Azeroth's Big Bad Wolf (Patreon)

So our top winner this month was Genn Greymane, King of Gilneas and werewolf daddy supreme. During Hallows End celebrations, Genn finds that a mysterious benefactor wants him bigger and stronger...

“Sons and daughters of Gilneas!” shouted a grizzled man from a wooden platform. “Friends and allies old and new! Please, come close!” 

The crowd gathered around the field just outside the gates of Stormwind City, hanging on the man’s every word. This was a solemn occasion, for the most part, so Genn Greymane hid his small smile beneath his well-trimmed beard. “As you know, Hallows End is a celebration of transition… of change. The people of Gilneas understand change all too well. For we have endured much, far beyond what any of us could have imagined. However, this is not a time for grief. It is an opportunity to mock the fearsome- to gaze boldly into the grim unknown and laugh! As you stand before me, I pray you cast your burdens behind me.” He turned to the huge straw wickerman looming over him. “Let this wickerman embody any unrest within us. With turmoil as tinder, let it blaze; may it temper us against what tomorrow may bring.”

He turned, signalling the others in the crowd to prepare their torches; this was Genn’s favorite part. “Torches ready!” On cue, a dozen or so of the revellers amongst the crowd howled out like beasts; their bodies began to shift and expand along with Genn’s. Fur spread across beastly forms, as worgen began making themselves known, much to the delight and shock of the crowd. Genn, of course, was now the largest and most impressive worgen among them; a tall, brawny beast covered in white fur and glowing, golden eyes that reflected the torches. “Let the flames fly!” he growled, voice deepened from the transformation. “Hallow’s End is upon us!”

The wickerman behind him lit up, and the crowd cheered. Genn smiled, the effect enhanced by his long maw of sharp, dagger-like fangs. Jaunty music began to play, and ale began to flow as the celebration got underway. The Alliance belonged to Anduin every other day of the year, Genn thought, but Hallow’s End was his day.

“Greyguard! To the King!” a young woman shouted, dressed in steel armor emblazoned with the emblem of Gilneas, the nation Genn still doggedly fought to reclaim. Four soldiers dressed in similar armor snapped to attention, forming ranks behind Genn as he stepped off the platform and joined the crowd, where many well-wishers paid their respects to the Worgen King.

“A pint for the King!” a jocular, big-bellied man announced, pushing a stein of mead into Genn’s hand. 

“Hold, Your Highness--” The leader of the Greyguard platoon, Genn couldn’t remember her name, held out her hand. But the worgen stopped her, holding her back with his claws. 

“It’s fine, soldier. Where is this from, my friend?” Genn asked, offering a smile. For once, the person he was talking to did not flinch when he bared his fangs. 

“Finest mead, my lord, from Stormsong Valley.”

Genn lit up at that. “Ah! I haven’t had a chance for a fine, Stormsong mead in a long time,” he declared. Lifting the pint up to his mouth, the worgen took a deep, hearty drink. “Interesting… do I detect a hint of… ahem!” Genn coughed, thumping a fist against his chest. Only, his chest met his fist a little quicker than he was used to. The old white wolf arched his brow, looking down at his body. Perhaps it was particularly strong mead, but his chest seemed a little bigger, and his arms felt a little stronger. “What… is in that mead, friend?”

“Oh, that’s a trade secret, my lord!” the man declared, bowing his head with a wide smile that dimpled his cheeks. “Always manages to invigorate.”

“Yes… I can see that,” Genn rumbled. He nodded to the brewer, and began mingling amongst the crowd. He glanced back at the leader of the Greyguard.

“Have I seen you on duty before, soldier?”

“Captain Cordela Innsmouth, sir, covering for Captain Cole,” the captain responded, saluting smartly before turning back to the crowd. “Make way! Make way for the King of Gilneas!”

They next came to a stall near the gate, presided over by a Dalaran mage, identified by a purple robe emblazoned with a silver eye. “Ah! King Greymane!” the mage waved Genn down. “High King Anduin mentioned you might enjoy these cinnamon mana treats. I’d be honored if you’d give me your patronage.”

Genn chuckled good naturedly. “If it’s got Anduin’s recommendation, I’m sure it’ll be- Captain!”

