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Fort Frostmouth had gotten much more crowded over the last month. Not that Tyronus could really blame the people that came from the north. Savages that the Skaal were, they had the good sense to get out of the way of the new army of the north.

Tyronus looked towards the north from the walls of the fort. The stones were half-covered in ice, the fort earning its name as the winds of the frozen north blew down over the fields. Even the trees of the forest to the northeast were frozen, the branches occasionally snapping off from their own weight. They'd never done that before; further north, things were always frozen, but there had always been some relief from the cold down on the southern tip of Solstheim.

Something had changed in the last few months. The Skaal had some legend about the Daedra coming to take their fun with the island, but that was hardly a credible theory. At least, that was what Jeleen told anyone. The priest told them that there were no such things as Daedric Lords, and that anyone with the proper trust in the Nine Divines would be safe from any minor devils that the savages feared.

Honestly, Tyronus wasn't so sure. He laid one gauntleted hand down on the top of the wall, the chill soaking into the metal almost immediately, his eyes peering off towards the misty north. There were things in the night, the scouts had reported. Things that were stronger, faster than any beast or raider that they had ever seen. Never seen in the daylight, only in the shadows and the moonlight, a flicker of gray and black before the night was silent again. Nothing credible, but nevertheless, the frozen plains to the north of the fort had gained a deadly reputation in the recent months.

And Tyronus had talked to some of the Skaals. They had many stories, and their leader, a warrior named Raddin, had told him of beast men that walked the snowy island. Not like the Khajiits and Argonians, which he had thought that they might mean at first. These creatures ran with the speed and grace of wolves, according to the Skaal, and killed with the ferocity of man and beast, with the strength of both and the weaknesses of neither.

"Tyronus!"

Shaking himself free of his thoughts, the Imperial turned to look into the courtyard, half leaning over the wall.

Severia Gratus, the Champion of the fort, looked back up at him. Her hands were on her hips, and her helmet was on, muffling her voice as she shouted. "Captain Carius sent me. He's calling for all soldiers to assemble in the general quarters for an update on the situation."

"I'm on my way," Tyronus shouted back. She turned to walk towards the west side of the fort, and he followed the wall around towards the south.

He watched the courtyard while he made his way towards the stairs. It was the most crowded that he had ever seen it, but it wasn't just the refugees of the north that filled up the courtyard with their tents and their bedrolls, and what little bit of their livestock that they'd been able to save. No, there were others there as well, survivors of an attack on a colony a little further north. Something that the East Empire Company had tried to set up at Raven Rock. Imperials, a few of the Dunmer from Morrowind on the mainland, and others made up that group.

The Skaal and the survivors of the Raven Rock colony got along surprisingly well, despite their cultural differences. The guards at the fort had only needed to break them up a couple of times, and after that, they seemed to reach some sort of accommodation with each other. It was unclear just what the terms were, but it seemed that as long as one side kept away from the other, they didn't react violently.

However, there were always some problems, and one of the biggest was the man that the East Empire Company had put in charge of the Raven Rock colony, another Imperial named Carnius Magius, a greedy man if Tyronus had ever seen one.

And he had seen him. Tyronus groaned under his breath, increasing his pace in the hope that he might be able to leave the administrator behind, but it was useless. The overdressed fop hurried to his side, and started talking into his ear, ignoring all signals that he wanted to be left alone.

"Ah, Tyronus, it's good to see another Imperial rather than all of the uneducated savages here," Carnius said. "I was hoping that you could do me a favor."

"If you're going to ask me to ask the Captain to send us all out to reclaim your colony -"

"And why shouldn't you do that, good sir?" Carnius rubbed his fingers together in the way that all too many accountants liked to do. "Raven Rock was the source of a good bit of ebony, and you know how much that sells for back in the home province. Do you really think that it should be left alone, for whoever might be out there to claim? They could be mining it all away and selling it for themselves."

"Somehow, sir, I doubt that whatever is out there is interested in the resources of Raven Rock," Tyronus said, trying to keep his tone as respectful as possible. "And despite your confidence in the men of the Imperial Legion, I do not think that our force here would be sufficient to dislodge the force that displaced you. Particularly as you have not given us any information on who it might have been that did it."

Carnius glared at him, though the sickly, condescending smile remained frozen to his face. "All I ask is that you bring it up to the Captain, good soldier. Let him decide on the matter. If he does, and you are the one responsible for bringing it to his attention, I can promise a good share of gold for you."

"I will keep it in mind, sir." Very unlikely that he would ever do it, but considering the fact that Carnius kept coming to him with the offer, it was unlikely that he could ever get it off of his mind, either.

At least the response sent the money-grubber off to his men. Tyronus shook his head, turning back towards the western side of the fort.

There was some safety to the fort, at least. Raven Rock had been an open colony, something without defenses other than a few fighting men that had come across the sea to be part of it. Whatever was out there would have found it easy pickings, to say the last.

Fort Frostmouth, however, was something of an entirely different caliber. They had thick walls of stone - and ice, he supposed, considering the cold lately - that reached a good many feet off of the ground. A full garrison of the Imperial Legion, a hundred man force, were on hand to defend the walls if they were called to, and the two gates in and out of the fortress were blocked off with steel portcullises, with the only way for them to be pulled up inside of the fort itself. If anything out there tried to attack this fort, they'd find themselves in for a hell of a fight, and no mistake.

That comfort was scant, but he imagined that the safety of the walls were all that kept some of the civilians here from giving up. Their tents were thin cloth, barely enough to keep the worst of the cold from slipping into their bones, and they were running low on firewood to keep the cold off at night.

Even if they weren't attacked, unless they could find some way to deal with the supply situation, they would all either starve or freeze to death.

Finally he reached the western side of the courtyard, and he pushed open the wooden door leading into the fort. Several soldiers inside groaned as the wind followed him in, and glared until he got the door closed behind him. That, too, was harder than it once was, considering that the wind blew against the door as if it was trying to force it to stay open. But it was no match for a sturdy soldier, and Tyronus managed to get it to shut after a few seconds.

He turned his attention to the soldiers that were already here. Severia had beaten him back, obviously, and the other members of the Legion had their helmets on, so he couldn't tell just who they were. They numbered about twenty, and despite the larger room they stood in, it was already rather crowded.

"Where's everyone else?" Tyronus asked. "Aren't we a little short here?"

"I briefed the others earlier today." Tyronus turned his head at the familiar voice, seeing Captain Carius stepping through a door leading further into the fort. "You guys are the last ones to be told the news."

"What news?" Severia asked, her voice stern and maybe just a little disapproving. "Why wasn't I informed first?"

"Because I wanted to have all of the soldiers that weren't critical to the walls informed first, so that the walls were left manned with the best soldiers for as long as possible," the Captain said. He folded his hands behind his back, and Severia lowered her eyes under the slight glare he gave her. "Do you want to question my decisions, or hear the news, Champion?"

"I'm sorry, sir," she said. "It's just the cold and the situation. I'm on more of an edge than usual."

"So are we all." The Captain shook his head before turning to the rest of the assembled soldiers. "I have news from the mainland. A small evacuation fleet has been dispatched, and they will be at the docks by tomorrow. We will be able to get everyone out of here and back to the mainland."

A collective sigh of relief went through the soldiers, and Tyronus was no exception. Getting everyone out at once, and so soon, was a miracle and no mistake.

"Everyone, sir?" one of the helmeted soldiers asked.

"All of the refugees...and all of us," the Captain confirmed.

The announcement took a moment to penetrate the group, and Tyronus simply stared as he got the idea through his head. They were pulling out? Leaving the fort behind? That didn't make any sense.

Before he or anyone else could make an objection, the Captain held up his hand. "These are orders from higher up, all the way from Cyrodiil. We are to retreat and cut our losses from this island. They believe - and I agree - that we don't have enough men to hold this fort if there is a serious attack. I don't know just what is out there, what is roaming about the island, but I think we can all agree that it's not something that we want to fight if we don't have to."

Legion or not, Tyronus agreed with the Captain, and it was pretty clear that most of the other soldiers did too. Severia looked like she didn't, but that was no surprise; the Champion was more than willing to charge out and try her blade on anything that walked, if it would fulfill a duty to the Emperor and the provinces. For most of them, though, the enemy remained mysterious enough that Tyronus preferred not to cross blades with whatever they might be.

"Carnius Magius isn't going to be happy to hear this," Tyronus muttered to himself. The mutter hadn't been meant to carry, but inside, spoken in a voice used to the howling wind and the open air, it reached the Captain all too easily.

He chuckled. "Well, Carnius can just deal with it like the rest of us," he said. "The Empire might find some merit to his petitions, but I'm not going to risk any men when we'll need to keep all our hands on the wall tonight."

