Tyr and Tyra

Tyr ran across the road and dropped and rolled on the other side. He crawled behind a tree and peered out into the darkness. There was very little moonlight and he needed to be certain of the guards' location before proceeding. He snuck out of camp easily. What lay ahead of him was the toughest part of his quest. At least he hoped that would be toughest. He took a slow, deep breath and tried to will his heart to slow down. If they caught him here, now...

Tyr refocused his eyes to scan the shadows around the moat, but his mind wandered back to the path that led him there. He was born a hapless serf in a fief run by a psychotic madman of a baron whose idea of clearing his debts was to run up more of them and starve his overworked serfs. Tyr had no choice in the matter of his birth. He escaped that life, but not before having several run-ins with the baron's enforcers that left him scarred and his nails had grown back ugly and misshapen. His escape seemed like a godsend at the time, but, in hindsight, joining the Royal Army about to go on a campaign was a bad move. Being an indentured serf, he had no choice in the matter either, that was the only escape for a serf, and only possible right before a campaign.

Since he joined up, he realized that the army treated it's serf contingent exactly like it's enlisted men; poorly. He was given a rusty sword that looked like it would break if sharpened vigorously and no mail or plate. The whole army was poorly provisioned, and ordered more like a large hunting party than a battle worthy force. The Royal Court had gotten it in their heads that Orcs were little more than solitary animals to be run out and hunted down, incapable of sophisticated weapons, rudimentary tactics, and wholly ignorant of the fact that Duskenvale, which they held, was ancient consecrated ground on which plants with magical properties could be grown.

As the Army and Tyr soon learned, the truth was quite the opposite. The Orcs were organized into tightly-knit tribes that quickly overcame their differences and united against the encroaching humans. They wielded swords and axes of sturdy crafting and even fielded some captured arquebusses, but with little black powder. They had hundreds of shamans to cast crude, but effective spells for them, augmented by liberal use of the locally grown magic herbs. Their tactics consisted of running headlong across a field of battle, ignoring the musket balls and arrows and cutting down dozens of men before succumbing to their own wounds.

Their success lay in the fact that they chose the fields of battle and the commanders of the Royal Army kept obliging the Orcs, leading to some gains of territory and a string of six humiliating defeats in the first month. And those were before the Orcs had captured a whole supply train of muskets, cannons and black powder.

Tyr was brought out of his musings by a cough across the road and he finally spotted the guards. They were patrolling and he needed to wait until they passed to swim across the moat and climb the palisade. Timing was crucial. As soon as they passed, he ran, crouching low and stopped at the bank. He double checked his pack. With a last glance at the retreating guards and the top of the palisade, he slowly slid down into the water, holding his breath and hoping the sloshing of the water would not be heard in the still, night air.

After a few moments of standing still in the shallows, he saw that the guards were gone, and there was no one on the palisade, so he slowly swam across the moat. When he reached the palisade, he fastened his climbing spikes and began the climb up. The water sluiced from his limbs loudly and Tyr cursed silently. He held still, then lowered himself back down. This lessened the noise, but meant that he would soon be seen by another patrol or a random passerby. If Tyr was caught, he would be executed as a deserter and that was not his first choice. He reasoned that he had already made enough noise for someone to hear if they were near, so he quickly climbed the rest of the palisade and dropped into a crouch on the other side.

He scanned the houses nearby and began his search. A frontier village, like Meadowsrun that he had just snuck into, was too small or remote to warrant royal attention, under normal circumstances. However, it was guarded and a palisade was recently added to it's ancient moat in preparation for the counterassault that the Orcs were going to make soon. Most of the houses were empty, their residents gone to seek safety elsewhere. Tyr found one nearby and quickly found a basement under it. "Perfect," he whispered, marveling at his own luck.

As Tyr descended and surveyed the small basement, he thought back to how everyone from his original squad considered him lucky because he was made company clerk after they lost the original one in their very first battle. He got to stick in the back of the battle lines, dealing with paperwork and serving tea for the officers. Tyr survived the first skirmish through blind luck and liberal application of running, but getting the job wasn't luck as he was the only non-officer in the company who could read and write.

