There are places in this world, increasingly common, it seems, where myth bleeds into reality—places where the boundaries between the fantastic and the terrifyingly real begin to blur. One such myth has haunted humanity for centuries: The Draugr.
Described as grotesque revenants from the frozen reaches of the North, these ancient creatures were said to rise from their graves, driven by an insatiable hunger, and a wrath that outlives death itself.
But, my valued reader, as you have come to expect by now, there is truth in nearly every myth.
It seems there is no place to hide from the horrors of the natural world—no corner untouched by the strange, the grotesque, the inexplicable. And it was in such a place, deep within the Scandinavian tundra, that I came face to face with a truth far darker than the legends themselves could ever suggest.
The Draugr is not just a product of medieval imagination. And yet, what I encountered defied explanation. At first.
It is my hope that by the end of this investigation, you will come to see the Draugr as I now do: not as a creature of pure fantasy, but as a dark remnant of something very real.
Legend and Myth
In the dark, frozen landscapes of Scandinavia, tales of the Draugr have persisted for centuries—humans said to rise from their graves, bloated and hideous, their skin stretched taut and blackened by death.
But rather than the ghosts found in many stories, the Draugr were physical beings—revenants, really, driven by a violent hunger for blood and destruction.
The sagas describe them with a startling consistency: beings of immense strength, capable of snapping a man’s neck with a single motion or crushing bone with their bare hands. In life, the Draugr were often greedy or malevolent individuals, and death only seemed to amplify these traits. They would return to guard their tombs, torment the living, and spread death wherever they roamed.
Many of the old tales tell of Draugr spreading their curse through violent contact—infecting their victims through a brutal bite or the crush of their decaying limbs. Many times, these secondary victims, like the shepherd of the Eyrbyggja saga, would then rise the following night, driven by the same savage instincts. In this way, Draugr outbreaks could decimate entire communities, with one undead rising after another.
Even animals weren’t spared. Livestock grazing near Draugr graves would allegedly run themselves to death, driven mad by the presence of the risen corpses. Nor were the Draugr limited to human shape—legends tell of their ability to take on monstrous forms, sometimes appearing as a cat that would sit on a sleeping victim’s chest, gradually growing heavier until their life was pressed out of them.
To those who lived in fear of these beings, the only hope of stopping a Draugr was through brutal means: decapitation, burning the remains, or burying them beneath the sea. These methods were desperate, and even then, relief was never guaranteed.
These legends were passed down through generations. Yet they also linger today, as reports from remote Scandinavian villages continue to surface—unsettling whispers of figures rising from ancient graves, of animals found dead near old burial sites.
These were the reports that sparked my own curiosity—an ember I thought long extinguished by time and… circumstances.
I may not have the resources I once did, but I still have my mind. Or… what’s left of it.
Background of Study
Following my most recent studies, I had no intention of actively pursuing any further investigations.
However, this world has a way of pulling you back in. And, admittedly, the timing of this particular investigation would prove quite fortuitous.
It began with that series of reports from remote regions of northern Scandinavia—small villages where life moved at the pace of the seasons, mostly untouched by the modern world. The reports were strange, inconsistent, but eerily familiar: livestock found dead without a clear cause, mysterious deaths in the night, unusual figures glimpsed in the distance.
At first, I dismissed these stories as nothing more than local superstition, tales born from isolation and harsh winters. Yet, I had come across similar patterns before, and I knew well enough that such stories, when they appeared in clusters, were often worth investigating.
Upon my arrival, the landscape immediately struck me—vast, barren, and cold, but undeniably beautiful in its desolation. The village I had come to investigate was small, nestled between fjords, the sort of place where strangers were met with wary eyes.
What I found there was both familiar and unnerving. The villagers spoke in hushed tones, reluctant to share too much, but the tension was palpable. There had been deaths—first among the livestock, and then among the people. The local authorities had offered little help, and the villagers had begun to invoke the name of a creature long thought to be myth: the Draugr.
It wasn’t until I was informed of a preserved specimen, taken from a burial ground only recently uncovered, that the reality of what I was dealing with began to take shape.
