Werejackal [Lycanthrope]

Werejackals came from an ancient land that spawned a desert kingdom now lost in the misty dread realm. There they served as priests of a jackal-headed lord of the dead, and since arriving they have sought new worshippers for their faraway god.

A werejackal has two forms. As a human it seems sullen and growls at insults, and its nails are long and unusually dark. Its other form is a tall, lanky humanoid with a jackal's fur, claws and head, the canine face fixed in a permanent wicked grin over rows of sharp black teeth. Its hands and feet end in long paws with black nails that can tear an unarmored man open. Its clothes are unaffected by either change.

They speak the tongue of their desert kingdom and supposedly a secret, holy language of their god, which some say sounds like yelping and howling wild dogs, though that may only be gossip.

Werejackals prefer to let followers and frightening magic do the work. Pressed, they claw for 1d6 each, and if either claw lands they are close enough to bite with those black teeth for 1d10.

A true werejackal casts priest spells as a 6th-level priest with Wisdom 18. Day to day it favors spells that impress followers or cow defiant, still-uninfected villagers: water walk, summon insects, call lightning, cause disease, and plant growth cast on the fields. Expecting a fight, it may instead prepare snake charm or sticks to snakes alongside whatever else still fits.

As evil priests they can command undead, yet they dislike doing so, preferring to let lesser werejackals and worshippers prove their faith. Only in desperate straits, or when undead are sent against them, do they use the power.

They can be hit only by +1 or better weapons. Silver means nothing to them, but anything made of bronze can harm them. The dark powers of the realm have twisted the jackal's natural timidity into a curse: facing an obviously stronger enemy, a werejackal must check morale every round, and a failure forces it to withdraw for 5d4 rounds. Usually it does not come back, choosing instead to plot some vile revenge.

A true werejackal sets out to convert a small community into cursed copies of itself. Each newly infected victim saves vs. spell at -4 or becomes a permanent slave to its maker. No mental link is involved, so the priest must give orders aloud. Those who pass the save are still under its command whenever they are in humanoid form, and a minion who gives trouble is usually killed after a single incident angers the master.

Among the first jobs it gives its new flock is building a temple to its god. The converts worship there regularly and slowly fall under the spell of the werejackal's stories about the strange deity's works and purposes.

Werejackals are cold, clever schemers who rule by spreading terror and hopelessness. Once their victims are helpless, the beast's savagery shows itself in a slow, mocking and agonizing death.