That was another surprise. Most of the time, the Legion manned the wall in shifts, between twenty five to thirty men at all times. It was enough to keep a watch on the area around the fort, and unless the assault was a great deal more serious, it was enough to fight off things that decided to make a run at the walls. "All of us, sir? Not just one or two shifts?" Tyronus asked.

"All of you. The scouts came in with a new report. Come." The Captain turned, walking towards a door leading towards the north part of the fort, and the soldiers followed.

Despite being inside, the wind still found a way to chill him. Little slots in the wall, ostensibly there to let in a bit of light without becoming a welcoming target for arrows, allowed for wisps of the cold to slip through. Despite fires being lit in every room, and torches and braziers burning at any excusable location, the cold managed to overwhelm anything that they tried to keep it out. Their metal armor, despite being padded with leather - in the officers cases, velvet - was freezing, and all of them had to take care to not let the armor get wet, so it didn't become icy as well.

The walk through the fort was brief, and soon they arrived in a larger room, one with a map of the island weighted down on the table. The strategy room, Tyronus recognized it as. The map usually had miniatures on it in some distribution or another, showing what the scouts had found out in the wilder parts of the island, as well as just where different patrols were supposed to be at any given time.

This time, the map had a great deal more than a few miniatures on it, and more than a few of the Legion members gasped at the massed collection of red miniatures that were gathered a little past the frozen plains. There were a full hundred of them, laid out in a haphazard mess.

"Are these numbers accurate, sir?" Severia asked as they gathered around the table.

"They are, Champion. I questioned each of the scouts myself. If anything, these numbers might be a little bit on the low side," the Captain said. "You can see why I want everyone on the walls tonight. They're on the move, and they could be here by moonrise."

Moonrise. Tyronus flashed back to the other reports the scouts had made, of creatures running under the moon and disappearing in the darkness, and of Raddin's tales of the beasts that had hunted his people out of the north. Could this be them?

The Captain leaned over the table, gesturing to the unknown forces to the north. "Our scouts couldn't quite make out what they could be, but they were hunched over and walked on two legs. They could be some new monster that we've never seen before, or they could be an army of hunchbacks. In either case, we've got an army of a thousand strong bearing down on us." He looked over the gathered soldiers. "You twenty are my best men. The best fighters, the ones that I've trusted on rescue missions, patrols, and anything else that just couldn't fail. You've proven worthy of being called the strongest in the fort."

He pointed at the north wall, dragging it down along the north-east side as well. "That's why you will be placed on this part of the wall. If this army gets up close to the wall, I want to make sure that they are dealt with. I have no idea if they have any capability of breaking through the walls, but I don't want them to get the chance to try."

"I can lead our forces out to meet them in the open, sir. Give me leave, and we'll cut them down before they even reach the wall!" Severia said.

The rest of the Legion broke out in protests, and one person even asked if she was crazy. Severia whipped around. "Are you all cowards?! We are the Legion! Our responsibility is to protect citizens of the Empire!"

"Granted, Champion, but I think that twenty soldiers, even the best ones that the Legion has to offer, would only be a pin-prick to an army this size," Captain Carius said. "The wall, Champion. The other soldiers will need to see that they have the best at their side."

"It isn't as bad as it seems, though," he continued. "The boats to get us all out of here will be here tomorrow, and by all accounts, these mysterious creatures only move and attack by night. If we can hold out until dawn, then we can get out of here. Just keep them from getting over the walls, and we'll all get through this."

Tyronus remembered the defenses around the Fort, and all the comfort that he had taken from them in the past. The walls, the well trained archers, his fellow Legion soldiers...it should have meant a lot more to him than the scant reassurance that he felt, knowing that they were there. After all, it was a full thousand soldiers that were coming their way, and he didn't know if they could take that. A hundred men, even with the help of the walls around them, against a thousand unknown enemies? It seemed almost impossible.

"That will be everything, men," Captain Carius said. "The scouts didn't report anything else near the walls. Probably all scared off by whatever this force is. So, take what rest you can. Eat. Sleep. Pray, if you feel you need to. Just be ready when the sun goes down."

#

Tyronus made his way to the shrine in the northern part of the Fort after the briefing, unable to think of anything else he could do. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he wished to visit the shrine. He'd never found any comfort in the Divines before. But...maybe he could find some consolation for his soul, some comfort and peace for his mind before the coming battle.

As he stepped into the small room dedicated to the Nine Divines, Jeleen approached him. A redguard with the darkened skin common in far-off Hammerfell, the priest smiled at him. "I have heard that we shall soon be able to leave this cursed place. Joyous news, is it not?"

"Joyous, Jeleen, as long as we live through the night," Tyronus said. He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry. I just want to get out of here before we all die, and I can't shake a very bad feeling about the battle tonight."

"I understand, Tyronus, I understand." The priest nodded his head. "May I offer the blessings of the Divines for you tonight?"

"Fat lot of good that would do any of you."

Both priest and soldier turned to the source of the voice. Standing in the doorway, leaning against the stone archway, was a big man with blue paint in lines over his face. His arms were bare, and the rest of his body was covered in heavy furs. At his waist was a longsword, hung in a simple loop of toughened leather to keep it from falling down, the metal jagged and marked with years of use.

"You still persist in calling my gods false, Raddin?" Jeleen asked. Tyronus could hear the tightness in the priest's voice, and he could understand the reason behind it. After all, it was a rather offensive thing to come out and say. He wasn't much better, he admitted, not believing in much of the priest's teachings, but at least he kept quiet.

"I still say that they're nothing more than the statues that you've put up. Magic blessings? Any wandering mage could do what you do, and better." Raddin shook his head. "And nothing about earning what you're given? No wonder you haven't converted any of my people, no matter how hard you've tried."

"They deserve to know the truth of the Divines, just as any people have the right to know about the true gods."

Raddin laughed, stepping back from the archway and taking a few steps into the shrine. "That's as idiotic a thing as I've ever heard, and that's a lot, considering what your type says whenever they open their mouths," he said. The leader of the Skaal walked up, almost chest to chest with the Redguard. "I come here. I have told you and your chief what kind of things are out there. I tell you that they're coming. And you've done nothing but tell me that I am a savage that knows nothing."

The priest was silent, but Tyronus could see the rage building behind the Redguard's eyes. Yet Raddin just continued, a sarcastic smile on his face. "Savages. But who has lived here for generations? Who has seen the snows come again and again, and lived to tell the tale without a castle wall and soldiers to protect us? Who has lied through the monsters of the north with only the strength of arm and cunning of mind to get through it, rather than some god or some elite soldiers to keep the terrors of the night at bay?

"Me. Me and mine." Raddin shook his head. "And now you're going to suffer what we all suffered, and unless your gods come down from heaven and save you themselves, you're going to suffer with us."

Shaking his head, Raddin turned. He left the shrine,and Jeleen was forced to take several deep breaths before speaking again. "That savage is an unenlightened moron, and he will be the death of us tonight. I swear by the powers of the Divines, his foolishness and recklessness will be the downfall of this fort."

"You might want to listen to him," Tyronus ventured. The priest rounded on him, and he held up his hands. "I don't mean that he's right about everything. But he might be right about the things that chased them out of the north. He was one of the people fighting them, after all."

"Bah! What sort of things did he tell us about? Wolf men, bitches and mutts that chased them? What kind of proud warriors could they be if they ran away from a pack of mongrels."

"I talked with him, and he said that they walked on two legs."

"Preposterous," the priest said, waving his hands to dismiss the issue. "There are only two beast folk, and those are the Argonians and the Khajiit. There are none of either here, save for that one whore that stays with the East Empire Company. They were seeing things, or simply lying like the savages they are." The Redguard slowly pulled himself back together, the look of serenity slowly crossing his face again. "Now, Tyronus, may I bestow the blessings of the Nine Divines upon you for the battle to come?"

He shook his head. "Perhaps....perhaps another time, as we leave," Tyronus said. Privately, he thought he would think twice before coming here again. There were too many things utterly wrong with this Redguard, not the least that he couldn't listen to common sense, or believe that someone less civilized could be right about something. "Thank you for the offer, however."

"Of course." Jeleen bowed his head once. "I shall be here through the night, making my prayers to the Nine Divines that we might live until the morning, and make our escape."

Whereas Raddin and his people would be on the walls fighting, you self righteous ass, Tyronus thought to himself. But he didn't say it. The last thing that he needed was for the priest to call down the wrath of the gods on him. Whether or not he could do that, Tyronus didn't know, but he didn't want to find out on the eve of battle.

As he left the shrine, he took one of the hallways back to his part of the barracks. If there was nothing on the walls for him to be worried about, then he might as well get as much sleep as he could before the fight. He didn't want to be falling off of the wall.

