Blood of Submission
Hey dewds, JJ here.
This is a taster for a story coming very soon; it follows the transformation of a boy named Lodri into a Werewolf and deals heavily with AB/DL in a fantasy setting.
This idea was suggested to me by a person who wishes to remain anonymous and is one of my longest pieces yet. Keep an eye on this as I will update the submission with full story in due course.
Watch this space ;3
After a series of winding passages, they came to a clearing where the moon showed full overhead.
At the top of a low hill of blue grass sat an old stone statue with arms arced over a massive, silver bowl. Its face was bestial, but with human expression, as it gazed into the depths of the basin.
A circle of Weres holding torches, some beating dreams, surrounded the scene.
"Lo, the sacrifice!" Proclaimed the headdressed Were, taking Lodri's hand in paw. He hoisted it high to the sight of the other Weres and they yipped and howled. "Lo, the offering."
The boy's eyes widened in fear. "Sir Wolf, you don't mean--"
"Do not be afraid, young one," he said. He offered Lodri a knife, carved with a motif of fierce wolves in leap. "Step forward: Be made anew."
Lodri trembled. Fighting great terror, he made his way to the bowl. His innards struggled against his urge to flee - he knew he would not make it far if he were to run.
As he stopped at its step, the knife at his side, he looked around him: The werewolves were still - save for the drummers - but began to chant in a strange tongue.
The headdressed wolf recited an oath:
"Before all present, each twelve of us brothers of Lord Moon, answer: What is your name, O man?"
He swallowed. The knife shook in his hands. "I-I am Lodri, sir."
"And why have you come here?"
Lodri's breathing shallowed. Why did he come here?
"I... I want to become strong."
The headdressed Were was unmoved. "And why do you wish to become strong, Lodri of Avenfirth?"
"...to protect others, sir."
He circled Lodri, appraising him, paws held tightly behind.
"Do you come for glory?"
"I suppose I-"
"Do you come for justice?"
"Yes, I-"
He stopped, just behind the boy. A paw pressed into each of his thin shoulders from above. "My brother," he growled into his small, human ear, "do you come to obey?"
Lodri looked down into the basin. A pool, black by the moon's lambency, rippled serenely. The werewolf peered at him in the reflection, eyes blue as ice and just as chilling.
"I do."
With no further ceremony, the circle of Weres extinguished their flames and ceased chanting. Naught but the ritual drums and a rush of one's own adrenaline could be heard.
"Omega, thou art man no longer!" He proclaimed. "Hold high the blade, and intone my words:"
Timidly, Lodri did as commanded. He hoisted the knife over the bowl, blade pointed down. It glinted coolly in the moonlight.
"'I, Lodri, born of man,'" the Were began.
"'I, Lodri, born of man,'" Lodri repeated. His heart hammered in his chest.
The elder wolf's paws slipped over his small hands and slowly drew them together. To his horror, the Were pressed the blade into the palm of his other hand.
"'Do swear by my blood,'"
Lodri winced as the knife unzipped his flesh with ease. Biting back tears, he stammered in response, "'D-do swear, by... nngah, my blood--"
"'Ever to uphold the laws of Vargheim,'"
"'Ever to uphold the laws of Vargheim,'" the boy mewled, beads of blood dribbling into the bowl.
But even as it pained him, he gripped the bright blade fast. He would be something.
A protector. A warrior. A savior.
The surface of the strange liquid roiled as it accepted his offering. A cloudiness overcame his senses as his mentor's final words echoed in his mind.
"'And to serve always its Alpha.'"
The drums ceased beating.