Werewolf Siege: Plague Pots, Dark Magic & Trebuchet Attack (Episode 213)

The siege escalates into pure horror as plague-filled pots are hurled over castle walls by trebuchet, unleashing a deadly magical infection on all inside.

As a dark sorcerer’s weapon spreads disease, fire, and madness, the defenders scramble to survive—using faith, strategy, and desperation to resist annihilation.Meanwhile, the werewolf warrior faces an impossible choice:

stay hidden… or sacrifice himself to end the slaughter.Blending werewolf horror, medieval warfare, dark magic, and grimdark storytelling, this episode delivers both brutal action and dark humour—including a disastrous (and hilarious) attempt to command siege weapons.

Perfect for fans of:
– Werewolf stories & creature horror
– Dark fantasy & grimdark worlds
– Medieval siege battles
– Occult magic and plague horror⚔️ Episode 213 of Werewolf the Podcast

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Transcript

Intro

I thought you could mention the books and the 

(wee bit a banter between us.) 

Well, that went all flowery language and things'.

'What did?'

'The last episode.' 

'Oh Yeah. I really liked it. Bit of Shakespeare by our goodly Bard Percy'

'Bit of Shakespeare, I agree, but not William. It seemed like it was written by Keith Shakespeare, his much less able cousin.'

'Ouch.'

'It was good, but let's you know normal it up now.' 

'You can tell you're a writer. Normalling it up.' 

'Seems an illegitimate sentence to me.'

(Sigh)

The Brave Cock.

The evil and god-forsaken sorcerer has made his chemical brew. He has done the magic to harm those that slink behind those walls. The potion has been ladled into clay amphorae so that when they are flung beyond those walls, they will break and release their misery-inducing loads. 

The men who carry those plague-filled pots wear scarves around their noses and throats to stop the humours from affecting them. I have a bag of herbs. A silk bag of Lavender, rosemary and sage to hold to my nose to take away the pots offences.

The mercenary Captain stands in front of me. I hold my bag once more to my nose. His stench is even more noisome than the plague potion. He is disgusting and not one for a yearly bath. 

This... man is the infamous Captain Demos of Limassol. He has the sort of face that suggests that it had once lost a heated argument with a falling drawbridge. Yes, he had lost that fight, and judging by the damage done. He lost the rematch. 

You could say he had a 'lived-in' look if by 'lived-in' you meant 'routinely pillaged by passing armies and then redecorated by blind lepers with a grudge.' He was disgusting. 

He was missing an eye, an ear, and, according to some accounts, a sense of proportion. The eye had been claimed during a siege in Naples by a crossbow bolt fired by someone who later apologised quite profusely after discovering Demos was, technically speaking, on his side. If he is ever truly on anyone's side.

The ear I had heard- Hah, I show my wit there do I not- had been mislaid during a tavern brawl in Rhodes over a woman, a debt, and the precise pronunciation of the word "syphilitic" — in that order.

His remaining ear had heard so many languages shouted at it in anger that it had simply stopped trying to make sense of anything and developed a sort of internal shrug. That Cypriate disdain.

Captain Demos was a Cypriot born of sun, salt, and political instability. His homeland had been conquered more times than a tavern bar whore during a celebration, and he carried the cumulative cynicism of each regime like a particularly sarcastic coat of arms.

Despite all this, or possibly because of it, Demos commanded loyalty. Perhaps it was the sheer gravitational pull of his scars or the deep, unsettling way he smiled when he mentioned how long it had been since he'd had to use his 'good axe.'

In another life, he might have been a poet, or a tax collector, or a surprisingly violent wine merchant. But this life, being both shorter and significantly more pointy, had seen fit to make him a mercenary captain — the kind who knew precisely when to fight, when to run, and when to stab someone while running, probably in the back.

In short, Demos was a man you could trust to get you out of a hopeless battle — by ensuring you were the only one still standing to enjoy the view and you had a full purse.

This all said, he made me feel unmanly. I know it's a difficult thing to believe when I stand here in my silk finery, stockings, and makeup.

As he came to a halt before me. He sort of saluted, but even that was done in a sarcastic physical tone.

'Whata you wanta mea to do a?' He asked in his stupid Cypriate accent.

"Ah my good man. I want you to bwing fowth the... Twebuchets.' I said, putting my emphasis on the trebuchets.

The man looked at me. He held my gaze, but I saw that it now lacked focus, which gave me the idea that he did not understand the simple instructions.

He still stood there, standing there, still.

'I want you to bwing up the... Twebuchets.' I repeated the emphasis on the twebuchet again. 

He still held his stance. He was mocking me. I think.

'Are you mhocking me, for sirreth? If so, I will strikeff you.'

'I don't a know a sirreth. Sorry sir.'

"I wish you to bring fowth the twebuchets.'

' Erm.a.. I did a notta getta that, get the two a buckets? Why do we need buckets? The poison is in the jars.' He tried to explain.

'No, captain, we need to bring fowth the trebuwhets.'

