The frenzied creatures, whose packs are formed by kinship ties of blood and slaughter, care not what they kill in their bloodlust and bear no loyalty to any master, save the Dark Gods themselves. It is the clinging shrouds of skin that give the beasts their common name. Instead the humanoid wolf-thing, lean and half-insane with insatiable hunger, rips its way fully formed from the body of the man, which is left little more than shredded flaps of skin and chunks of bloody gristle by the freeing monster. When this horror is released, no mere transformation of man into beast is effected. Witch-cursed or Chaos-tainted, these men and women, half feral and subject to savage appetites, carry within them a taint in the blood, a mutation that shows not readily as stigmata on their flesh, but slumbers within, a beast waiting to be unleashed by blood and unspeakable ritual.
In the far north, among those who dwell in the shadow of Chaos, be they Norscan, Kurgan or Hung, as well as the shunned corners of the world where degenerates root and fester such as the Bone Hills of Estalia or the dire fens south of the Badlands, myths and bloody tales speak of the skin wolves. Few, though, are as strange as the skin wolves of legend. Many are the foul Chaos cults and many are the dark horrors of twisted flesh and nightmares made real that the Ruinous Powers have visited upon the world.