The body had been recovered by a local research team, and it was remarkably intact—though discolored, it was seemingly caught in a state of suspended decay. The circumstances surrounding its recovery were as disturbing as the stories: there had been no signs of imposed trauma, yet the villagers who found the grave reported strange behavior among the local livestock, as well as sudden illnesses in those who had come into contact with the remains.
It was here, in this cold and forgotten place, that I began my investigation. And for the first time in years, I felt the comfort of a familiar chill settle in my bones.
The Psychrophilic Necrovirus
I will waste no time in presenting my findings. Tissue samples from the specimen I was allowed to study revealed, as so many have before, the severe infection of a novel virus I have tentatively termed the “The Psychrophilic Necrovirus ”—or PNV.
At first study, the structure of this virus was… familiar, sharing characteristics with other known viruses from the Mononegavirales order, but lacking some of their refinements.
Still, initial genomic analysis revealed some unusual patterns in PNV's non-coding regions. At the time, I attributed this to the virus's unique cold-adapted nature, but… well, wel’’ return to that soon.
Given the virus’s potential resilience in cold environments, I took pains to ensure that the samples were contained under strict conditions. Even in the lab, its activity was remarkable. It did indeed thrive in low temperatures, remaining viable long after most pathogens would have expired.
This was the first concrete step toward understanding what I had initially believed to be nothing more than a legend. But of course, it would be some time before the true implications of this virus’ existence were to be uncovered.
Viral Entry and Spread
The Psychrophilic Necrovirus spreads primarily through direct contact with infected bodily fluids, often during violent encounters. Reports from ancient texts and modern accounts suggest the virus is remarkably resilient, able to survive in frozen environments for extended periods even outside a laboratory setting.
When PNV enters a human body, it targets muscle, nerve, and epithelial tissue with ruthless efficiency, entering cells through endocytosis.
But unlike more aggressive pathogens, PNV doesn't immediately induce lysis in its host cells. Instead, it establishes a persistent infection, turning each cell into a factory for new virus particles, wherein new virions bud from the cell membrane and gradually accumulate in the bloodstream and surrounding tissues.
Based on my observations, it seems that the infection process of this virus can be divided into three distinct phases: Initial, Acute, and Reanimation.
In the initial phase, PNV infection leads to mild inflammation and muscle spasms, and outward symptoms are quite subtle. The infected individual may show little more than fatigue and an occasional sensation of cold in the extremities.
At approximately twelve hours post-infection, however, victims typically progress to the acute phase.
Acute Phase (12-48 hours post-infection)
This phase is marked by the slowing of circulation, accompanied by a feeling of heaviness in the limbs. Subjects frequently begin to exhibit confusion and irritability. Many of these symptoms could be mistaken for hypothermia, particularly in the cold climates where the virus thrives, making early detection difficult.
Internally, at this stage, the stomach lining begins to thicken, while endocrine cells in the stomach lining begin to overproduce the hormone ghrelin, and hydrochloric acid production increases tenfold. Additionally, the villi of the small intestine become longer and denser.
All of this, I believe, is to accommodate the draugr’s gruesome diet—but we will return to that in time.
Over the course of a few hours, victims exhibit a noticeable decrease in cognition, their behavior devolving into alternating bouts of lucidity and irritable delusion.
Even at this point, from an outward perspective, it is feasible that these symptoms could be explained by other diseases.
But as the time passes, the body's metabolic functions will slow dramatically, and the victim will enter a state of restless unconsciousness.
The victim’s skin begins to lose its color, taking on an almost waxy appearance, as blood flow is redirected from the epidermis in an attempt to preserve core body functions.
The eyes are also affected beginning in this stage, as they develop a clouded, milky appearance. I suspect that this deterioration is simply a consequence of the virus's overall effect on the body's metabolism and cellular function, leading to the formation of cataracts—a process which will eventually take their sight completely.
Some unfortunate victims will not make it through this stage at all—the toll it takes on their bodies simply too great.
