Werewolf Novel, Chapter 1, Untitled

The Werewolf Chronicles

Chapter 1

960 A.D.

The interior of the canvas tent held an orange glow from the multiple candles that provided its lighting. Outside, silver moonlight and the red-orange glow of campfires combined to give a peaceful otherworldly atmosphere to the late spring night. The moist European air combined with the midnight dew to bring a fragrance that enlightened battle worn senses.

In the back of the tent, amidst several odds and ends consisting of a warlike nature a dark looking man, six foot two inches tall was hunched over a makeshift desk of wooden boxes studying an aged yellow map with intense concentration. His black leather armor creaked each time he inhaled. He slowly moved a small iron piece, one of many, across the map. He didn’t notice the matted locks of black hair that fell over his shoulders as he moved. He stared at the parchment with a scowl and continued to sink even deeper into his thoughts.

His Name was Lector, a cold calculating warlord with a thick beard and gruff appearance. His nose was thin and somewhat small, but pointed like a hawk. His bright green eyes held an intense glow inside the dark sockets in which they were set. The mouth was thin and had a frosty dryness to it, showing distinct white wrinkles on the pinkish lips. The dark mat of`greasy hair showed the man’s complete lack of care for it. Though oddly enough the beard was carefully trimmed. The fingers of the dirty hand were covered in rings, obvious prizes from a mass of different cultures. However, there was no other jewelry on the man’s body. He stood erect and licked his lips; they would be dry again soon.

"Details, that is precisely why this clan has survived so long, obsession with the smallest things, like... "

His thoughts were interrupted by a lanky figure approaching the entrance of his tent. A smile formed at the corners of his thin mouth. As the figure walked in he slammed his shin into a wooden case on the way. However he seemed not to notice the purple welt forming on his leg. He was too preoccupied with removing a yellowish substance from his fingers with a shabby towel. His project took him an entire minute after his arrival before he finally looked up.

His name was Dimitrius and his features were repulsive. The facial muscles had wrinkled themselves into a hideously rat-like sneer. The nose was like Lector’s, only much larger. The pale blue retinas were barely noticeable as the great watery whites of the eyes nearly swallowed them with their mass. The lips were in a fat red sneer above a small chin. His head was shaved, but decorated with cuts here and there; mini badges to his carelessness, as it were.

He looked at Lector's chest but made no eye contact.

"It's ready." Came a bitter, almost feminine voice.

Lector noticed that the thin man, made no eye contact. He was such a sniveling weasel. However, he had a talent for magic, of sorts. That much would come in very handy.

"Good," Replied Lector in a crystal clear voice tainted with irritation. “I hope you're right this time, it's getting late and I'm very tired. You promised me you'd have it finished by tonight."

"I told you not to kill the witch, and I've had to work this salve by trial and error for the last three months, only so much progress can be expected."

"You had her book Demetrius! Are you too stupid to read? I have an entire clan to guide and I cannot depend on worthless promises."

The thin mans eyes suddenly connected with Lector's. "The notes were incomplete my Lord." He said coldly. "Follow me please, and allow me to prove myself."

The two walked quietly from the tent into the enormous camp that lay outside. Giant men, some clad only in animal hides and boots, sat round campfires, while others slept in the dozens of smaller tents that shaped the miniature community. After a few moments the two men reached a group of five the most noticeable being a gigantic redhead.

"Wolfhurst!" Said Dimitrius.

Bruno Wolfhurst, a six foot seven-inch giant with fiery red hair, jumped up immediately.

“Bring your skin and follow me.” Commanded Dimitrius.

Wulfhurst turned round and rushed into a tent. He returned a few moments later with the pelt of an enormous brown wolf.

Dimitrius examined the pelt carefully. “Good, now, to my station.”

A few moments later the three arrived at Dimitrius’s quarters. A crowd of warriors, who apparently had nothing better to do with their night, had gathered to see what the fuss was about.

“Wait here.” Said Dimitrius to the other two, then he ran into his tent. He returned a few moments later dragging on the ground a large iron pot of an awful smelling yellow substance. Once he was satisfied with its position he ran back into the tent, returning again with a brown bag full of odds and ends, which he abruptly dumped in a pile on the ground. He grabbed a small vile of fiery red fluid from the pile and tossed it to Wulfhurst.

“Drink.”

