Werewolves!
The town was before him. Thinking about it, perhaps “former” was the proper adjective for the town; the beasts that now inhabited the place didn’t seem nearly as civilized as the previous inhabitants, even though perhaps at least some of them were the previous inhabitants. While he spent time learning more about his prey from the shadows, Sir Leopold silently went over what he knew.
There had been notice of a plague for months spreading slowly across Europe, though the nature of the plague seemed the stuff of fiction at first: men turning to monsters, seemingly at random and with little if any signs before. Monsters had always occupied a strange place in the Church’s view, especially with how obviously their souls, if they had any, had been damaged. But this new plague only affected men—monsters were immune, and those escaping affected places had been the only warnings offered. The outcome of such warnings were not always heeded, and sometimes resulted in the escapees being outcast as having “sold their souls for health” or some such excuses. But it was Leopold’s job to heed rumors, no matter how outlandish, for the Dragons could not be expected to solve every problem. They offered peace and safety and it would be dishonorable to take unnecessary advantage.
The dusk had turned to dawn, and soon it would be time to strike. To be honest, Leopold was a little nervous, but he was not alone. Monsters that had lost their homes had come to his aid, when asked; he was simply the one taking the biggest risk, as the only human in the group. But he was a knight, and he would not stand idly by while his king’s land was threatened in such a way. The last of the strange wolves laid down to rest, and a minute later Leopold gave the signal. Time to go!
Silently, icy rods appeared above the head of his allied lizarkin, the dragon-like creature sending them hurtling towards their foes at deadly speed. At the same time, the shorter-ranged participants, Leopold included, drew their weapons and with masking illusions leapt into the midst of the camp to begin the slaughter. Chaos broke loose, and at once Leopold understood what had not been conveyed earlier: his opponents were still human! Damaged, yes, deranged, perhaps, but they did not fight like mere beasts. Being outnumbered four to one no longer felt within the range of safety.
He worked quickly, downing the unfortunate foes with the learned efficiency of a knight, careful to keep himself from their outstretched claws and teeth. This is a plague, he reminded himself, and I cannot fight my usual way. He could not rely solely on his priest’s blessing to keep him safe and sane.
As suddenly as noise had erupted, silence fell over the town square. Sir Leopold drew a ragged breath as his nerves calmed; he held his sword aloft, but he and his companions were the only ones left standing. But then, behind them—a howl. Two howls. And the sound of beating feet. Leopold whirled. No! How had they missed so many!?
Having lost the element of surprise, Leopold lost his composure as well and ran. There was no defeating such a force, not with the few allies he had left who could still fight. Nothing for it; he’d have to return later.
“Sir Leopold!” the catfolk called, but he ignored it. They needed to leave!
“Sir Leopold!” the lizarkin shouted. Leopold risked a glance back, but saw none of his companions, only a growing horde of wolves. And they were gaining on him. He added a burst of speed with agility magic, only barely noticing his stinging cheek before night covered the morning light.
When Leopold awoke, he was HUNGRY. Nothing else registered about his condition. He staggered to his feet and set off, heading in a random direction, ignoring the sword and fractured armor on which he’d been lying. It didn’t take long before he found footprints, and he didn’t even care what species it was. Anything would work; he followed them.
Something itched in the back of his mind. He knew this path, didn’t he? But it didn’t matter as much as his HUNGER. His stomach growled, and he let out a growl in response. He sounded primal.
In the distance, he thought he spotted something. A little… thing. He couldn’t remember what it was. It looked like food. He couldn’t take it anymore. He howled and set off at a run on all fours. It turned and ran, but he was gaining on it, gaining. He leapt, reached out his claws—
A rod of ice slammed into his side, jerking him away from his food and sending him sprawling. “Not today!” another thing shouted at him. He didn’t understand the words. The beast stood to fight back, but received a strike to its spine instead, knocking it back to the ground.
“No more!” another thing said. The beast tried to stand but failed in its pain and hunger.
The last thing Leopold heard was an unintelligible noise, which the back of his mind translated as, “I’m sorry.”
The GWC has put out its first prompt and since I’m not submitting for that competition I don’t have to stick to the word count for the competition. (GWC requires 1700-2300 words. This is 861.) Instead, I just used it as a prompt for this short tale. I’m thinking of using the same prompt in the Grooselan setting as well, but I came up with an idea for World of Chaos first, so this one gets posted first.