However, sleep would have to wait. When he reached the barracks, Raddin was waiting for him, looking at him with eyes that just barely had some tolerance in them. "I see that you didn't want to stick around that idiot for long, either."

"A little less accepting than he preaches," he explained with a shrug of his shoulders. "Why are you sitting on my bed?"

"I knew you'd be back here before long. I wanted to talk with you before the battle."

"Speak then."

Raddin slowly pulled himself up from the bed, and pulled his sword out. For a moment. Tyronus thought that the Skaal chieftain would attack him, but instead he presented the hilt. "This sword is silver." Tyronus arched an eyebrow, and Raddin pushed it closer. "Look, if you don't believe me."

A little puzzled as to why the Skaal was mentioning this, Tyronus humored him. He took the blade gingerly, looking at the metal. It was certainly not steel or iron, he had noticed that before. However, when he reached into his pocket and took out a silver coin, he was surprised to see that the colors matched completely. There was just enough give to the metal as well for it to be nothing but silver.

"Why would you - "

"Because it's the only thing that makes a dent in the creatures coming here." Raddin took his sword back with a shake of his head. "Because silver is the only thing that can cut through those beasts in any way that makes them stay down. Anything else is just going to leave them bleeding for a bit before they get up again, and then you're in real trouble. They don't like being hurt."

"Does anybody?"

"Anybody doesn't have beast blood running through their veins, or the fury of the winter in their soul." He reached behind him, pulling out a dagger of the same material. "There aren't enough silver weapons for everyone to be armed with one. But you have a little sense, compared to that priest and that Champion of yours. I want you to be able to take at least one of those bastards down before you die."

Tyronus took the dagger gingerly. It was strange to hold a weapon made of something usually reserved for jewelry. It was weighted differently, but the edge was no less sharp. It would be enough to break through the skin and probably the armor of most foes.

He looked up. "Why do you think that we're going to die tonight?" he asked. "I mean, we have the walls, and a good number of trained soldiers. We stand a decent chance - "

"You still don't know what you're fighting," Raddin said, shaking his head. "There are over a thousand of them out there. My village was overwhelmed when we still outnumbered them. They will come, they will fight, and they will leave you either in the ground or one of them."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. What do you mean, one of them?"

"You'll see." He brushed past him, and walked towards the door. "My people have an idea of how we can stop this from spreading further. If we get the chance...if SHE is in the army tonight...I will ask you to follow me. It might be the only chance of stopping this from spreading any further."

The Skaal chieftain walked out of the door before Tyronus could ask him what he meant, and despite shouting at the top of his lungs a few times to call Raddin back, the Skaal had other ideas. Sighing softly, Tyronus walked over to his bed, sitting down with the dagger in hands. It was masterfully made, really, but he couldn't believe that this would do better than his sword. Steel it might be, but he doubted that there were really any monsters out there that would just get back up after they had a few body parts chopped off, or been stabbed enough times.

Still, there was something about the chieftain that he couldn't ignore. Jeleen dismissed everything he said as nonsense because he was a 'savage'. Tyronus didn't want to do that. It might be hard to believe, but there were many strange things in Solstheim, more than in most places. It never hurt to be prepared.

He tucked the dagger into a spare sheath, replacing his iron dagger with the silver one. "I hope I don't regret this," he muttered to himself as he pulled himself into bed.

#

Sunset came quickly, and Tyronus has to be woken up by one of the other soldiers, told that he had only a few minutes to get up to the wall. Never had he been so thankful that the Legion armor was so easy to put on, or that his weapons were all on one belt that he could just throw on over the armor.

The evening air hit him with the force of a hammer as he stepped out of the fort halls, and he shivered hard enough to set parts of his armor clanking and clamoring against each other as he ran. Several other soldiers waved at him as he ran past them, jogging up towards the north wall as he had been commanded.

He passed Severia at the bend in the north-east wall, and saluted her as he passed. She gave him one in return, then turned back to the field before her.

It took a little searching, but Tyronus found an empty spot in the line of men. They were standing almost shoulder to shoulder, maybe a foot of space between them to allow for room to swing a sword or even get it out of the scabbard. The two soldiers that he stood with had their helmets on still, so he didn't know who he stood with. Hopefully people that he could trust not to break and run, hopefully some of the twenty he'd joined at the briefing earlier today.

As he settled into place, the last of the sunlight disappeared. For the last few weeks, the sky had been cloudy, more and more snow coming down during the night, and the moon had been invisible to them. Tonight, however, the clouds parted enough to allow the moon to show. A collective gasp ran through the fort at the color of the moon, blood red and almost appearing to drip, the color spread to several stars around the moon. Several soldiers stared at it for a moment, Tyronus one of them. That was....that was impossible. The moon couldn't simply turn red.

"Divines protect us," the soldier to his left muttered. "Here they come."

Over the plains came a great host, and in the moonlight, they were revealed to be a mix of beast and man. They stood hunched over, the way that the scouts had said, but their eyes glimmered in the night, almost glowing. Each was furred, gray and black, and not a bit of clothes were worn among them.

The snow crunched under their feet as they approached, and even from this distance, there were enough of them to carry the sounds of their snarls and growls across the field. Tyronus shivered at the sound, shaking his head. They were no form of man he had ever seen, nor mer. They were the epitome of the beast.

They paused just out of bow range, and he watched them form crude lines. They snarled and flailed at the air before them, barely restrained by an unknown force. They shifted, moving back and forth amongst each other, their line extending further and further along the field lines. Each second that went by showed a few more of them, the line growing longer and longer.

With the red moon above, it was just possible to count their numbers. He didn't count all of them, not one by one, but even a casual count told Tyronus that a thousand had been a conservative guess. There could be half again so many in that host, and if there were others, they could easily be hidden in the darkness. The only reason that they could see these ones were because they weren't trying to hide themselves.

"Hold fast, everyone!" Severia called from her position. Tyronus turned to look at her. She had her sword out, calling the attention of the other soldiers to her. "Archers, bows ready. Anyone without a bow, be ready when they get close. Show them what happens when they fight the Imperial Legion."

Tyronus grabbed the hilt of his sword, a few shaky breaths leaving his lips before he calmed himself. They were on top of a wall, he told himself. There were archers that could handle the beasts if they got any closer, and even if they had something to climb the walls, they'd be coming right into the blades of well trained warriors. What could he be worried about?

All of the encouragement he gave himself went out the window as the ranks of beasts howled, a high, shrill sound that echoed from the field to forest, from the snow to the stone walls of the fort. Tyronus wasn't the only one that shivered at the sound, some soldiers even stepping back briefly from the wall before others pulled them back. Words were whispered to each other, words of encouragement that rang as hollow aloud as they had in his mind. Suddenly, Tyronus wasn't so sure that they were going to live through this.

A clatter of footsteps caught his attention, and he turned to the northern stairs.

The Skaal were hurrying up the stone steps, blades unsheathed. Not a one of them wore armor, but all were armed in some manner, be it bow, or blade, or club. Their faces were grim, without hope. Despite their additional numbers, perhaps some twenty five more, the looks on their faces was more of a depressing sight than an encouraging one.

Raddin joined him, standing behind and to his left. "They have grown larger than I would have thought possible," the Skaal chieftain muttered. "There will be nobody left in this fort by morning."

"Don't say that," Tyronus muttered under his breath. Several other soldiers had already turned towards them. "We can win this. Just work with us. We can turn them back from the walls, even if they have anything to climb up here."

"You don't believe that anymore than me. But delude yourself if you want." Raddin hefted his blade, his breath puffing white in the cold night air. "I will not."

Any further conversation was stopped as another howl split the air, the beasts throwing their heads back as one. They called to the moon before the first line charged forward, arms stretched out to their sides as they ran through the snow.

"Loose arrows!" the Champion's voice called. The twang of bow strings filled the air, shafts of wood and iron flying past the walls. They soared through the air for bare seconds before they hit the advancing wall of flesh and fur.

To the surprise of all the soldiers, none of them fell. Arrows embedded themselves in shoulders, arms, legs, even into the chests and stomachs of the beasts, but none stopped. Some few slowed, but none of them stopped their forward rush. They even reached to the arrow shafts and pulled them out of their bodies, leaving them fallen in the snow behind them.

"Again! Aim for their hearts, their heads! Loose!" the Champion shouted as the archers grabbed their second arrow.

As they were reloading, one of the Skaal approached the edge of the wall. He held his bow in steady hands, sighting along the shaft before letting it loose. There was a glimmer to the tip of his arrow that hadn't been present on the others, and when it hit its target, the beast let out a howl of pain. It paused in its tracks, clutching the arrow in its chest, before falling into the snow. It was still, and Tyronus knew that it was the only arrow to do a thing.