Bruno looked questionably at Lector who simply nodded and smiled. That being a signal to obey Bruno obediently pulled the cork from the vile and downed every drop.

“Your boots, off.” Commanded Dimitrius with a flick of his finger. Bruno again obeyed, now covered only in his leather loincloth. Dimitrius proceeded to pull what looked to be a large brush from his pile and dunked it into the foul substance. He quickly pulled it out and slapped it onto Bruno’s chest. Wulfhurst cringed at the impact of the substance on his flesh, but made no sound as the weasel-like man brushed the concoction all over his chest and arms. He proceeded to dip the brush a few more times till every inch of Wulfhurst’s body, head to toe, was covered. Then he grabbed the giant pelt and handed it to Wulfhurst.

Dimitrius shook, overly anxious, as Bruno began to cover himself with the skin.

When Wolfhurst had completely covered himself with the pelt he looked at Dimitrious. “Now what?” He asked. He felt like an idiot half covered in a wolf’s pelt with some disgusting substance dripping from him. He reached up to remove the pelt by its head and tugged; but something was wrong.

The pelt wouldn’t come off.

Suddenly it suctioned itself to his skin. He looked around in fear. The pelt was… growing. Growing longer, from his head to his toes, consuming him. He tried to scream but no sound escaped. He looked at his shaking hands, watching as the flesh on the fingers turned to rough animal-like pads. A sharp crack came from the center of his feet as his heels elongated upwards another twelve inches. Suddenly off balance he fell on all fours and watched muscles sprout from his hairy forearms and hands. He listened to his bones slowly crunch feeling the agonizing pain of his body’s transformation. He was changing, growing larger. Suddenly he felt a terrible tightness, like a thousand pounds had fallen onto his chest. He couldn’t breath. He watched his padded midsection try desperately to get any air. He opened his elongated snout in one final effort for breath.

Then all went black.

Lector watched the horrifying transformation and stepped back as the massive form hit the ground. He looked at Bruno’s limp deformed body on the ground in front of him. Slowly, carefully, he nudged Bruno, hoping for some sign of life.

Nothing.

“I’m assuming this is all according to plan.” He said quietly, still kneeling over Wulfhurst. The body seemed to still be shifting and changing slowly.

“Because if he is dead.” Said Lector. “You soon will be too.” His voice was low; he was trying to suppress his mounting anger.

“You’re wasting good warriors to this foolish experiment!” He shouted suddenly.

He drew his sword and marched toward Dimitrius who tripped over the steaming pot in a horrified stupor. Lector twirled his blade and prepared to relieve Dimitrius of his disgusting head when saw that the thin man’s terrified gaze wasn’t upon him. He looked up at the surrounding warriors who looked equally horrified.

There was only one pair of eyes in the entire camp that were looking at him. And they were behind him.

Lector lowered his blade and turned slowly to see a colossal beast towering at least eight feet tall staring down at him. He tried to say something, anything, but no sound came from his dry throat.

Then the monster opened its jaws and let out bloodcurdling roar.

Lector stood, knees trembling, trying to conceal his fear. “B-Bruno?” The words barely came out of his parched mouth.

The monster looked at him with a strange expression, then its tongue lolled from
his mouth as it tried to make a few inaudible sounds. After a few moments the
beast simply bowed.

Slowly it dawned on him “You understand me, don’t you?” He said. The beast looked up, clearly able to comprehend.

Lector turned to Dimitrius as the beast behind him stood up. The weasel like man stood up as well, but slowly; the fact his experiment had succeeded was just beginning to dawn on him.

Lector allowed a slight smile in the corner of his mouth; it was the best thank you Dimitrius would receive. Then he looked at the dozens of warriors who stood with open mouths. “Well, who’s next?”

He turned and looked at Bruno’s form as the warriors scrambled to their tents. The head was that of a wolf, with Bruno’s blue eyes in the deep sockets. The chest and abdomen area, as well as the palm of the hands and the soles of the feet, were covered in a tough brown animal padding. The rest of the body, from the tips of the stiff ears to the jagged claws on the bottom of the feet, was covered in shaggy red hair.

“What should we call this new soldier?" Asked Lector without diverting his gaze.

Dimitrius scurried into his tent once more and returned seconds later, flipping through a brown leather book. When he found his page he read intently for a moment and then looked up at Bruno with a smile on his face.

“The Werewolf.”