But for those that persist, at roughly this point, the heart rate will slow dramatically—though, unlike the complete circulatory inversion I have observed in similar infections. But although the heart’s function is maintained, its reduced effectiveness eventually results in further changes to the dermis: it begins to take on a mottled, blueish appearance, particularly noticeable in the extremities.
In fact, in advanced stages of infection, the skin may begin to slough off in patches. But we will return to that.
Within 48 hours, and usually roughly 8 hours after slipping into unconsciousness, both heart rate and respiration reduce to levels that are difficult to perceive even with modern medical equipment. The victim will cease their restless movements, and become entirely unresponsive to any stimuli—something like the extreme hibernation observed in certain animals, like marmots.
For all intents and purposes, the victim will appear clinically dead.
But death, it seems, is only the beginning.
Reanimation Phase (48+ hours post-infection)
Though it was not the only method, it was common practice among early medieval Scandinavians to lay their dead to rest in burial mounds—large, earthen coverings that were often formed in the shape of a ship, designed to carry their cargo into the afterlife.
The dead were also commonly buried with a number of “grave goods”, the number of which not only denoted their social status in life, but that would also do so in the life to come.
But for a victim of the Psychrophilic Necrovirus, this embarkation is tragically delayed.
Between 48 and 56 hours post infection, the infected will enter the next phase: reanimation.
Suddenly, twitching and spasms ripple through their limbs. The previously still body, now showing mild signs of decay, lurches unsteadily into motion.
Witnesses describe seeing corpses rise from their resting places, moving with unnatural, jerking movements, their bodies bloated and skin tinted blue, but somehow, imbued with an unnatural strength.
These legends, it seems, are not so far from the truth.
The Transformation
The physiological changes wrought by PNV are nothing short of astonishing. As mentioned, the victim’s metabolism slows to drastic levels, and though it appears to improve slightly following the draugr coma, as I call it, any movement should be quite difficult.
And yet, the infected individual begins does begin to move, and with strength often exceeding that of pre-infection levels. Legends often describe Draugr with superhuman strength, capable of snapping a man's neck or crushing bone. While exaggerated, there is some truth to them.
Determining just how this occurs, however, initially proved quite difficult.
But after thorough testing, it appears that this movement is achieved through a dramatic enhancement of mitochondrial efficiency, allowing for energy production even at these drastically reduced metabolic rates.
Additionally, the virus appears to upregulate autophagy pathways, essentially causing host cells to recycle their own components to maintain function. This process preserves deeper muscle tissues even while surface areas show signs of necrosis. The result is a moderate increase in muscle density and even hypertrophy.
But, tragically, the humanity of the reawakened “dead” does not re-emerge, as some infections allow.
Indeed, the damage to the higher brain functions sustained during the comatose phase are worsened, and the shambling movements exhibited by late-stage infected are largely uncoordinated.
But neither are the draugr completely mindless, as seen in late-stage victims of yet other infections.
Neurologically speaking, draugr appear to exist in a liminal state between the two. While higher cognitive functions are significantly impaired, base instincts and strong emotions remain intact and in many cases, even appear amplified. This results in beings driven primarily by primal urges and powerful emotional responses, while also retaining some rudimentary thought processes and memories.
Brain dissections reveal an imbalance in neurotransmitters, with increased levels of glutamate combined with decreased levels of GABA—a neurochemical shift that could help explain the draugr's aggressive and unpredictable behavior.
Additionally, and simultaneous to the changes in the muscular system described earlier, PNV also appears to modify the nervous system by interfering with the normal pathways that lead to apoptosis—particularly in motor neurons.
And so it is that the risen draugr exists in a state of perpetual confusion, discomfort, and aggression, overlaid upon a dark sea of emotion and transient memories. Specifically in regard to the latter, it appears that the memories of PNV-infected most frequently manifest as vague recollections or strong associations with particular places, objects, or people—a trait which adequately explains the legends of the draugr's possessive behavior over burial goods and locations.
Indeed, when these areas are encroached upon, they become exceptionally aggressive, attacking with a ferocity that belies their usually lumbering movements.