"I told them. I told them all. Silver is all that works," Raddin muttered. "Nobody listens to me."

The creatures had reached the wall, covering the field in an unbelievably short time. The archers leaned over, firing straight down as best as they could, but no matter where their arrows struck, nothing happened. It was as though the beasts were impervious to their blows. Only the silver arrows from the Skaal did anything, and then only if they managed to get lucky enough to hit he head or the chest.

This close, Tyronus could actually see them. They were a mix of wolf and man, standing on legs that ended in the reversed knees of the beast, standing on their toes. Hunched forward, their bodies nevertheless moved faster than any human, and white and yellow teeth shone in the darkness. Not a one stood at the wall that didn't stand at least as tall as one of the legion, and some stood half again as tall.

They seemed confused, and in that moment, Tyronus felt some hope again. They didn't know how to handle the walls. They could still win this, by simply outlasting them.

Another howl filled the air, but it was different. A single howl, higher, stronger, clearer in a way than the other ones had been. It stilled the other wolf-men in their tracks, and Raddin went still behind him.

"The Packmother." Raddin's whispered words had a hint of dark glee to them, and Tyronus was glad that the Skaal chieftain was behind him. He did not wish to see the chieftain's face when he spoke like that. "The Packmother is here after all."

"What does that mean?" Tyronus asked, not daring to take his eyes off of the horde at the base of the wall.

"It means that this can be ended...and this fort will surely fall. Let go of the hope you have to live. She is telling them what to do."

The question of what the Skaal meant died on Tyronus's lips as the wolf-men leaped from the ground. They extended long arms towards the stone, and the sound of sharp object against smooth stone filled the air. To the amazement of Tyronus and the others, the claws of the creatures slashed against the stone, gouging deep enough for them to dig into it, and pull themselves up. Snapping teeth and slavering jaws approached the soldiers, who stepped back from the edge of the wall, some in fear, and others in preparation.

Tyronus pulled out his sword out of habit, the thick but short blade pointed towards the wall as he waited for the creature to come to the top. "Any advice, Raddin?" he asked.

"Drop your sword and take out your dagger, if you want to fight on the wall." Raddin shook his head. "If you want to make a difference, put your sword away and follow me."

The Imperial turned just as the Skaal sheathed his own sword, gesturing to his men to follow him. They moved from their places in the line, hurrying after their leader towards the northern stairs without a single word. Tyronus couldn't believe his eyes, but they were leaving.

There was no time to call them back. The howls of the wolf creatures turned him back to the wall, just in time to raise his sword to block the wolf that leaped off of the wall towards him. Everyone else was in a similar situation, he saw. The wolves had leaped onto the wall and climbed all across the north wall, as well as along the eastern wall. Every member of the Legion had their own foe to deal with, and none could spare a moment to aid the soldier next to them.

And Tyronus couldn't help but think that he would need the help. The wolf atop him was massive, standing a full foot taller than him, and with muscles that threatened to shove him right over the other side of the wall. His feet planted as they were, he only just barely kept the wolf at bay with his sword. He could see light wounds forming against the wolf-man's hands, but it was like it couldn't even feel it.

He pulled his head to the side as the wolf darted its head forward, trying to bite him, and rolled to the side as it tried again. Bringing his sword up in a slashing move, he watched the tip carve a line out of the wolf-man's side. The grin from cutting the creature died, though, as it started to heal before his eyes, knitting itself shut almost before he had pulled his blade back to the ready position.

"Impossible," he muttered as he stared.

The wolf-man grinned at him, baring all of those deadly teeth, and leaped forward again. Claws flashed in the moonlight, and all Tyronus could do was throw up his arm against them.

The claws slashed against his armor, and broke through the metal barrier in two strikes. He cried out in pain as the claws savaged his arm, turning his arm red with blood, and he fell back. His sword arm went wild, desperate swings barely throwing the wolf-man back before it could do worse damage, but it was only a temporary measure. The creature was still grinning, like it knew that he was wounded. Those eyes gleamed in the dark, and he could swear that it was licking its lips, imagining his flesh in its jaws.

Growling in his own way, Tyronus pushed forward. He held his sword with both hands as he swung, and the wolf-man fell back before him. The sights of others fighting their own opponents was just barely registered in the back of his mind; all of his attention was on handling his own opponent.

An opening! The wolf leaped back, sliding a bit on one of the patches of ice on the wall, throwing it off balance. Tyronus roared as he leaped at it, slamming his sword into the creature's chest and taking it off of the wall. He felt the both of them falling down into the courtyard, but he didn't care. He was on top; he'd be...reasonably safe when they hit the ground.

The wolf hit the ground first, and it howled in pain as it was both slammed into the hard earth and impaled on a steel sword at the same time. However, despite being filled with steel, it continued to thrash and struggle.

Silver. They only died from silver, Raddin had said. He reached to the dagger at his belt, the dagger that Raddin had given him. Its brightness was brief before it was soaked in the creature's blood, buried up to the hilt in the wolf-man's throat.

It howled once more, gurgling and weak, before going limp.

Tyronus could hardly believe that it was really dead, but when it didn't move after he pulled his hands back, he breathed a soft sigh of relief. He retrieved his weapons from the body. Half-expecting it to get up again after the silver dagger was pulled out, he carefully made his way away from the gate.

Out of his own fight, he saw other bodies on the ground around him, and sadly, most of them were his own comrades. Armored members of the Legion littered the ground, each of them wounded grievously or dead. Some were missing limbs, and most of them were bitten into, savaged by teeth and claw. What few that were still alive wouldn't be alive for very long, he knew, but he started to walk to them, hoping to offer some sort of comfort to the dying.

However, he was grabbed by the arm before he could reach the first. Thinking that it was one of the wolf creatures, he whipped around, unsheathing his dagger and slicing out.

The silver blade clanged softly as it connected with another silver weapon. Raddin looked at him with a shake of his head. "At least one of you pulled your head out of your ass," he muttered, putting his blade back down. "Do you see what I mean now? With the Packmother leading them, the werewolves can't lose this battle."

Even now, Tyronus wanted to disagree with the Skaal. He wanted to remind them of all that the Empire had done over its long life, how much it had done and survived and defeated. He wanted to defend his own skills, and those of his comrades. But it was clear that anything he could say was wrong.

His eyes flicked over to the bodies on the ground. Already a good third of their number had fallen, though he thought that perhaps the Champion and the Captain still lived. But with so many gone already, and with the battle still raging on the wall, the ending of the fight couldn't be in doubt any longer. They were going to lose, it was only a matter of when, and how many survivors there might be.

Shaking his head, Tyronus looked at the chieftain. "You said you had an idea. Something that might work to make sure that these things can't spread anywhere else. What was it?"

"It's very simple." Raddin nodded towards the gate. "While most of the werewolves are distracted with the battle here, we get out there, and we kill the Packmother."

"Are you insane? You want to go out there with all of those creatures running around, and try to get at the one that's probably got the best bodyguards of anything out here?"

The Skaal shook his head. "You're thinking like a person. This is not a normal army. This is a pack." Radding pointed to the wolves on the wall. "These are the weakest, youngest members of the pack, and they're not taking the walls as fast as the Packmother wants. She's going to send the rest of the pack in at any moment, and then this is going to be over. But she'll only have a few members of the pack with her at that point. Just a few members that she wants to keep around for...other reasons. She can be dealt with then. And they'll lose their leader. It's the only chance."

Forcing back his instinct to protest the foregone conclusion of the battle, Tyronus nodded his head. "It sounds like the only chance," he said. "I'll do what you say, you're the one with the plan."

"Good. Right now, we need to get moving. They're going to open the gates any second now."

"What?!" He grabbed the Skaal by the arm, shoving him up against the stone wall of the courtyard. "Are you telling me that you're going to open the courtyard, and let them in? They'll kill everyone!"

"Not me. Not my men. Them." He pointed up, just as the creatures threw another member of the Legion off of the wall, landing in a blood crunch beside them. "They're beasts, but they do have minds, and the Packmother will have told them what to do. Now, we need to get moving before we're standing right in front of them when they come running in. Unless you wanna stay here? You'll die, if you're lucky."

If that was what lucky was, Tyronus wasn't sure he wanted to know what being unlucky would entail. His instinct to protect the people here squashed by the Skaal's practicality, he slowly let go of Raddin's arm. "Okay. Lead the way."

He fell in behind the chieftain as they ran from the gate, going towards the south wall of the fort. Several other Skaal came out of the shadows, joining up with them. There were less than had been on the wall, he noticed; apparently the Skaal hadn't been immune to casualties despite fleeing from the wall when they did. Only ten lived, and all save Raddin were bloodied in some way.