Captain Innsmouth snatched the handful of small, faintly glowing cookies before Genn could grab them. “Forgive me, sire,” she said, biting into one of the cookies. “Sylvanas is still out there, and we have reason to believe you’ll be at the top of her list.” 

“I- I promise, they’re all perfectly safe…” the Dalaran mage said, leaning out over her stall.

“We’ll see about that.” She handed them off to another Greyguard who inspected them too, then returned them to Genn. “They should be safe, sire.”

Genn slowly arched his brow before eating. Captain Innsmouth was certainly not guilty of dereliction of duty. He grinned as he enjoyed the vaguely magical treat, and nodded to the mage to end the suspense. “Anduin definitely knows what I like, this is- oh,” he grunted, clearing his throat. He felt like he might be slightly bloated, but… no, bloated wasn’t the right word. He felt bigger, certainly, but not slow or lethargic. He glanced down, shifting his springy, lupine legs and tensing arms that he swore were larger than before, biceps swelling up to meet him. “These are… quite something,” he said gruffly, offering a smile. “Have you done something special…?”

“Oh, just for taste, Your Highness,” the mage reassured. 

“...I see.” Genn frowned softly, then turned to mingle amongst the crowd. After a minute, he glanced to Captain Innsmouth. “Do I seem… different, Captain Innsmouth?”

“Different how, my King?”

“Larger?”

The Greyguard stopped, looking Genn over. “Not at all, my King. You are a picture of health.” She dared a smirk. “If you’re concerned about going soft, we could always arrange a hunt. There are still orcs roaming the woods south of the city…”

“That won’t be necessary,” Genn said gruffly. His gait had changed slightly, legs feeling larger and heavier.  He shook his head; maybe that mead was just particularly strong. But he did feel restless; maybe some action is just what he needed to clear his head.

“You know Captain, I’ve heard the most intriguing rumor about an establishment beneath the streets of Stormwind…”

Bizmo’s Brawlpub was exactly the kind of place Genn had been looking for. Hidden just under the Dwarven District of Stormwind, the Brawlpub was decorated in festive orange and black banners and jack-o-lanterns. It was essentially a tavern built over a fighting pit, with plenty of the shadier denizens of the Alliance capital patronizing it. It was an odd place to find a dignified King, but Genn could hardly remember having more fun on Hallows End. 

The worgen leapt into the air, landing with enough force to buckle the metal floor beneath his feet as he delivered a devastating uppercut, his claws digging into the armor plating of the reptilian beast he had been paired up against. Slamming his full weight into the exposed bit of scale, Genn managed to roll the huge monster known as Mecha-Bruce on to its side, and roared as he planted a foot on the beaten crocolisk. As the crowd cheered, Genn let out a howl, leaping up into the air as his powerful legs brought him back to the top, where the Greyguard was waiting for him, a drink of water in hand.

“Ah, this place is fantastic!” Genn chuckled, puffing up his wide chest. He downed the cup of water, and instantly felt reinvigorated.  “One more fight, then we’ll get back to the party.”

“As you wish, my King,” Captain Innsmouth saluted as Genn leapt back into the ring.

“Uh-oh,” the gnome owner of the Brawlpub, Bizmo, announced from his personal blimp circling the fighting pit. “The newcomer White Wolf is still hungry for more! Well, welcome to the ring Smash Hoofstomp, the terrible tauren from Thunder Bluff! Check out those great shoulderpads!”

A heavily armored, heavily muscled tauren lumbered into the ring, a hulking brute with- and this was when Genn realized he probably had been spending a little too much time here- goblins strapped to his spiky pauldrons. The worgen started by plucking the goblins from their perch and throwing them aside, side-stepping the tauren’s heavy blows.

“SMASH MY GOBLIN?” the tauren bellowed. “I SMASH YOU!” Smash brought down his immense spiked hammer on Genn, a direct hit to the worgen’s side. It knocked the wind out of him, but the old wolf stood his ground, and leapt back into the fray. Genn slammed into Smash, grappling his arm as he overpowered the tauren and threw him down.

“Unbelievable!” Bizmo declared. “White Wolf does it again!”

