InsaneJournal

Contrary to the old legends you've heard, lycanthropy in Nirn was not contracted simply through a bite or scratch of a werewolf. It was still considered a disease by the general population, but much like vampirism, it had its own pros and cons. For the Circle, their secret society of werewolves began with the Glenmoril Witches.

The Glenmoril Witches worshipped Hircine - the Daedric Prince of the Hunt. Terrfyg, one of the Companion's harbingers of old, made a deal with these witches. If the Companions chose to hunt in the name of Hircine, they'd be granted power beyond their wildest dreams.

The few Companions that agreed to this deal formed an inner sanct within their faction that would come to be known as the Circle, and every new member of the Circle would contract lycanthropy to keep the tradition going.

While some of the Dragonborn's comrades such as Aela and Skjor (Divines rest his soul) had no issues with the beast blood and were devout worshippers of Hircine, their Harbinger had his heart set on Sovngarde. Kodlak Whitemane was a Nord, through and through. He worshipped the Nine, regardless of what the White-Gold Concordat said. But with his soul bound to Hircine, he would never see the Hall of Valor unless he found a way to cure himself, and he was on the precipice of figuring it out.

Sleeping was not always an easy feat for somebody afflicted with the beast blood. Most nights, they were restless. When Kodlak did manage to get some rest, his dreams were plagued with prophetic visions and faces of people he'd never seen before.

One person he'd seen frequently in his dreams, he knew would become his eventual successor as the Harbinger. Kodlak was old. He knew he was going to die soon, and he was desperate. How he'd die was yet a mystery to him, but he'd confided in Vilkas about his wishes for the afterlife.

There was no concept of one "heaven" or "hell". Most people had some degree of choice of where they'd go after they died. For the Nords that lived and died with bravery, there was Sovngarde. What better place to display your mettle than serving your community with a group like the Companions?

The first day the Dragonborn visited Jorrvaskr and expressed his desire to join the Companions, he was ushered downstairs to speak with Kodlak, himself. The second Kodlak saw his face, he knew what was to come. This was the man that was to be their new Harbinger.

It took but one test for the Companions to see the true battle prowess this new whelp possessed. Aela and Skjor both agreed he'd be a fine addition to the Circle and offered for him to join their ranks.

Naturally, he was apprehensive. In the moment, lycanthropy was such a permanent decision to make. Of course, it was ultimately his choice in the end, and he agreed to partake in the ritual that would make him one of the "pack".

Andrel knew what he was - who he was. He was still having a hard time coming to terms with it. Just a week prior, he'd fought and killed a dragon, but it didn't simply stop with a dead dragon. Hardly anybody that was there could believe what they'd seen, but it happened and now he couldn't ignore it.

That night, he met Skjor and the rest of the Circle (save for Kodlak) in the Underforge. Aela no longer resembled a fiery-headed Nord woman - her body had morphed and grown into a monstrous wolfish form, her eyes glowing yellow in the dimly-lit room.

"I'm glad you came," Skjor greeted him. "It's been a long time since we had a heart like yours among our numbers. That pitiful ceremony at the hall does not befit warriors like us. You are due more honor than some calls and feasting."

The Dovahkiin remained silent, his eyes still locked on Aela, mostly in fascination. As Skjor began to talk again, his eyes darted back to the elder man.

"I would hope you recognize Aela, even in this form. She's agreed to be your forebearer. We do this in secret because Kodlak is too busy trying to throw away this great gift we've been granted. He thinks we've been cursed. But we've been blessed. How can something that gives this kind of prowess be a curse? So we take matters into our own hands. To reach the heights of the Companions, you must join with us in the shared blood of the wolf. Are you prepared to join your spirit with the beast world, friend?"

"I'm... not sure. If we're being honest."

"It's your choice, lad. The doors to the Circle will always be open to you, but to join, you must take the beast blood for yourself to officially be considered one of us."

The Dovahkiin scratched as his chin in contemplation. When Farkas had morphed in front of him that first time in Dustman's Cairn, he seemed to have all his mental faculties together, and seemed to be in control of whether or not he shifted. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad in the long run...

"I'm ready."

Skjor seemed to smile, a rare sight. He was usually such a grumpy old sod. "Very well." he replied, pulling a sharp dagger from a sheath on his belt.

The Dragonborn watched as Skjor's blade ripped into the wolf's flesh, and a small pool of blood settled in a basin.

"Go on, boy. Drink it, and be one of us."

Cupping his hand into the pool, he lifted the rapidly cooling liquid to his mouth and drank from the blood Aela had donated. The taste was nothing short of awful, but in a few moment's time, a bad taste would be the least of his worries. It took a moment for the beast blood to affect him fully, but it knocked him on his back when it finally hit him.

He started convulsing in excruciating pain as the beast blood started mixing with his own. Muscles expanded rapidly, and every bone in his body seemed to be breaking and contorting to better fit his new wolfish physique. Not many were strong enough to survive the initial transformation, simply because of the pain that came with it. But if you did survive, the power was glorious and terrifying.

Dark brown eyes quickly brightened to a reflective yellow, and his face started growing longer until his nose became a snout, lips curling up to reveal razor-sharp teeth. The sounds that were coming out of him were no longer that of a man - but animalistic growls and screams. He was lashing at everyone and everything - both the Wolf Twins had to hold him back as he writhed and struggled to break free.

The first time was never a pleasant experience for anybody, and it was a given that nobody would have control of themselves that first time. In the moment, their body did everything it could to simply survive, and seemed to shut your mind off from the excruciating pain.

Once the transformation was over, his new form was magnificent. He was absolutely massive in size. Every inch of his new body was covered in shaggy black hair, and he had claws that reached to nearly three inches long - they could rend flesh from bones just as easily as his teeth.

As he looked over the rest of his pack, he was huffing and grunting before letting out a guttural howl and taking off out of the Underforge. He somehow ended up out in the fields of Whiterun and ran for the first living thing that caught his attention - one of the guards from Whiterun.

The wolf launched himself at the man, knocking him over. Another roar, and his claws swept out aggressively, slashing deep wounds that nearly tore the guard apart. In his new hunger, the beast elected to instead use his new teeth and feed off the exposed, bleeding flesh. Hearing some other guards rushing over to help their comrade, the wolf roared at them before darting off again into the woods.

He couldn't tell you now how long his inital transformation took, or how painful it was, or the horrors he'd committed during his "blackout". Nobody knew it was him that had murdered that guard. He only remembers waking up half-naked in the snow with Aela standing over him, no longer a wolf, either.

"Are you awake? I was starting to think you might never come back... Yours was not an easy transformation. But you're still alive, so congratulations. We even have a celebration planned for you. There's a pack of werewolf hunters camped nearby, at Gallows Rock. The Silver Hand. I think you've met them before. We're going to slaughter them. All of them. Lead on. Skjor's already scouting ahead. "

He was still covered in blood and adjusting to his surroundings, thankful that he was somehow warm in all this cold. Using some of the snow nearby, he used it to wipe the blood off his body and face, leaving a ruddy mess in the clearing. He wasn't as clean as he'd liked to be, but he knew he was about to get a lot dirtier.

"What just happened? What did I do?" he asked, moving to stand up slowly. Aela simply stuffed his armor into his arms.

"You were born into the pack, brother. I almost envy you. That first time is always the most... intense. You gave us even more trouble than Farkas did at his first turning." she explained.

He figured it was really best to not ask. He would make his reparations with the Divines later and repent for whatever sins he'd committed. Now that they were here, they had work to do and his Shield-Siblings needed him, and there would be no more "wolfing out" for him, tonight.

"Aye, Sister. Let's go."