneath the sun or rain. The blonde woman in her thirties introduced herself with pleasantry which added to Recycle’s estimate the woman led a reasonably comfortable life. “Emma Hughes. This is my niece, Alice.”
“Ma’am,” the man sharing Recycle’s seat touched his hat brim pleasantly to both of them.
Recycle balked for half a second before settling with half of the name on her birth certificate. She hated it. Everyone called her Recycle for a reason. “Pat.” Technically Patricia, but the short form worked for men or women.
Alice glanced up as luggage thudded into place on the roof, rocking the stagecoach. “Where are you all headed?”
“Home, I hope,” Recycle said honestly as she bumped against the Man in Blue again.
Blue took enough interest to politely ask, “Where’s home?”
“NYC – New York, I mean. New York City.” She wasn’t good at the ye-haw routine. The closest thing she’d come to a cowboy was a strip act on Ladies Night at a bachelorette party.
“NYC,” the other male passenger mused as he pressed the heavy head of a cane against his lips. “I don’t think I’ve heard it called that before. You seem to have a long journey ahead of you.”
He had no idea. “Guess so.” She was spared more conversation as everyone moved to make room.
The stifling interior got worse as their last passenger squeezed in. She dismissed him after he introduced himself as Charlie-something. Recycle slid over as far as she could against the stagecoach wall to keep from ending in Blue’s lap.
It was hard to ignore people when you were squashed in like a twelve pack of soda cans. Turning her face toward the window, she almost regretted it. Glass must have been too precious for a stagecoach because there was nothing between her and a world of flying dirt. Squinting, she pulled her hat down a few degrees.
There wasn’t anything to see. The scenery was dull and tan with a smattering of green trees and grass. They could have been almost anywhere in the United States but the view was better than interacting with the five faces uncomfortably jammed in her personal space.
At least Blue didn’t stink. She half expected him to reek of whatever cowboys smelled like. Presumably sweat, animals, hay, manure and things she didn’t want to dwell on. He wasn’t pleasantly scented like a date night, but he knew how to take a shower. Bath. There weren’t any showers yet, but he was reasonably clean and smelled vaguely like primitive cologne.
She was a terrible judge of antique fashion, but he dressed differently from what she expected. He reminded her of no frills matador costume with a short jacket, close fitting pants, polished boots, pressed shirt buttoned to his chin, fancy ascot, elaborate vest and obligatory cowboy hat. The ensemble flattered an already nice looking man, and he would have turned heads at any costume party.
He probably has a nice butt.
Her clothes were shapeless and previously belonged to someone who lacked intimacy with a bathtub. Faded red brown cloth itched against her skin but helped conceal her chest and hips. The pants were dark brown and stolen boots heavily worn. If Blue or anyone else looked too close they’d notice she was a woman instead of a young or slightly built man. She thought Blue might already know, but she mentally gave him points for not questioning her.
Charlie wasn’t her ticket home and neither were the women. It had to be Blue or the other man. Both failed to give names, and both were squared jawed with the rugged look of a western. Charlie was middle aged with a weird mustache, bowler hat, and dully pleasant. He screamed Red Shirt and the ladies fell neatly into the unfortunate “damsels in distress.”
The second good looking man was nearly as dressed up as Blue. He chose a subdued black pinstripe, fancy gray vest, what she assumed was a tie, and expected hat. His mustache and short brown hair were both neat. They didn’t appear to be a team, so she hoped one fell squarely into the Hero role and the second into Villain.
It was worse than Among Us. She had to decide which was which because she needed the Good Guy.
Charlie rambled, “New Athens isn’t the biggest town in the Wyoming territory.”
Wyoming?! I’m an American Werewolf in Wyoming?! I wonder how close we are to Yellowstone? I wasn’t planning on being a direct participant in the wolf reintroduction program.
At least she knew the stagecoach was taking her exactly where she needed to go.
I’ve only seen pictures on the internet, but this does not look like Yellowstone. It looks more like California. What am I saying? That’s probably where it was filmed. This is getting way too meta for me.
Recycle realized she’d zoned out on Charlie but he was still on the topic of the town they were going to.
“Since it’s stuck out in the middle of nowhere,” Charlie rattled, oblivious to the other passengers. “I’m the sole distributor of ladies needle wear. I’ve got the market all sewed up.”
As he laughed at his own joke, Blue and Mustache silently cut eyes at each other with more intensity than they studied Recycle.
“Joke!” Charlie gestured to Alice, beaming, “All sewed up! Get it?”
Blue’s disgust was confined to turning his head to one side and rolling his tongue like the pun left a foul taste.
Mustache removed a fancy pocket watch, looked down, and took a more direct approach. “Sir, if you don’t stop boring us, you may very soon find your mouth all sewn up.”
Rude, but it was a more creative and polite threat than Recycle was used to hearing on the subway.
Charlie deflated, Blue looked on stoically, and the two ladies dropped wan smiles.
Recycle was ready for the commercial break, but unlike the last Realm, she knew the rules. To get out, she had to get to the end of the episode.
The episode? She rubbed her eyes, haunted by Walter Mason’s death. That didn’t feel like a tv show. It felt real. It was real, no different than the gunshots in Wolf Home. Could one of these men be Artemus Gordon?
She thought about asking, but Mason made it sound like the person would already be in New Athens.
Which series was it? She wished she paid more attention to the deluge of westerns her grandparents watched. Flashbacks of being a bored child raced through her mind and the theme song for Rawhide immediately got stuck in her head. Barely remembered episodes of Bonanza, Gunsmoke, Wagon Train, and The Riflemen blurred together. None of the stars she remembered looked anything like the men sitting with her.
She desperately needed more information and twisted enough to look at Blue. “Do you have a name, Sir?” The last felt archaic and strange in her mouth. Her superiors went by “Boss.”
He hesitated, but gave her the courtesy of his full attention. “West. James West.”
West. A man named West in a western. Who wrote that? It didn’t help her pinpoint the movie or series but she smiled at him and said, “Hi.”
He looked at her a few long seconds, astute enough to see she wasn’t all she appeared to be. The return “hi,” came out naturally.
Her possible topics of conversation immediately stalled. She was a woman dressed in a dead man’s clothes and didn’t know what people talked about. If she was home she’d have put in her Bluetooth and glued her eyes to a phone. Offering her most radiant smile, she went back to staring out the window.
#Wild Wild West#James West#Artemus Gordon#Jim West#Werewolf the Apocalypse#WoD#cWoD#WTA#W:TA#fanfic#Fan fiction
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happy pride from me and the losers i larp
Jackson Hemlock - Werewolf, Theurge, Shadowlord
Briar Thornwood - Vampire, Brujah Anti, Sabbat
Sapphire - Vampire, Caitiff, Anarch
Dolly Ann-Marie, Vampire, Gangrel, Camarilla
#werwolf#werewolf: the apocalypse#w:ta#oc#oc art#vtm oc#gangrel#caitiff#brujah anti#brujah#camarilla#sabbat#anarch#vampire the masquerade#vampire: the masquerade#v:tm#One world by Night#owbn
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