Dromaeus was in his element, silently flitting through the battle, picking off Rugal's soldiers, the remaining ones panicking as their friends and allies were slain by an unseen force. As he moved to an area where he could take a breather, he spotted a werewolf, ripping into anything it could reach, friend and foe alike. He bared his teeth, wondering how a feral werewolf could have become involved.
Reaching into his quiver, he retrieved and nocked a sinister, horned Daedric arrow, one of a small number that he liked to save for 'special occasions.' Drawing the string tight, he loosed the arrow which flew straight at the beast's chest just as it turned in his general direction. The arrow plunged deep into its heart and the werewolf stiffened, releasing a choked, gurgling whine and a spray of pink foam from its jaws, before pitching over backwards and laying motionless. Dromaeus smirked as he remembered the failure of his team to hunt the beast the previous night.
As he turned, however, he saw a dying man clutching his heart and howling in agony. As Dromaeus looked on, the man's arms began to grow in length, his face elongated, and his howl lowered in pitch and took on an eerie resonance. A roar from the rooftop caught his attention, and he spotted h badly scarred werewolf on the roof's edge, surveying the battlefield with a bestial intelligence. Dromaeus cursed as he realised what had happened.