They hurried up the steps, scarcely aware of the ice that almost tripped them up, and paused at the top, hidden behind the stone mounds that lined the top of the wall.

The fight on the north and east wall continued unabated, with more and more of the Legion disappearing with every minute that went by, and the number of wolves increasing. It took all of Tyronus's willpower to keep from running out there to help them, and he felt each Legion soldier's death as a strike to his heart. He should be fighting with them, he knew, but there was no way that this battle could be won. Not by fighting the way that the Legion fought. They needed to do something different, something that would actually take out the pack's advantage here. If it made sure that this pack wouldn't spread past the island, it was worth staying back for now.

It didn't mean that he liked it,.

The howl of the Packmother filled the air again, and an answering howl came from the other werewolves outside of the walls. In seconds, another, bigger wave of the creatures climbed up the walls, and Tyronus stared as they overpowered the remaining defenders with sheer numbers. Those that were grabbed were restrained, their weapons clumsily thrown over the walls, and then carried down towards the courtyard.

"I thought you said that they would die if they were lucky," he whispered to Raddin. "They're taking them prisoner."

"No, they're not," the chieftain said with a shake of his head. "They're taking them to convert them. They're going to become part of the pack tonight."

"Part of the pack? What are you talking about?"

"Haven't you heard the tales of werewolves before?" That was Hodling, Raddin's second in command. Tyronus turned to him, shaking his head. "Werewolves. Half man, half wolf. It used to be that they only turned to wolf form when they were under moonlight, but lately, they've been changing whenever they damn well please." He pointed towards the north gate, where several werewolves were pulling open hatches, getting inside the room where the portcullis was controlled. "Beasts don't think like that, do they?"

"But how do they convert people to being part of the pack? I don't see how they would ever do any kind of preaching," Tyronus said.

The Skaal glared at him, and he lowered his head at the poor jest. "They spread their curse in several ways. Most of the time, they bite the victim, but there are other ways. It seems to need some kind of close touch, though," Hodling said. "Be thankful none of them were close enough to you to get a bite in."

"One was, Hodling," Raddin said. "This soldier managed to get away and kill the wolf. Even with his wound. I think he deserves a little credit for that, don't you?"

Hodling lowered his head slightly at the rebuke, but then turned towards the courtyard, as did the rest of the Skaal. Out of his own morbid curiosity, so did Tyronus.

With the north portcullis open, more of the wolves swarmed into the fort. They seemed to come without number, each of them snarling and growling, but with their lips pulled back in a way that he could only compare to a smile. It was a singularly terrifying look, putting even the toothy grin of the Orcs to shame.

Civilians and surviving legion members were pushed together, herded by the pack into the middle of the square. The survivors cried in terror, and most of them had frozen tears across their face. Their whimpers, their cries of pain, of fear, were carried off on the wind, blown towards him and the Skaal before being carried into the night.

Before his eyes, the werewolves separated the civilians from those that worked in and defended the fort. The armored survivors of the Legion were forced along by the werewolves, shoved down to their knees on the south side of the fort. Amidst them were a few unarmored people that Tyronus recognized, like Jeleen from the shrine, and Carnius Magius. They were forced to their knees as well, facing against the south wall.

Now he was even more thankful for the bit of cover that the fort wall had towards the courtyard. It was just enough to keep the prisoners and the werewolves from seeing them. He didn't mind if the Captain saw them - considering he had some common sense and wouldn't call out - but the Champion and the civilians wouldn't know to keep quiet. If they were seen now, there was no way that they'd get away before they were grabbed by the full strength of the pack. Then there would be no hope in the least.

He had been told what would happen to the prisoners, but seeing it happen was entirely different from hearing about it. Several werewolves walked up behind the Captain. Captain Carius merely stared forward, as if he was ignoring them, and Tyronus couldn't help but feel a little bit of admiration for him. For all that the plan to hold off the wolves had failed, the Captain still held himself the way that an officer should. He hoped that he could remain that calm and show so little fear when the time came for him.

But even the Captain couldn't maintain his stoic face when teeth ripped into his neck, tearing through flesh to get at the veins below. Captain Carius's face twisted up in pain, and he shouted as he started bleeding from the bite.

"They're killing him!" Tyronus hissed.

"No...they're changing him," Raddin said. He shook his head. "Look. It's already starting."

It was, Tyronus realized. Though the bite should have been a deadly wound, it was already closing. The Captain fell to all fours, clutching at the sealing wound, before he started groaning. Arms wrapped around his stomach, and before everyone, the changes began.

The Captain's hair began to grow. It pushed out his scalp, and pressed down his back. Even as his hair lengthened, so did his body hair, a beard growing on his face and around his neck. It darkened, dying itself into the color of the werewolves that had bitten him. It spread further and further, mostly hidden below the armor, but wherever there was bare skin, such as at the hands, it was clear that fur was rapidly covering skin.

As the fur spread over the Captain's body, the armor he wore started to quake about his body. For a moment, Tyronus thought that the Captain was just shaking, but the armor moved too much for that to be the case. It was creaking on his body, the Captain's muscles growing, his height growing too.

The other werewolves stepped up, claws ripping the armor off of the Captain. They made quick work of it, taking less than a minute to get all of it off, and throwing the pieces in all directions.

When the Captain was revealed, he looked almost nothing like his former self. His body was covered in fur, every inch of skin apparently covered in the fine pelt of the werewolf. Thick, corded muscles bunched along his arms and his legs, and the already significant muscles along his belly and his chest were enhanced, growing larger in chunks. A pectoral muscle pushing out, then the other. Then an abdominal. And another. It took him piece by piece, strengthening him below the fur that covered his body.

And the changes didn't seem to hurt the Captain. Embarrassingly enough, it seemed to...make the Captain feel good. Judging by the way that his loincloth was no longer hiding anything, anyway. Tyronus tried to turn away, but Raddin grabbed him by the shoulder. "No," he muttered. "You have to see what they do to the people they capture. You have tos ee what happens to everyone that will fall into the werewolves hands."

He shook his head. He didn't want to see a man he admired go through this. He wanted to remember the Captain as he had been, not as what he was becoming.

"You have to. You owe it to him," Raddin insisted. "If you can't do it for yourself, give your Captain the honor of knowing his soldiers didn't look away from an unpleasant truth."

Tyronus sighed. "I...I'll try," he said. He slowly turned to look at the Captain again.

The fur had fully covered him now, even around his groin. The evidence of his pleasure had been encased in a bestial sheath, forcing it to point upwards. Shamefully, Captain Carius had begun to stroke himself as he continued changing, his hand rapidly devolving into a paw, a clawed beast hand, yet he never stopped stroking himself. His mouth, open in a moan of pleasure, started to stretch out from his face. Teeth grew sharper, and whiter under the moonlight, and his ears slowly started sliding up the sides of his head, heading towards the top, like the ears of the werewolves.

Everyone in the courtyard, werewolves and unturned, watched the sight. The beasts seemed to like the show, as they started showing signs of arousal as well at the sight of the Captain's changing body. Pink and red shafts started to emerge from sheaths across the courtyard, and the air filled with the scent of aroused animals. They shamelessly touched themselves in front of the others, and the looks in their eyes changed. Not hunger, not the need for meat that a hunting beast would have in their eyes. This was something that was different. A mix of human lust and animal need. A need that would be sated on the people of the fort.

Some could no longer wait, and grabbed hold of the Captain as he continued his changes. Shoved down on all fours, his new tail was grabbed by one werewolf and shoved off to the side, and his ass was taken by one of the beasts from behind.

It was all that Tyronus could do to keep from gagging at the sight, shaking his head in disbelief as the werewolves fucked his Captain. Another had moved to the Captain's face, and had presented his shaft to the officer's mouth. The Captain didn't even protest, wrapping his new, longer, stronger tongue around the cock and pleasuring it.

"How...why..." was all Tyronus could say.

"The beasts have a great many instincts. To change, and to feed, and to fight....and to fuck," Hodling said. "They do this every time that they take new ones. There is something about the change. It seems to mess with the mind, make the body enjoy it." He shook his head a few times. "That's what I heard, anyway."

"Well, I think we've seen the evidence for it now," Raddin said. "Come. There's no point in staying now. There's going to be a full blown orgy before much longer, and we don't want to be stuck in that."

Divines above, no, no they didn't want to be stuck here. He could already see some of the other citizens being charged, bitten by the werewolves and forced through the change, stripped before they were even covered with fur. Some of the wolves weren't even waiting for the change to begin before stripping down some of their captives and using them.

He saw Severia out of the corner of his eyes, pinned down by the wolves. Her armor had been taken from her, and she was held down by two wolves while she was fucked by a third. She was only able to utter a single scream before her mouth was gagged by another werewolf's shaft. She looked like she bit it, from what he could see, and from the howl of pain that came from the wolf. That gave him a small smile; at least she wasn't going to just take it.