Genn let out another adrenaline-fuelled roar, flexing his arms for the crowd. He was stronger than a tauren! Then it hit him- he was stronger than a tauren, and he was bigger than a tauren, as well. He glanced at Smash as the bull was scooped off the metal floor, then furrowed his brow. He clambered out of the pit, and pushed past Captain Innsmouth without a word.

The worgen rushed into the facilities reserved for brawlers, and gasped as he saw himself in the mirror. His shaggy white fur was now spread across a much broader canvas; his shoulders were bunching up like snow-capped mountains, and his arms rippled with powerful, bulging biceps. His chest was like a pair of marble slabs, with six chiselled abs pushing through under his fur. Genn, in shock, looked over his form; he was far burlier than any other worgen he’d seen, and taller; he had to hunch down just to see his face in the mirror. Turning around, he glanced at a back that overfilled the mirror, showing off swells of muscle rippling under his fur. 

“What a strong king you are; a strong king for a strong Alliance.”

Genn’s ears perked up as he swerved around, claws and fangs bared. He scanned the room, but he was alone. Keeping his eyes peeled, he backed out of the room, rejoining the crowd of the Brawlpub.

“My king! Are you alright?” Captain Innsmouth asked.

“I need to return to Stormwind Keep and speak with Anduin immediately,” Genn said brusquely. “Fall in, all of you,” he barked to the Greyguard.

“You heard the King!” Innsmouth shouted as they left the Brawlpub.

Genn gripped his head, feeling a headache coming on. He then turned to Innsmouth. “Captain… have I been performing, ah. Better than usual, tonight?”

Innsmouth glanced up at her King. “You’re one of the strongest members of the Alliance, sire. You always perform better than the usual.”

“That’s not what I…” Genn sighed. “Nevermind.”

“Perhaps a small pick-me-up, sir?” Innsmouth offered. “I have some Darkmoon Firewater; always gives one an extra boost of strength.”

“Yes, perhaps…” Genn said distractedly. There was a strange smell in the air… He took Innsmouth’s flask and took a deep drink, not realizing his arms tightening and bulging a little larger than before. “What did you say this was, again?”

“Another draught of the Stormsong Mead you enjoyed so much, sir,” Innsmouth said.

Genn slowly nodded. “Right, yes…” He kept his eyes and ears keen as he and his guards moved through the mostly deserted Dwarven District, everyone still piled into taverns or on public greens celebrating Hallows End. The night was quiet, but Genn couldn’t help but feel like he was being watched. 

“You’ll be safe at the fair. Stormwind is dangerous at night, thanks to Anduin.”

The worgen snarled, turning to Innsmouth. “Did you hear something?”

The captain looked around thoughtfully. “All seems quiet, sir. Perhaps it is best you return to the Keep and rest…”

“No!” Genn huffed, tensing his powerful arms. He was going to end this, whatever this was or who was behind it. “Where’s the nearest portal? I’ve regained my vigor, and the night’s still young.”

Obligingly, the Greyguard followed Genn to a portal overseen by two mages in robes of green and purple; ticketers for the Darkmoon Faire. As Genn stepped through the portal, the world around him shimmered, the streets of Stormwind replaced by a dark forest, the night sky illuminated by fireworks. Gaudy signs pointed the way downhill, towards the fair and all its amusements. Glancing over his broad shoulder, Genn only saw Innsmouth.

“Where’s the rest of the Greyguard? Why haven’t they followed?”

“I’m keeping them at a distance, sir. To ensure we’re not being tailed.”

Genn accepted this with another impatient grunt. The worgen fell to all fours, and his powerful, bulging legs swelled as his thighs tightened and coiled. He never ran so fast, practically flying down the hill towards the carnival. Standing back to his full height as the grand, purple and green arch of the Darkmoon Faire loomed overhead, he scanned the teeming crowd. Races of the Horde and Alliance were mingling, if still watching each other closely. As he stalked down the main thoroughfare, Genn’s lambent golden eyes fell upon a trio of Forsaken. They were already giving him a wide berth, but as he growled at the undead, they scattered. 

“Hey!” a small voice squeaked up at him. “Big fella! No intimidating my guests!” A gnome, dressed in a fine black suit and top hat, thwacked Genn’s sculpted calf with a cane; he barely felt it.

“...Sorry,” Genn growled, pushing further into the crowd.