Tyr started to unpack and thought back fondly to the times when he was but a kid and he chose to befriend the lonely and weepy son of a herald. As a result of that friendship, Tyr was taught to read alongside the boy, and he knew not only Common, but also Sylvan, a fact that he kept to himself. That was his one free choice in life, as far as he could tell. All the others were conditioned by immediate need. It was the reports written in Sylvan that lent Tyr a better understanding of his situation. Officers left them lying around quite liberally for Tyr to covertly peruse, thinking that he could not. So long as none of the scrolls were misplaced or stolen, they had no worries.

Tyr had learned that the Royal Court was wising up to the real threat of the Orcs, owing to the fact that quite a few scions of noble houses were lost to Orcs' spells and newly acquired artillery. The Court was bringing to bear the Order of the Faith, the Mages' Guild, the Alchemists' Guild and many more resources. The campaign was now officially declared a war and treated as such. In those reports, Tyr read that which made him desert the ranks with a forged pass and sneak into a half abandoned little village with a pack full of misappropriated alchemy supplies.

The Orcs' equivalents of clerics were preparing to effect a miracle on Meadowsrun. They would pray and chant in an unholy location dozens of miles from Meadowsrun and bring about a magical transformation of everyone in the village. The people would become werecreatures of great power and bloodlust and start a slaughter behind the human lines. The Faith had a cleansing ritual planned that would restore the sanity and free will of the subjects, yet allow them to retain their newly gained powers. The whole thing was already done on another border village, except that the Faith had no advance warning that time, so most of the subjects were killed, rather than liberated. This time, however, they were ready in advance. The village was even covertly populated with some crippled commoners that the Court deemed worthy of being healed and empowered this night. The thought of having some impact companies of werebears was getting the Court all hot and bothered. Tyr didn't want to become a werecreature as that would actually lower his chances of surviving this campaign.

Tyr stripped nude after securing the hatch to the basement and began reproducing the mystic symbols he saw in the scrolls on his bare skin using the proper materials. He was going to partake of the power being given this night as well. Instead of being transformed into a monster that would be used in the most dangerous of situations, the sigils Tyr was drawing would instead transform his soul and grant him sorcerous power leeched from the very transformation ritual itself. Using a few candles and a small, handheld mirror, drawing the symbols was arduous, but Tyr managed it in less than an hour. Now all he had to do was wait. After he was transformed into a sorcerer, he would be examined by the mages and sent to a city far from the front lines for years of training. Tyr smiled. By the time he would be done with his magical education, the war would be long over, one way or another, and Tyr would be let loose after a few years of boring service.

In the cold gloom of the basement, doubts crept into Tyr's mind. Was the Faith right about this? Would he kill or be killed by someone in the time between the transformation and liberation? He glanced nervously at the hatch. He hoped not. Would the transformation hurt, and how much? Tyr took a deep breath and forced himself to remember he had no choice in the matter. The men of his company were dying left and right and they even lost officers in their last engagement. Tyr could still taste the lieutenant's bowels that were blown into Tyr's mouth when the grapeshot exploded next to them. If the Orcs didn't get him, the diseases that were culling the camps would. This was the only way he knew to survive this war and gain, not only his freedom and surname, but a future as well.

Desertion was not an option as the lands beyond Meadowsrun were patrolled by fanatic Royal Guards riding bloodcats, black panthers the size of adult grizzlies that could sniff out a deserter from miles away. What was done to those that deserted, kept Tyr's company from even considering it. Tyr shuddered at those thoughts. What the Orcs did to you was after you were killed, but the Guards gave no such mercy.

Tyr doubled over in pain and a bright light exploded in his mind.

Tyr was jolted awake and immediately felt a strange feeling. Tyr had no sexual experience other than his own callused hands tugging at night, so the sensations left him paralyzed with confusion. Tyr's balls were tickled by fur and the shaft of his cock was surrounded on all sides by something very hard, hot and wet, pressing into his flesh insistently. Tyr's breathing was ragged and there was no strength in his limbs. Claws were holding him by the hips and a furry body slammed into his from behind. At the same instant, a feminine grunt was heard and something soft, hairy and wrinkly tapped all of Tyr's glans at the same time.