He looked away after that, though. He didn't want to see the others changed. Seeing the Captain become smoethng so different...it just wasn't right. To become a beast, to lose the dignity of his real life...it seemed like it was one of the worst punishments that a person could ever go through. If he was faced with the choice, he would fall on his sword before he ever allowed them to bite him and make him one of them. That was a promise.

With all of the werewolves in the courtyard, focused on the sexual exploits available to them, it was no problem to make towards the north wall. None of the werewolves even seemed to smell them as they passed, for which he breathed a sigh of relief.

When they reached the north wall, Raddin held out his hand to Hodling, who reached into his pack. A few ropes were produced and tied to the wall. After testing them to make sure that they would hold their weight, Raddin directed his Skaal to hurry down the ropes, climbing down the wall.

Then he turned to Tyronus. "The Packmother is somewhere north of the wall. I made the count here as a little over a thousand, so she shouldn't have more than a few werewolves with her right now. You still have your silver?"

Tyronus patted his waist, the weight of the silver dagger slightly reassuring.

"Good. Come on." Raddin grabbed hold of the rope, sliding down it gradually, his feet against the wall of the fort.

The Imperial followed him down, shaking his head a few times. He was still in shock of all that had happened. This was something that no one could have imagined happening. He just hoped that they could end this threat tonight. No one deserved to have their mind taken from them and turned into a mindless, sex-obsessed beast.

#

They walked across the Isinfier Plains, their boots crunching through the snow and ice. At first, Tyronus had looked behind him with every step that he took, worried that the sounds of their bootsteps would carry to the werewolves inside of the fort. But either the wind was with them, or luck was, because they were not pursued.

When they were barely in sight of the fort, he stopped worrying about being pursued. His worry was replaced with another, that of whether they could even find the Packmother. So far, there were no tracks to make sense of, the snow completely trampled with the marks of the werewolves. They had charged through the snow, and it was a mess of different footprints, all of them illegible to him.

Raddin, however, seemed to have some sense of where to go, and the Skaal followed him unquestioningly, leaving Tyronus to at least follow. He moved in silence, the only sounds coming from the light clatter of his armor and his puffing breath.

The darkness of the night didn't make it any easier. The red moon above provided some light, but not enough for him to make out more than the barest details of the wilds around him. He could barely see the silhouettes of the Skaal before him, just enough for him to keep following them. They moved slowly, following Raddin's instincts, and he followed them, though his thoughts of their chances of success started to fall lower and lower.

He hardly realized it at first, but they had stopped walking north. Instead, they moved towards the north east, towards the forest that covered those lands. He was only aware of the change when they started walking between trees rather than out in the open. The trees cut the light even further, and it was all he could do to keep up with the silhouettes of the Skaal ahead of him. They were speeding up, like hunters on the scent of their quarry.

Suddenly, about five minutes after they reached the border of the forest, the Skaal came to a halt. Tyronus almost ran into Hodling's back, and grunted softly as he just barely kept himself from it. "What?" he whispered to them. "Did we find them?"

"See for yourself." Hodling shifted to the side, and Tyronus held back a gasp.

There was a clearing not far away, and in it was what could only be the Packmother. She was twice the height of any other werewolf he had seen on the battlefield, and her belly was swollen with child. Or litter. It might very well have been litter, considering what she was, he thought to himself.

Around her were four males, each of which was engaged in some manner of sex with her. There was one between her legs, and one straddling her chest, thrusting between large breasts, the tip of his shaft almost reaching up to her chin. Two others stood at her sides as she laid on a stump, either being stroked by her hands or having her muzzle around them, and they howled in pleasure.

The Packmother herself was evidently female, as both her body and her endowments proclaimed, and the smell that filled the forest here absolutely reeked of the smell of a bitch in heat. Tyronus was amazed that he hadn't smelled it earlier, and he held his nose closed to block out the pungent scent. She moaned in a canine way as she was filled and fucked by her werewolves, throwing herself against their cocks in a way that he'd never seen even the most rampant slut do for a man. Almost unwillingly, he felt a bit of envy for the werewolves, but he shook it off. There was nothing to envy about fucking a beast. It was not something that a man did.

As quiet as they were, Tyronus almost didn't notice two other werewolves at the side of the clearing. They were females, he realized. They had breasts, but they were smaller than the Packmother's. However, they did not have the obvious signs of males, and he had to look at them closely before he realized that they were females. It did explain the motions of their paws down by their crotches, however.

Shaking any thoughts that tried to get into his head about that, Tyronus quietly stepped forward, squatting down next to Raddin. "So...what do we do?" he asked.

"We kill the Packmother."

"I remember that," Tyronus muttered. "But how? Who goes for her, who screens the man running in? If we all rush her, the other werewolves will catch us before we get close."

Raddin looked at the werewolves for a moment before nodding his head. "You're right." He looked back at the other Skaal. "Hodling, take three and deal with the females on the side. The rest of you, come with me. Two of us per werewolf. If one of you fall, pull back and try to join with another group. Nobody take a werewolf on your own. Even with silver, you're more than likely to die."

The chieftain turned to him again. "You. As soon as we get the attention of the different werewolves in there, the Packmother is going to get up. She should be slow with the brood growing in her belly, but she might not be. You have to get her before she can get away. Take that dagger, bury it in her throat. And for good measure, take it and slash her stomach as much as you can. We can't let her or her litter live."

He slowly nodded his head, hesitantly pulling the dagger out of its sheath. It was already wet with the blood of a dead werewolf. What was one more? That's what he wanted to believe, anyway; it was one thing to kill the Packmother and keep her from making more creatures, keep her from making the pack more dangerous, but it felt like another thing to deliberately stab the belly and kill the unborn. It just felt...wrong.

Raddin grabbed him by the collar of his armor, pulling him in close. "You have to do this," he whispered. "If they live, this will continue. And we'll have done all of this for nothing."

"I know, I know," Tyronus muttered. He clenched his hand around the dagger grip. "I will do it. I promise."

"Good." Raddin let go, turning to Hodling. "Go."

The chieftain's second in command nodded back, taking three warriors with him and circling around to the other side of the clearing. They moved like shadows, and they were soon lost in the darkness of the forest. Despite seeing them leave, Tyronus couldn't see a hint of them. The werewolves would never know what hit them, he was sure.

Suddenly, the wind shifted. Up until now, the wind had been coming from the werewolves, blowing their scent towards the Skaal. Now it was reversed. The air was clear, which Tyronus was thankful for, as the scent had been driving him mad. However, the werewolves suddenly stopped their frantic fucking, and pulled back from the Packmother, snarling and circling her like bodyguards.

"Damn...there goes the element of surprise," Raddin muttered. He unsheathed his blade, leaping to his feet. "For the Skaal!" he shouted, charging forward. The rest of his warriors followed after him, barely a split second behind their chieftain as they ran into the clearing.

Battle was joined, and Tyronus watched from the darkness of the trees. Raddin's initial plan might have worked, as the werewolves on the wall had worked as warriors alone, fighting one on one fights with the soldiers that met them. If the Skaal had been able to get into the clearing without the werewolves knowing that they were there, then they might have been able to split the wolves, taking them in the two on one plan that the chieftain had proposed.

Now that the pack was aware of them, though, that plan didn't work. The werewolves were ready for the Skaal, and they moved two by two as well. Two of them rushed into Skaal charging into the clearing, and several Skaal fell to the snowy ground, their bellies opened by sharp claws before they could bring their weapons down to defend themselves. The other two circled around the ground, moving almost like light cavalry, waiting for a flank to be exposed so that they could rush in and take them down.

Hodling and his men weren't faring much better. They had jumped out of the trees at the same time Raddin had, and the wolf females had turned immediately. Two of Hodling's group had been sluggish, and they'd been dropped, one by a bite and the other by a slash to the throat. Hodling stood with his remaining man, back to back, as the bitten Skaal began to change. It was only a matter of time before Hodling was taken down, Tyronus knew.

Throughout the whole thing, the Packmother remained on the stump, though she had pulled herself up to sit instead of lay across it. Her legs were spread, and her lower regions were on display to the whole group. Against his will, Tyronus looked down at it.

She was spread wide and dripping with seed, he saw, and he shook his head at the thought of just how many times she must have been filled during the battle. Her pussy was drenched with both her own juices and those of her pack, and she must have been hot down there indeed, for the liquids were not freezing upon her skin.

