Disclaimer: Bethesda and Ubisoft own Morrowind, its expansion Bloodmoon, and all the characters associated with the above.
The air was icily crisp, what little moisture there was in the air coating my furs in tips of crystal. I stooped to pluck a handful of ripened belladona berries. Most would have called me insane, wandering in the snows without gloves or helm, keeping just enough furs about my body to maintain decency. They were probably right; no being could see what I had seen and still be completely sane. How many of my breathen were beholden to Sheogorath, raving and gibering away the hours my master did not exhibit his full control? I know not why I was different, why I was in control and my memories intact, but my master approved. And every winter he would summon me for his lesser games, when the ice grew dark and the wind swirled and we ran at his heels and pressed through the barrier to take our place at the base of his stairs and follow the flight of his spear. When we growled at the scamps and groveled at the lords and looked straight on at the astronaches. Few of us would be called, and not all of us survive, but those sunless hours racing in another world cannot be forgotten. To feel your claws rend at beings that could tear your head from your shoulders in a heartbeat and to still hold the prey long enough for him to plunge his spear and steal their essence, to know you had bested a creature fouler than anything cursed upon Nirn, and if every deity of luck smiled upon you at once and you had excelled and his mood was satisified after the hunt you stood the chance of feeling his hand lightly caress your ears...is it any wonder most lost their minds?
As I bent to grasp another red berry I felt a shudder in the air, like a nameless current had surged through the land. My first glances, as always, were to the moons. As the sun began to set I thought my eyes were deceiving me. Had the dying light stained the moon? Or could it be...had my master taken the blood of the winter hunts and poured it over the moon, a lantern for the greatest chase of all, when we would hunt upon Nirn itself? The two moons were not yet full, but I guessed enough to fling my bags into a nearby barrow and make it clear into the night before my vision clouded over and I heard his voice and saw his visions.
"Your master calls, and the hounds shall answer. Even as the moon darkens the game approaches, and it is time to gather the prey. The leader of the Imperials was taken in the night not a week past. Now you are to seek the leader of the Skaal. Find him alone and he shall let you take him. But beware the hunters, for their blades are silvered and their wills keen. Now go."
I awoke to find myself clad in my second skin, and ran at once for the Skaal village, my legs carrying me faster than a horse could run. Other werewolves were there, waiting. Some I knew by knew by scent, and all I knew were mad. Without a cue and as one we leapt into the heart of the village, striking like the wind without warning. A warrior, unprepared, tried to stab his blade into my hide. I leapt, higher than a man, and landed with my legs driving into his chest and sank my teeth into his throat before he could react. His blood splashed across my muzzle and he was dead before we hit the ground. I could not stop to feed. My master's will had to be carried out.
Before the chieften's hut the fighting was fierce, blade and claw alike coated red. I neared the door as a stranger burst through. They were not of the Skaal yet the guards called for their aid. I ducked their first blow and sank my teeth into their leg, but instead of falling backwards from my rush they managed to twist, throwing off my balance as they struck me across my shoulder. I felt the skin part and the muscles tear and yelped as I staggered backwards. As they moved towards me I thought that this would be my last hunt. I was mistaken. Another leapt at them from behind and I slipped past and into the building.
Two of the pack followed me, and together we slew the guards within. I advanced on Heart-Fang, hackles raised and teeth bared. He did not retreat, but instead of attacking he sheathed his weapon. I paused and set back my ears, fearing a trap or a sudden blast of magicka. We met eyes a long moment before he said proudly, "Long have I held a token of the Lord of the Hunt. I shall go with peace, and face Hircine with honour." I gently grasped his arm in my claws as yelps and cheers echoed outside. My master summoned us away just as the two remaining werewolves leapt for the door.
My master sent us into the maze, to participate in the greatest of his honours- the Bloodmoon Hunt. Myself as a greater hound, Heart-Fang as one of the prey. I had never been within the ice maze before, sealed as it were when the hunt was not in session. He stripped from me the right of day and weakness of the blood lust, to better serve him in the hunt. I wondered at this. Why had I been sent through so early, when I knew the rites would take several nights to complete? The Skaal would be trying to stop my Master; he would need swift feet and sharp claws to win through, so that the signs could be completed and the gate openned to let him take his place and the hunt to begin in earnest. Why was I not out there aiding his cause?
Time had no meaning in the maze, as I prowled with the other werewolves granted the honour. We knew we would remain here until the prey killed us or the hunt was over. The doors were barred to us. I know not how long it was before the sounds of battle and scent of blood aroused me. I remember the prey cutting down one of my packmates, and seeing then who the last of the prey was for the first time. It was the stranger from the village of the Skaal, the one who had nearly bested me. I hung back and waited til I could strike with another, together to overwhelm the prey.
That is when they cried out, bent double and dropped their weapon to the ice. I was moving forwards, not yet running but preparing to leap, when their skin split and fur grew and claws sharpened themselves on the ice like steel. I was snarling as I sprang. We clashed briefly, claws skittering together before they bounded free and raced for the door. I chased them. I knew that that door was for the prey when armed to fight, not one clad in fur. Why would the master hunt a werewolf, when he hunted beside them? The prey would be trapped. Or so I thought... until the door glowed red and the prey passed through before I could mark them again with my claws. My leap carried me to the spot where they had been, but I did not pass into the door. I went through it, striking the wall upon the other side. I sat there in shock as the truth filtered in.
They had slipped through the doorway while sharing our skin. They had been accepted into the chamber of the Lord of the Hunt, where we were forbidden to set paw, granted our skills and lured by more. I knew then why I was in the maze so early. As the glacier trembled, I set back my ears and put my tail between my legs and ran before the ice crushed me. My master did not move to save those still left within. As the dawn rose and my skin changed I set my path for the river. Why would he notice me go?
My master had a new hound.
AN: I did my best to avoid mangling lore, although I realise that not all players will remain werewolves. Then again, the 'prey' could always have been using Hircine's ring. If it isn't clear, the prey is the player character and the narrator is one of the hounds. This is meant to be a oneshot but I might add a another chapter or two if the mood strikes me.