Tyr was definitely enjoying the sensations, even if they were weird. His belly felt hot and his chest was stung by a billion pin pricks of pleasure. The very next instant brought the same jolt, the same quick, light tap on his cockhead and a delicate, but pleasurable touch from Tyr's pects that also felt raw. With the next quick jolt, Tyr looked down under himself and saw and felt a pair of breasts swinging beneath his chest, occasionally tapping against one another. Tyr was stunned into confusion. He could not form a coherent thought as the heat from his belly spread across all of his skin, followed by a sensation as if he was being tickled. The tension from his chest exploded out of his cock in waves of liquid heat that drooled right down his own cock and all over the strange thing that was stimulating him so well. His muscles tensed and twitched in absolute rapture, and he shut his eyes as a woman's voice wailed in his ear. On the back of his eyelids, flowers bloomed in time with the contractions of his whole body. It was ecstasy that Tyr could never have imagined before that night.

A claw moved from Tyr's hip and grasped his nipple, now suddenly swollen far from his ribcage and very sensitive. The painful touch made Tyr shudder in ecstasy all over again. After what felt like forever to Tyr, the pleasure finally subsided and he could open his eyes and gasp for breath. Sex was apparently far better with a woman than anything Tyr could do to himself. The hairy sex partner resumed the jolting motions and Tyr now felt all the sensations from his cock amplified almost to the point of pain. He tried to take stock of his situation. He looked down to see two small, feminine hands supporting his weight. A female voice was yipping in his ears. He looked lower and saw a pair of breasts hanging from his chest again. As he saw them collide, he felt a tickle on his own chest. Tyr couldn't see past the jostling boobies, so he dared to raise his head and looked over his shoulder.

A werewolf was grasping him by his hips and thrusting into him, foamy spittle dripping from it's open maw onto Tyr's lower back. Tyr's head snapped forward and he exclaimed in dismay, but heard only the woman's voice do so. Tyr was sexually inexperienced, but knew this was not the way fucking went. His mind finally cleared of the fog of lust that fell over it and he realized his cock felt like it was inside his body. The terrific pleasure was emanating from within his belly, and not from below it. "No," he yelled in denial and panic, but heard only the woman's voice.

With cold dread he realized he was transformed, not into a powerful werebeast, but into a woman, and worse yet, he was being fucked by a werewolf. He must have messed up the sigils! Tyr's eyes shut tight as he realized the worst part yet was that his new body was beginning to buck back onto the werewolf's cock. His pelvis was grinding of it's own accord and Tyr felt like the werewolf's cock was rubbing over the spot under his cockhead where the foreskin was attached.

Without warning, Tyr came again. His voice felt shrill in his own ears as he wailed in denial. He felt like he was flying and falling at the same time and his body trembled with barely contained ecstasy. A new sensation cut through the veil of delight in his mind. The werewolf's cock was twitching inside him and a new heat, separate from the one that was dripping from Tyr, was making it's way down his cock. Tyr was still trying to catch his breath and think when he realized the werewolf had just cum in his pussy. A thousand questions poured into his mind at the same time. What did this mean? Could he get pregnant? Could he get pregnant with a werewolf? Would this werewolf now consider Tyr his mate? Tyr shut his eyes and his arms finally gave out so he rested his cheek on the ground.

The werewolf pulled out it's softening cock and let go of Tyr's hips. Tyr rolled over on his back and looked up at the werewolf as it turned back into a middle aged man with a pot belly and a beard. The man looked around and waived at someone. He looked down at Tyr and said, "Later, whore."

Tyr's mood darkened. He may have enjoyed the fucking, but he was no whore! He was a man. With energy he didn't know he had, Tyr leaped up and started after the man, only to freeze when he saw who was approaching. It was a sergeant of the Royal Guards. Tyr was consumed with blind panic. As the sergeant and werewolf briefly chatted, illuminated by the sergeant's lantern, Tyr tried to desperately think of something to get out of his situation. In the weak light of the lantern, he looked down at his new body and confirmed that the sigils were, in fact, gone.

The sergeant and man parted ways and the sergeant addressed Tyr, "Come here!"