She watched the battle that happened around her, and there was no fear in her eyes, no worry. As much as Tyronus wished her dead, he couldn't blame her for feeling no fear. Even outnumbered, the few werewolves that she kept with her were putting up a good fight. Hodling's other man was holding an injured arm, and Raddin's party was down to six people, the others either dead or bitten. Those bitten in Raddin's group were swiftly taken down by their comrades, either stabbed or left with their throats slit by knife or sword.

If there was going to be any chance of getting to the Packmother tonight, he had to move now. Tyronus kept himself hunched over as he walked around the clearing, moving around the immediate combat. The werewolves hadn't seen him yet, it seemed, too focused on the Skaal to be bothered with a single Imperial. That would change, he thought; they'd pay for keeping their attention only on the Skaal.

It didn't take him long to get around the clearing, and the Packmother never turned her head away from the battle. A small grin crossed the Imperial's face as he looked at her. Payback to a bitch, he thought to himself. Not the usual phrase, but he'd take it.

He waited for a moment, gathering himself. Then he charged out of the woods.

The snow crackled under his feet, the ice layer on top crunching under the metal of his boots. He shouted, his dagger up in the air as he ran at the Packmother's back. "Die!" he shouted as he jumped, the knife falling towards her back. Even if he didn't get her heart, he knew that he'd at least reach her spine with this strike, and that was all he'd need to finish her off.

She was faster than he could have expected. Despite the weight in her belly and how close he was, she turned around fast enough to grab him by the wrist. Her grip was enormously strong, and as she squeezed, it was all he could do to keep a hold of the knife rather than drop it. Teeth bared in a feral grin, she leaned in, her muzzle a scant inch away from his face.

Then....she spoke. "Prey...new pack." As he stared in shock, she leaned in, sniffing at his face, at his neck. "Special pack," she growled quietly.

He didn't know what she meant by that, and he really didn't want to know. One hand was still free, and he would be damned if she thought he was going down this easy. Grabbing the hilt of his sword, he brought it out of his scabbard with a clumsy swing that nevertheless slashed across the Packmother's chest.

She dropped him instantly, growling in pain as her breasts were opened up. Blood flowed from the wound for a second before they stared healing again, but it was enough for Tyronus to get away from her, rolling back from the Packmother and getting to his feet again. "You're going to die tonight," he muttered. He didn't know if he was talking to himself or the Packmother. Maybe both. Hopefully her.

They circled each other, the Packmother off of the stump and stomping on the ground. Vaguely, Tyronus remained aware of the battle that raged around him, the Skaal falling one by one. Hodling, he could see, was on the ground being fucked up the ass by one of his men that had turned, starting to undergo a change himself. Raddin was standing with his blade against one of the werewolves, while his remaining three men tried to keep his back clear.

But he couldn't let himself think about that. He had to keep his attention on the Packmother. She'd already shown just how fast she was; if he wasn't careful, she could dart in and cut his throat out before he even knew she'd taken a step, or maybe bite him and start turning him into part of the pack. If that happened, his only way out would be to cut his own throat. He didn't want it to come to that, but he knew that it was a possibility.

She made the first move, as he expected. Hunched forward, she charged through the snow, her paws kicking up snow behind her as she moved at high speed.

He brought his sword up just in time to catch her claws, but nevertheless, the force behind her charge carried the two of them back at least five paces, and it might have carried them back further if she hadn't rammed him up against a tree. The air whooshed out of his lungs at the impact, and she leaned in, teeth bared once more, only to fall back again when he brought the silver dagger up, drawing a line of blood across her upper arm.

Her grip loosened just enough for him to duck down under her 'embrace', and he slid between her legs, getting another cut along her ankle. Not deep enough for serious damage - damn the size of this dagger, he muttered - but enough to make her howl in pain.

The slide turned out to be a bad idea as she leaped on him from behind, grabbing him and shoving him against the icy ground. She stood on him, one of her paws pinning him down while she grabbed his wrists, slamming them down against the hard ground until he could no longer hold onto either weapon. Spinning around on top of him, she kicked both weapons away, several paces before they came to a stop.

Tyronus groaned as he felt her warm breath against the back of his neck, shaking his head. "No...no....don't do this," he begged. "Don't bite me. Just kill me. Kill me!"

"You...new pack...special pack." She licked him, her tongue disturbingly warm against the back of his neck. He groaned softly at the feeling of it, shaking his head. "Special like me....blessed by Hircine..."

He shook his head. Hircine was a name he barely knew. A Daedric Lord, the lord of the hunt. And...and according to some tales, werewolves. If she was telling the truth, then this whole thing was a lot worse than he had thought. A lot worse.

The sounds of battle had stopped. Tyronus turned his head as much as he was able, and he felt what little hope he had disappear. The entire group had been decimated, either turned to werewolves or killed. Raddin must have been the last, because he could still see some remnants of what Raddin had looked like before his change on his face, the changes of the conversion still happening on him, his body bare enough for the Imperial to actually see the chieftain's shaft changing from human to canine.

Growling in lust, the Packmother pressed her lips to the side of his neck. "I am...Packmother. You will be...Den Father," she growled against his neck. Then she bit him.

He had felt bites from dogs before, but this was a new sort of pain, hot and flashing. The burning lines of blood down his neck made him scream, and he tried to pull himself free of her jaws, regardless of how much it would tear his neck apart. But she held him tight, and it was utterly futile.

As his neck began to knit together, he knew that it was too late for him to get away, too late for him to try and stop the change. He was already shifting. He could feel the burning in his blood, could feel the fur starting to grow out of his skin. Though he couldn't see it through his armor, he felt the extra warmth that the fur provided him, felt the slight itch that came along with too long hair along his limbs.

Even his facial hair started to grow, shielding him from the cold of the frozen ground. He shook his head, trying to find some rock, something sharp, anything that might stop this before he became a beast.

It was getting hard to think, and in seconds, he couldn't remember why he was looking for something like that. Why would he want to kill himself? Any kind of life was better than none, wasn't it? Even this form was a kind of life. And he might be able to fight it. He might be able to do...do something...

Do something about what? Tyronus groaned against the snow and ice, shaking his head. It was getting harder and harder to think, like his thoughts and mind had leaked out a bit with his blood at the bite.

The weight of the Packmother lifted from his back, and he slowly pulled himself upright. It was hard...hard to balance. Hard to hold himself upright. It wasn't his balance, though...it was....

It was his armor. That was it. It was tight against his body, and it was getting tighter as the effect of the werewolf bite continued to run rampant through his body.

He held his hands up before his eyes. They were changing too. The fingers grew thicker, though no shorter, and his nails began extending. They pushed out and out, curling in the way of an animal's claws. The point was strong and pointed, sharp as a blade, and Tyronus knew that it would be simple to rip through most things with weapons like these. Pads slowly formed around his palm, along his fingers, rough and tough, able to grab and grip almost anything.

But the tightness of the armor continued to distract him. He could feel his body pressing against it, growing against the metal that constrained it. He growled, the sound bestial and low in his throat. Almost, almost he came to his senses, remembering how much he didn't want this. For a brief moment, he tried to fight his new instincts to pull the armor off, tried to fight what the werewolf in him was telling him to do.

Then the moment was gone, his new claws ripping the pieces of armor off of his body. The metal pieces clanged against each other, and the leather under it followed. He even grabbed hold of his loincloth, tossing it away before what remained of his humanity could tell him not to do it.

His new fur covered his whole body, barely keeping the growing muscles of his new form from being on display. But he could see how his arms and his legs thickened, bolstered with new, powerful muscles. They bulged, the skin and fur pushed outwards with the new bulges and bumps of muscle. He groaned, the curves of the new muscles growing in a curious mix of pain, of pleasure, of simple strangeness.

He wanted more.

The muscles grew everywhere, from his calves to his neck. It bulged along his body, making him bigger, and bigger. Even as it grew, the changing human felt himself growing taller at the same time. The changes forced him to hunch over, but even so, it was like someone had grabbed hold of his head with one hand and his feet with the other, tugging on his body, pulling him to a greater height. Slowly, he reached the height of the other werewolves, and then surpassed it, growing taller, taller, until he was a full foot taller than any of the werewolves, save for the Packmother.

She smiled at him in her wolfish way, and he couldn't help but give her a smile back. The change was...easier, better than he expected it to be. It felt...felt good. Felt very good.

He could feel a familiar stirring below, and he looked down even as he felt his muzzle starting to grow, feeling it pressing out from his face. Already his chin and his lower lip were starting to merge, in a way. They pressed outwards, stretching a little more down his chest than it had before as he looked at his groin.

His member had grown, and it was still growing. Not just from getting hard - though he was most definitely erect now - but actually getting longer once it had reached an erection. As a human, he'd been maybe six inches. Respectable, but not the size of some of those that bragged in the barracks.