Perhaps more amazingly, however, and despite their somewhat decayed state and impaired cognition, draugr retain some capacity for rudimentary problem-solving. They can use simple tools, even weapons, and are able to navigate basic obstacles.
My most astute readers will no doubt have already made several connections to other viral infections I have described previously. At this point in my studies, I had only just begun to make those same connections, and only later would the revelation of this particular pathogen make itself known to me.
But we will return to that in due time.
For now, it is worth noting the alterations induced by PNV upon the infected brain extend well beyond cognitive function.
Olfaction, for example, is greatly enhanced. PNV appears to achieve this through extensive modifications to the olfactory system—victims consistently exhibit enlarged olfactory epithelia, as well as a greater number of olfactory receptor proteins.
Moreover, PNV appears to enhance the neural pathways between the olfactory bulb and the limbic system, as the pathways to the amygdala are significantly larger than those of non-infected.
The virus also appears to target the arcuate nucleus of the hypothalamus, dramatically increasing the production of ghrelin - the 'hunger hormone'. This, combined with the increased production originating in the stomach lining, leads to an insatiable appetite.
Simultaneously, PNV appears to cause inflammation and enlargement of the amygdala, particularly in the basolateral complex—leading to heightened emotional responses to hunger cues and increased aggression when seeking food.
Finally, the virus appears to increase dopamine receptor density in the nucleus accumbens shell, while simultaneously reducing serotonin signaling. This creates an imbalance that dramatically amplifies the reward sensation associated with feeding.
These changes in the mind are, astonishingly, supported by further alterations to the physical body.
During the transformation, so to speak, the jawbone undergoes significant reinforcement. Osteoblasts in the mandible and maxilla become hyperactive, depositing additional layers of dense bone tissue. This process is particularly pronounced at the insertion points of the masseter, temporalis, and pterygoid muscles.
These muscles themselves are hypertrophied, and are capable of exerting tremendous force—in my testing, I've recorded bite forces exceeding 1,500 pounds per square inch- more than enough to crush bone.
The teeth of the infected also undergo noticeable changes. All teeth experience subtle elongation, with canines and incisors showing the most pronounced growth. This occurs through a process of accelerated dentinogenesis and amelogenesis.
Over time, gingival tissue will exhibit rapid necrosis and recession, further exposing the teeth and creating the illusion of additional growth. The enamel takes on a discolored appearance, often turning a sickly yellow or brown. This is likely due to the incorporation of excess minerals during the accelerated formation process.
The result of all of these changes is a creature of considerable strength and reduced instincts for self-preservation, and with a ravenous hunger for any organic matter—not only to sustain their altered metabolism, but for the sheer desperate desire to calm their raging need—as well as the physical ability to efficiently break down virtually anything.
And though they aren’t terribly selective, infected do appear to have a preference for living flesh. My suspicion is that this is because not only does this provide nutrients to the draugr’s altered digestive system; an infected individual who seeks out other hosts is also a very effective means of viral transmission.
It's little wonder that newly turned infected are often found near dwellings, livestock pens, and butcher shops—having been drawn by an urge they can scarcely comprehend.
Longevity of the Infected
But while the Draugr’s physical… enhancements… are remarkable, they come at a great cost. While the process of reanimation, so to speak, does restore mobility and strength, following the coma, eventually, it also accelerates necrosis in the body’s surface tissues. And over time, the body’s ability to maintain basic functions will continue to deteriorate.
As necrosis spreads, the body's systems begin to fail, starting with the extremities, where blood flow has already diminished. The skin sloughs off, and muscles will begin to break down, despite the initial increase in mass and efficiency.
And although PNV suppresses pain receptors and increases the infected’s tolerance for physical damage, the body can only sustain such a state for a limited time. In colder environments, where the virus thrives and metabolic processes are slowed, a Draugr may remain animated for weeks, possibly even months. However, in warmer climates or during prolonged periods of activity, the body’s decay accelerates, leading to total physical collapse.
Most infect only survive for a matter of weeks before succumbing to the inevitable deterioration of their bodies.