Tyr finally realized he was standing buck naked in the cold, night air with fluids drying on his inner thighs and sweat all over. He covered his breasts and groin as best as he could and the sergeant chuckled, waving him closer. Tyr approached with small, minced steps and kept his head down.

The sergeant gave him an ugly smile. "Who told you to come here tonight," the sergeant inquired. Tyr was now experienced enough to tell from the man's tone that he was being suspected of something, but he knew not what to say, so he just stood there. Tyr's options were meager. If he claimed to be a peasant from the village, they would find out the truth in no time. The sergeant's eyes roamed all over Tyr in a way that made Tyr shiver in disgust, as well as the cold. The sergeant whistled and waved and three more guards came running up to them. As Tyr tried to concoct a story, the sergeant tousled his short, curly hair.

Tyr's breath hitched. He had the short, curly hair, just like he had when he was a man. Women in the kingdom were shorn of hair only when they were unclean, meaning lice or fornication outside of matrimony. Either way, it served as a warning to all men that this woman was to be avoided. And here was Tyr, looking like he was outed as a whore some six months ago. His options dwindled.

The men reported that all the new werecreatures were rounded up and catalogued in an orderly fashion, while stealing leering glances at Tyr. Tyr felt dread grip his insides when he dared to look up at their eyes. The guard carrying a second lantern circled Tyr and inspected him like a piece of meat. "So, Sarge," said the guard, "What's this whore doin' 'ere, and why ain't she turned?"

Tyr raised his head in anger for the briefest of moments before remembering himself and biting back his response. The sergeant chuckled maliciously. "Well, boys," he said, "Our job for the night is done, except for this little morsel here.

"This little camp follower got fucked by an officer and overheard what was going to happen here tonight, didn't she? She got here to get turned into something other than a whore, didn't she? But she got here too late, and she was reminded by that werewolf that she is a whore and nothing more." The men laughed and Tyr found himself eyeing one of their daggers and thinking if he could fight his way out of this.

The sergeant grabbed Tyr's chin and raised his face. When their eyes met, Tyr felt his knees give out at the sheer hatred found in the man's eyes. A guard grabbed Tyr and easily held him up. "I hate whores," snarled the sergeant, "particularly the whores that think they're better than honest folk and try to advance themselves above their place."

Tyr shut his eyes and prayed, he knew not what for. The sergeant shook Tyr's face and snarled, "Didja 'ear me, whore?!" Tyr felt tears form in his eyes. "What's your name," hissed the sergeant.

"Tyr," said Tyr reflexively, before catching himself and dumbly adding, "uhh..."

"Tyra," said the sergeant, "Nice name for a nice, young thing like you. Now, 'ere's the thing. You're obviously some officer's favorite cunt, so we're gonna let you get back to your camp and continue practicing your craft." Tyr felt hope swell in his heart. "And we ain't gonna ask the officer's name, neither," continued the man, "you just gotta make it worth our while." Tyr shut his eyes in denial of what was coming.

"Are you gonna make it worth our while," inquired the sergeant with mock politeness.

Tyr looked at each of the four burly men and noted the one with the beard was completely disinterested in the proceedings and casually cleaning his fingernails with a long dagger. He had no choice in the matter. These men could gut him and claim it was a werecreature in a fit of blind, orc induced, transformation rage. No one would think twice of the matter. Tyr swallowed hard and nodded meekly. If he let them rape him, they might let him live. It was the only chance he had.

"Good," said the sergeant and led the party to the nearest house. The place had two rooms, one with a hearth and one with a serviceable pallet. Tyr was pushed onto the pallet and the sergeant stepped up and began to undo his breeches. Tyr looked dumbly at the hardening cock just inches from his face. The sergeant grabbed him by the back of his neck and yelled, "Don't play coy, cunt, get to work!" The sergeant slapped Tyr's lips with his hard meat and then pressed it against them.

Tyr looked around at the expectant guards and meekly opened his lips, allowing the cock to enter his mouth. Tyr was overwhelmed by the horrible stench emanating from the sergeant's balls just under his nose. He retched. The sergeant snarled as his cock was grazed by Tyr's teeth, and pulled out. "The cunt forgot how to suck cock," he said. "Grab her," he ordered and the men complied.