“Such disrespect. Who is he to talk to a king as strong as you in such a way?”

The worgen swerved around, trying to catch the voice. He only saw Innsmouth.

“Keep your weapon at the ready, Captain. We’re closing in on our prey,” the worgen said.

“Of course, sire,” Innsmouth obediently wrapped a hand around her sword. 

“Free samples! Traditional Darkmoon Firewater, right here! Enjoy the most invigorating drink in Azeroth!” a vendor cried, handing out small vials of a red liquid. Spotting Genn, he gasped. “Genn Greymane!” He bowed his head. “My king!”

Genn barely realized the vendor had a thick Gilnean accent. He held up his hand. “None of that, not here. Something’s not right at this fair. Have you noticed anything strange?”

“Strange? Well, no stranger than usual at Darkmoon,” the vendor chuckled, slowly looking Genn’s muscular frame over. “If I may say so, my King, you are looking… far stronger than usual. Has war agreed with you so well?”

“Hardly,” Genn said bluntly, still scanning the crowd.

“Well, perhaps you’ll accept some Darkmoon Firewater?” he offered. “If you think there’s trouble, perhaps an extra boost of strength is just what you need. And I would be honored to aid my king in any small way.”

The old wolf nodded after a moment, against Innsmouth’s half-spoken protests. “My thanks.” He downed the small vial, and grunted as his already vast strength was augmented further; a pleasurable experience, to be sure, as he tensed thickly roped arms and rolled broad shoulders, but also very familiar. Slowly, he realized where he had tasted it before. Turning to Innsmouth with realization dawning, he narrowed his eyes. “Captain, I can’t help but notice that Darkmoon Firewater tastes exactly the same as the Stormsong Mead, the mana treats, and your flask. What are you-” 

Genn was cut off by shouts and cries of panic, and his nose caught the scent of a beast. A terrible, bone-chilling howl rippled throughout the fairgrounds as a wolf the size of a carousel charged onto the scene, trampling booths and fairgoers underneath its paws. This monstrous wolf usually stuck to the forest outside the fair, but now, something had agitated the most fearsome beast on the island.

“Moonfang has gone rabid!” someone shouted.

Genn turned to Innsmouth, eyes narrowed, but then back to the beast. Already, others were putting up a fight, but the monster wolf was overpowering them. Snarling, Genn charged into the fray. Moonfang moved to snap at the snowy white beast charging at her, but the worgen was ready. He caught Moonfang’s jaws, his arms tensed and surging in size from the effort. His biceps swelled up like boulders, his chest puffed up, nearly scratching at his clenched jaw as he dug in his feet, throwing all his weight and strength into pushing the wolf away as his wide lats flared out, his thick legs tensing. With a mighty roar, Genn threw Moonfang back, forcing the monstrous canine to stumble. He leapt after the beast, fangs and claws bared as he delivered a series of withering blows, his powerful arms bruising the monster’s hide. With one last strike, the worgen heard the satisfying crunch of broken bone as Moonfang yelped in pain. Genn relented, sensing the beast would retreat, and the Fairground staff managed to chase the wolf away.

As the dust settled, Genn now stood head and shoulders above anyone, ogres and tauren included. Whispers began to swell around him.

“Is that Genn Greymane?”

“He saved us!”

“He’s gotten so big.”

The worgen king offered a slight smile; it was still rare for him to get this kind of attention. Especially from the Horde. 

“You could bathe in this adulation all the time… your strength could eclipse Alliance and Horde both.”

The worgen snarled, swerving around. “Who is that? Show yourself!”

Those that heard him were confused, and he still could not even catch a scent.

“Meet me in the cave to the south. All I want is to make you the King you deserve to be.”

Genn growled, his eyes glowing. This ended now. Finally, he turned his attention to Innsmouth. “We will talk about your taste in drink later, Captain. Follow me now, if you are loyal to Gilneas.”

Innsmouth saluted the worgen. “Of course, sire.”

Genn stalked his way through the fog-cloaked woods that ringed Darkmoon Faire. His senses were heightened, every muscle tensed, ready to pounce. There wasn’t a soul out here, not even a beast. As he reached the cave, he scanned the area; nothing.