I suspect that the tales of a draugr persisting at the grave site for years are based on the fact that the virus itself remains viable long after the victim has truly passed away. Any visitors to the grave site could be infected, thus beginning the cycle anew.
Connections
As I’ve alluded to several times at time point, as I dug deeper into my study of the Psychrophilic Necrovirus, there could be little doubt that I had encountered something like this before. Indeed, the similarities to both the Human Vampiric Virus and the Human Zombism Virus were too striking to ignore. Yet, PNV seems somehow... less refined, more primitive in its effects.
For example, even the viral structure of PNV shares remarkable similarities with both HVV and HZV. All three are mononegaviruses, but PNV's genome is notably… simpler. It lacks the sophisticated gene regulation mechanisms found in HVV that allow for the dramatic metabolic shifts seen in vampires. Similarly, it doesn't possess the aggressive cell lysis genes characteristic of HZV. Instead, PNV's effects seem to be a more crude version of both - slowing metabolism without the finesse of HVV, and causing limited cellular damage without the wholesale destruction wrought by HZV.
This pattern of "similar, yet simpler" holds true across various aspects of the virus's effects. The cognitive changes induced by PNV, for instance, fall between the calculated intelligence of HVV-infected vampires and the mindless aggression of HZV zombies.
Physically, the draugr's increased strength and sensory acuity mirror similar enhancements seen in vampires, yet lack the same degree of refinement.
But perhaps most intriguing are the environmental adaptations. PNV thrives in cold, dry environments - a stark contrast to the more moderate nature of HVV and the tropical preference of HZV. To me, this suggested that PNV might represent an early branching in the viral family tree, one that became highly adapted to a specific environment rather than developing the versatility of its cousins.
But there was one major revelation that had yet to come—one that would not only confirm the findings I had made so far, but set fire to the theories I had so far formed.
You see, while analyzing PNV's genome, a process I don’t normally do to this extent—I stumbled upon something… unusual. In its non-coding regions - often dismissively called 'junk DNA' - I found sequences that… well, seemed to defy explanation.
These sequences contained highly structured, lengthy palindromic regions, far longer than anything I’ve encountered in nature.
Typically, palindromes in DNA are short, perhaps 10-20 base pairs, and may form small hairpin loops. But these… these were hundreds of base pairs long, forming intricate stem-loop structures. What struck me even more was that their spacing and repetition resembled a mathematical pattern—something like a Fibonacci sequence, as if the genome itself had been carefully arranged, layer by layer, with a precision far beyond what natural evolution could achieve.
And somehow, these sequences showed barely any signs of degradation. By all accounts, they should have been garbled by random mutations over millennia. Yet there they were, almost entirely intact.
As I stared at my screen, a hypothesis I'd been considering for months suddenly sprang to my mind. Previously, I’ve theorized about a progenitor virus - the Hematophagic Mononegavirus, or HMV—as the possible ancestor of HZV and HVV.
With PNV fitting neatly into the same family, the connection wasn’t hard to make. And so I pulled up my archived genomic data for both HZV and HVV.
I scanned the data quickly, my heart admittedly racing.
And there it was. In both HZV and HVV, I found the same type of structured sequences. They were more subtle, clearly mutated far more, but the base pattern was unmistakable. These viruses—PNV, HZV, and HVV—all carried the same genetic "signature."
In my mind, this goes beyond confirming the existence of a common ancestor.
As I sit here, writing this, my mind circles back to fragments of evidence I've encountered over years of research. Anomalous DNA sequences in cryptids, inexplicable genetic markers in ancient remains, and now these viral signatures - all pieces of a puzzle I'm only beginning to understand.
I can't help but think of an old discovery - traces of what seemed to be an ancient repository of viral strains. At the time, it seemed improbable, even fantastical. But now?
To be entirely transparent, I had thought that my studies had been leading… nowhere. I’ve lost the creditability I once had, and my resources are all but evaporated.
But maybe these decades haven’t been wasted.
This feeling is one that I thought had long since left me—the thrill of discovery. And I, for one, won't rest until I find the truth.
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