Legends of Skyrim: The Wood Orc (BOOK ONE)

V - The Silver Hand

Durag's head snapped awake. He realised that Jorrvaskr had fallen silent. Before he could move to the Skyforge, he heard Aela and Skjor not too far away. He pressed his back against the wall, keeping out of their torchlight. "Are you prepared for tonight's Hunt?" Skjor asked.
"I've been thinking," Aela sounded uncertain, "We need to be more... discreet."
"There's nothing wrong with what we're doing." Skjor turned from her.
"You know the old man doesn't like it," Aela reminded, "Let's just not be to obvious."
Just then, Durag heard the sound of stone scraping on stone, and slightly peered forward to see a door in the mountain under the Skyforge open. As Aela walked through, Skjor leaned on the rock, looking out into the night. After a few moments, Durag revealed himself and approached Skjor. "Are you prepared?" the Nord asked, uncrossing his arms.
Durag turned towards the open door leading to blackness. "What is this place?" he asked.
"Here's all you need to know," Skjor stepped inside, beckoning Durag to follow, "Jorrvaskr is the oldest building in Whiterun. The Skyforge was here long before it was. And the Underforge taps an ancient magic that is older than Men or Elves. We bring you here to make you stronger, New Blood."
The Underforge opened up into a wider room, all carved intricately out of the stone, attuned to the moon. A font was in the central part of the room, before it was another Werewolf. Durag knew, however, that this was not Farkas. The hair was lighter, and the eyes not so rage-filled. "I'm glad you came," Skjor walked beside it, "It's been a long time since we had a heart like yours among our numbers. That pitiful ceremony behind the hall does not befit warriors like us. You, Durag, are due far more honour than some calls and feasting. I would hope you recognise Aela, even in this form."

Aela, in her Beast Form, slowly stalked forward and sniffed the tense Orc before lightly growling and standing before the font. "We do this in secret," Skjor reported, "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?"
Durag didn't like Skjor's blind optimism about Lycanthropy. And he certainly let him know it. "It is wise to be cautious with these affairs," he stepped into the torchlight, "Especially with Daedric practices."
"Kodlak's paranoia is contagious, I see," Skjor lightly glared, but quickly turned away, "To reach the height of the Companions, Orc, you must join with us in the shared Blood of the Wolf. Are you prepared to join your spirit with the Beast World, friend?"
Durag looked towards Aela. He could see a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, but it quickly diminished. "What if I do not desire this?" he asked.
"That is your choice," Skjor looked and sounded disappointed, "We will not force you. But to join the Circle, your blood must be as ours."
Durag looked towards the font. Gripping the sides of it lightly, he took a deep breath in. There had to be a catch with this, there usually was with these deals with the Daedra. Would his soul be owned by someone other than Malacath now? Would there be a battle for it? "New Blood?" Durag felt an arm on his shoulder.
"My soul..." Durag whispered, "Where does it go if I say yes?"
"That is a matter for after your death," Skjor said, "Make your decision."
That was what solidified this for Durag. It was finally his decision. Not preordained by Malacath, not dictated by Chief Dushgonk. Finally now, the decision had fallen unto him, and he would make it, unbiased and unburdened. "I'm ready." he stepped back.

"Very well," Skjor drew his sword, "Oh, you might want to remove your clothes. I doubt they detach like ours."
Durag stepped to the side and began to strip down. As he removed his mask, he watched as Skjor took Aela's arm and made a slit in it. The blood leaked into the font, slowly filling it with the same black blood that Farkas leaked. Durag stepped forward. As Farkas took his clothes to the side, Durag looked into the font. Slowly, he scooped a handful of the blood and drank. It tasted bitter, and ran down his chin past his tusks. He looked as if he'd bitten into something's neck. Suddenly, he was overtaken by an unbelievable agony. He clutched his stomach and rushed out of the Skyforge. Collapsing in the Wind District, onlookers in the early morning started to approach the pained Orc before one screamed. His eyes turned red and rage-filled, as pure black hair began sprouting over his body. His tusks grew longer and sharper as his nose protruded. "WEREWOLF!" the horrified cry rang out over the city.
Guards stormed down the steps of Dragonsreach, all drawing their swords. Durag's newly sprouted ears flicked up, and, as the transformation finally concluded, he let out a roar that stopped them in their heals. Before the guard was a Werewolf, stalking towards them. Before it could strike, another dove from the side into it, tackling it down a flight of stairs into the Plains District. Durag growled at the monster before recognising it as Aela. She let out an equally fearsome growl before turning and bursting out of the gates of Whiterun. Before he could follow, an arrow hit the stone beneath Durag. He turned to see the city guard still advancing towards him. In that instance, he too burst from the gates and followed Aela out into the wilds of Skyrim. The two sprinted through the trees and meadows beside each other, Aela noticeably more graceful and at ease with her movements, Durag more wild and feral.