Something told him that he would put them to shame now, though. Not only was he getting bigger, longer, but he was changing in other ways, as well. The length of his cock darkened, the skin turning a deeper, more fleshy red rather than the pale white that it had been before. The loose skin around the sides tightened up, pulling closer to his shaft until it was completely smooth, the veins drawing closer to the surface rather than being buried so deep as to be near invisible. It throbbed as the base was slowly pulled into a sheath, a fleshy tube that held his cock pointed upright.

His balls felt heavier, and he saw them descend, hanging lower than they had before. The feeling of weight down there, the sensation of them swaying slightly when he moved, drew a moan from his new muzzle. He panted, his tongue hanging out, as his shaft grew harder, and harder still. It had passed the eight inch mark, growing further and further out of his sheath, drawn out by the force of his transformation.

It didn't stop until it pointed a full eleven inches out of his sheath, throbbing hard and bouncing with his arousal. A bulge bloated out at the bottom of his shaft, and he recognized it as the knot of a canine. A small part of his mind, the last bit of his human half, protested at the sight of it, but the rest of his mind - the mind and soul that was him, now - grinned at the sight. The knot made his cock a good two inches thicker at the base, at least, and he wouldn't be surprised if it got even bigger when he was about to finish.

But he didn't have the time to pay the attention he wanted to it, thrown off balance as his legs started changing. His knees pushed around the other way, the bending part going backwards. The crunching sounds of his bones rearranging themselves should have been utterly disgusting, but instead, it made him moan again, the transformation continuing.

Most of his foot pulled off of the ground, leaving only his toes and the bridge of his foot planted against the ice and snow. The toes pulled together, growing thicker and stubbier than before, and his nails pushed outwards. Not as long as the claws on his fingers, but longer than they were before, blunt and powerful. Just curling them slightly, he felt like he could grip the ground in a way that he never could through his boots. Running would be easy.

He fell to all fours, the powerful effects of the changes rushing through his body. He threw his head back in a moan, his back hunching forward as his spine changed, pushing him forward. His ears were filled with the sounds of his bones shifting, pushed into different positions before growing into stronger, thicker versions of themselves.

A tail. He felt it wagging behind him as it pushed out from his back. Grunting softly, he forced himself to look back at it. The thing was stubby, not as long as a true wolf, but it was enough to wag in pleasure. He felt the night air blowing over his rump, his body changed enough that he was fully exposed back there, and he knew that there would be a few male wolves that would look at him differently now, seeing his ass the way that they did.

But that wasn't going to be his purpose. No. As the last of his humanity faded away, he realized that he was different than the other werewolves. Different purpose than the simple fighting and fucking and changing that they did.

Den Father. Yes, that was the term that the Packmother had used. Hircine was the father of the pack, but he was the one that bring out new packs while the Packmother maintained the packs as they came. That was his new purpose.

He bared his teeth as he stood up again, a feral grin of his own crossing his muzzle. The other werewolves grinned back at him, and as one, they threw their heads back. Their howls, and Tyronus's, filled the air. Their cries to the moon echoed through the trees and the fields, across the island of Solstheim. They had finally taken their home for themselves, and soon, the pack would flow over the rest of the Empire.

The Packmother approached him after the howl had faded. "You are Den Father," she said, To his new wolf ears, her speech was clearer, simpler to understand. "You must make a new pack for Hircine."

"Boats will come tomorrow morning," he said. The boats expected refugees, people that were at their wits end for surviving in this frozen land, perhaps a few hundred people that would be starving and need help to get back to the mainland. They would not expect near a thousand and a half werewolves. "Boats will come. We will take some of the pack to the mainland, and continue the work."

"That will spread us far," Packmother said with a nod. She smiled, pulling the werewolf that had been Raddin to her. He had a dumb look on his face, and his cock - not as long as his, but respectable - throbbed against his belly as he humped against the Packmother's side. "I will please these ones, and take their seed. But you, you need a female." She gestured to the two werewolves that stood at the other end of the clearing. "Take them. Fill them. Make their bellies bulge with pups."

He needed no further encouragement, and loped over to them. The two females eyed him with lust, and he knew that they would not resist anything he wished.

He pushed them down to all fours, pushing himself towards the face of one of them. Mounting her face, dragging his heavy balls and shaft against her muzzle, the wolf that had once been Tyronus slowly managed to get his cock into her mouth. Moans, both his and hers, filled the clearing as he humped rapidly against her tongue. Her lips wrapped around him eagerly, and her tongue lapped against the underside of his shaft, teasing him.

The other female moved behind him, her nose pushing under his tail without direction. Her tongue lapped against his hole, the thick, strong, wet tongue shoving its way against his hole. It pressed against him, lapped at him, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth in pleasure.

The two females teased him from each side, one drawing his cock deep into her muzzle, hungry for his seed, the other lapping at his ass, pleasuring it with eager licks. He could not hold out long, not with the pleasure of the transformation on him, and he soon came into her muzzle. The streams of cum leaked from her lips, falling from her muzzle to the frozen ground below.

But that wasn't enough. His cock throbbed still, the eagerness to breed and fill them too strong to ignore. Snarling, he grabbed the one behind him, throwing her into the snow. She had no time to move before he leaped upon her, slamming his cock into her pussy and fucking her.

She moaned like the bitch she was, her body reacting to his cock in seconds. He felt the heat within her, knowing she was in season, her juices joining the saliva of the other female on his cock as he slammed into her. The sound of his balls slapping against her, the wet slurping sounds as his cock slipped in and out of her eager pussy, were music to his ears, and spurred him on further.

The other werewolves fucked just as hard, males on males, as they waited for their turn with the Packmother. She took them three at a time, one in her mouth, one in her pussy, and the last upon her back, allowing him under her tail. They moaned as much as the female beneath him moaned, and he wondered what it would be like to put his cock inside of the Packmother, instead of these smaller females.

But that would be something for another time. The female under him panted, her pussy clenching at him in eagerness for his seed, as though she wanted it most. Considering she was in heat, she probably did; to have her womb filled, to be pregnant, was one of the few ways that she might be soothed.

He, however, wanted her to moan beneath him, to groan for more later. With a snarl, he flipped her over onto her back, looking down at her as he slammed into her pussy again, and again. The smell of his lust overpowered hers, his pre leaking down his shaft and out of her hole, running down his cock as he opened her up with his size. With every thrust, her breasts bounced, jiggling from the impact.

The other female squatted nearby, her hips thrusting against air as she waited her turn. He looked at her as he had his way with this one, imagining what he would do to her, how she would look with his seed running out of her hole after he had fucked her.

The thought of werewolf pussies leaking with his seed pushed him over the edge, and he rammed himself into the female below him. His knot swelled to its widest point as he came, locking them together. He panted, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as the pleasure overwhelmed him, his balls pulling up tight against his crotch as he emptied what felt like gallons of seed into the female.

She howled beneath him, and he felt her tighten around his cock from her orgasm, giving him more pleasure and drawing more seed from his balls. She looked like she was going to faint, and he grinned to himself, knowing that he had done this to her, knowing that he had made her feel this good.

As his orgasm subsided, he realized that perhaps he shouldn't be so eager to knot the females in the future. It was better for getting them pregnant, but as he tried to pull back, it actually made him hurt a bit. He was stuck to her for a while, and he would have to wait to satisfy the other female until his knot went down. He hoped that wouldn't take long. The way she looked at him, whimpering and whining, he knew she wanted it, and he did not want to disappoint her.

As he waited, he looked back at the other wolves. The Packmother's fur was smeared with pre and cum, occasionally licked up by some of the males, but mostly laying on her like some sort of decoration, some badge of honor. She didn't seem to mind, and only grinned when the males came on her breasts or across her stomach, almost encouraging them to keep doing it.

He shook his head, looking away. Looking at them only made his knot harder, bigger, and that was the last thing that he needed right now.

The other female leaned in, licking his muzzle softly. He growled affectionately, but softly, back at her, rubbing his head against her neck. She returned the gesture, one of her clawed hands pawwing at his chest, rubbing him lightly, and he growled again, happily, at the contact.

"You will make...many packs, Den Father," the Packmother said to him. "These two are just the start. Find many females...convert them...and make new packs on the mainland."

His muzzle turned up in a wide grin. He was starting to like the sound of this mission.

#

Dawn broke with the arrival of the fleet that the Captain had promised. Several officers stepped off of the boats, walking along the docks towards the fort. There was a strange smell of musk about the place, similar to a stable or a kennel around the houses of nobles back on the mainland, but stronger than anything that they were used to. The soldiers walked into the fort with hands over their noses, shaking their heads.

The Captain and a member of the legion met them at the south gate. Both had toothy grins, and yellow eyes, and both were eager to 'welcome' new members of the pack.