“Show yourself!” he called, and was met with his own echo. He slowly circled around the cave, and saw only Innsmouth. Finally, it hit him in a moment of clarity.

“I see.” Genn stood to his full height. “What happened to Captain Cole, then?”

“Nothing, my King. Merely a draught of sleep,” Innsmouth explained. 

“Who are you, then?” he asked warily, already sizing her up.

“I am a herald, Your Majesty. One who speaks for powers far older than anything else in Azeroth.”

“N’zoth,” Genn snarled, guessing at one of the old gods that had haunted the Alliance and Horde both for years.

Innsmouth held up her hand. “Please, forget what you think you know about my masters. We stand against Sylvanas, too. And you know what they say about the enemy of my enemy. We have been watching, and you, Genn Greymane, are exactly what the Alliance needs. Anduin is a foolish, weak boy. You are experienced, and we have made you strong… we can make you stronger still.” She held up her flask, sloshing the contents around before tying it back to her waist. “You could lead the Alliance to final victory; exact every ounce of vengeance from the Horde. For Teldrassil, for Theramore, for Gilneas… for Liam.”

Genn winced at the mention of his son. “Had you approached me some years ago, I might have been tempted…” He then growled at Innsmouth. “But I am no fool. Gilneas will never bow to the old gods, that I promise you.”

Innsmouth tutted, “I’m disappointed, Old Wolf. If you will not come willingly…” Innsmouth suddenly convulsed forward, her body growing and shifting. Her skin became blue and slimy, her arms morphed into misshapen tentacles. As her armor fell away, Innsmouth was revealed to be a Faceless One; a hard, shell-like carapace and a mass of tentacles in place of a head. “Then you will be broken.”

Genn charged at her without a second thought, lashing at her with all his augmented strength. But when she struck back, her blows stung at him; dark magic permeated from her, corrupted void magic seeping into his body. Genn shuddered, trying to fight against half-heard whispers in his head.

“I made you strong, but not strong enough to defeat me!” Innsmouth gurgled. The worgen steadied himself, and prepared for one last attack. Lunging for her with all his might, Innsmouth side-stepped at the last second, lashing him with another strike across his back, leaving an angry, blackened scar that made Genn howl in pain as he tumbled to the ground.

Cackling, Innsmouth’s tentacles wrapped around the worgen’s body, lifting him up from the ground. “Your mind, your soul, your body will belong to N’zoth,” she gloated. “And the last thing you will see is the Alliance crumble before the might of the new Black Empire!”

Innsmouth halted, however, at a small metallic clatter. Out of Genn’s clawed hand tumbled her flask, now empty. The Faceless One looked back at the worgen, already her grip loosening. “Not yet,” he grunted. 

The worgen’s shoulders surged forward, then his chest; like a glacier advancing, his pecs forced up against Innsmouth’s tentacles. He grew heavier, forcing the Faceless One to lurch forward just to keep balance. Genn flexed his arms, biceps hard as steel weakening Innsmouth’s hold on him until finally he broke free and leapt to the ground, titanic, earth-shaking legs catching him and cracking the cave floor beneath his feet. His back spread out like a snowy plain, rippling with swells of muscle, his neck now part of a white mountain range as he howled once more, and leapt at the shocked Faceless One. Knocking the monster to the ground, he grappled the sputtering creature, arms that could punch through metal tightening his hold around what he hoped was the creature’s neck.

“You… can’t… win!” Innsmouth gasped, as Genn brought down one final blow, shattering the shell-like carapace of the Faceless One. The worgen huffed, standing to his full height, his head almost reaching the top of the cave; he felt as big as a Kodo. He stepped to the edge of the cave, dipping his hands in the water and washing away the viscous slime of his foe.

“Everyone always thinks I’ll prove disloyal to Anduin or the Alliance in pursuit of reclaiming my home or getting my revenge,” Genn said to Innsmouth’s crumpled form. “But I’ve learned patience and loyalty in my time. Besides,” he glanced back, barely able to see over the bulging form of his own immense shoulders, and smirked. “I should almost thank you.” He flexed an arm, smiling more toothily as his bicep exploded in size, rising up to scrape against his clenched fist. “I don’t know what I’ll do with all this strength now, but maybe I will ask Anduin about making some changes…”