The Captain now looked at me and scratched his head. Was he testing me in front of his men? Was he trying to make me the figure of fun? 

'Are you a being belligerent on purpose, you foolish man?' I asked him indignantly.

'Well, it's a coming up a to midday a, I think a.' He replied.

'I curse you... You... fool you. Go get the trebuchets to launch the pots.' I told the man I was much angered and peek-ed.

'Get a three a buckets to wash the a pots a?' Said the soldier.

'I give up! You are a fool.' I turned away from the man and spoke to Antzindepantz, the Necromancer.

'Can you make this plebian understand what I wish. My pronunciation is perfect, but he seems to not be able to grasp my meaning.' I asked him.

The dark wizard looked me up and down and nodded. 'I can speak some Cypriot Greek. Oh, noble one. It is part of my deep and secret learnerings.'

'Wight, Could you asthk the fooel to get the Twebuchets to fire fowth your potions.'

The hooded cowl nodded and walked to the Captain, who did a sign of the cross as he approached.

'Your a, master a, is telling you a, that you need a, to get two buckets of fire a, for your portions.' He told the confused Captain.

'No, no, no. You are both siwy men. That is not what I said.' I was angry.

The two of them faced each other and shrugged. 

'I... I.' I gave up on talking and pointed at the trebuchets, my body shaking with fury. It took a while for the men to relax, but eventually, they followed the finger and its point to the trebuchets.

There was a moment of consideration, and then the necromancer said. 'Oh, trebuchets. That's what you meant.'

I nodded. 'Yes, yes, twebuchets.' I laughed, 

The two men now looked at each other and reacted with a sense of understanding and relief. They laughed thestress now alleviated.

'Ah, okay a. Trebuchet a.' Said the Captain.

The necromancer nodded and smiled.

'I am most fuwiass.' I told them. 'You fowls will be paying a stiff pwice for this mockewy.' 

I walked over to the clay pots that were piled outside my tent. I got their attention.

'Attention!' I pointed at the jars and made a sign with my hands to show them flying, then pointed at the castle.

'Does he a, want a us a, to a give the enemy a the trebuchets?' The Captain asked the dark wizard.

'No, I don't a think a so. I think he wants us to a, fire the pots a, over the wall with the trebuchets.' Said the wizard.

'Yeth, yeth you fools.' I told them. How stupid could two people be? 

They raised their thumbs in a most barbaric manner of understanding. 

William Marshal.

One of the benefits of having an independent Wolf soul such as Fenrir as your friend is that you can use him as a sneaky listener and scout. He was now sat at the edge of the above conversation between Captain, Cock and Conjurer.

I was sat with my Lord de Tancerville, Percy, Welly and Gervais in his private room, where I informed him of what had been said. Obviously, I removed the humour of the conversation as, at this time, the Lord would not appreciate such, but I would be storing this story for a future time with my fellows.

'Ah, they mean to send us pots of plague-ridden potion over the walls, sir. They mean to cause us to suffer from disease and pestilence to drive us from this place.' I told him. 'The Count and the Cock are using dark magic.'

The Lorde de Tancerville looked at me with all seriousness. I could see the stress in his face.

'We have an issue, William.' He said, leaning upon an elbow and rubbing his face and eyes, much weary he was.

'A messenger pigeon arrived from the army in the North. It was a ruse. The is no war going on against Flanders. It seems that the new Count de Perigod...'

'Direct descendant of Charlemagne.' Said Gervais to try to lighten the mood.

The look given by the Lord to Gervais was a perfect reply. It had a notable "shut the fuck uppidness" to it.

Gervais could not hold that stare.

'How many days before the support column arrives?' I asked de Tancerville.

'They are on the march and will send ahead mounted soldiers, but the column will take a few days to arrive.'

'Right ho then.' I replied.

'Himm! That is a long time to hold them off, it is.' 

'I am aware of this.' Said the Lord. 

'Right then, and what is our method for dealing with the situation that we are in?' He asked me. 

'I am not sure to be one hundred per cent truthful. I could become my other and attack the camp once more.' I suggested.

'No, Wil. That demon is not for the daylight. If you are seen in that form by Christian men, then we will have problems with our Bishop and the church. I can not risk that. Even if we are all to die, then at least our souls will be judged for the better.' He said bitterly.

I then had to admit the truth.

'I think I may have caused this reaction in my manner of dealing with the count and the cockerel.' I admitted. 

Percy smirked and got death stares from all of us there. 

'Oh, and how would that have come about?' The Lord asked.

I rubbed my bristly chin and smiled at the man. I did not know if telling him this information would get me his ire or his congratulations. I hoped for the congratulations.

'He told them to... How was it, Willaim?' Said Gervais, revelling in his moment of embarrassing me. 

'Ah, that was it. "Fuck Off!" Such beautiful and precise word choice there.' He laughed.

The Lord placed his head in his hands. 'You did what William?'

'Well, I thought they were coming to surrender or to tell us that they are breaking their siege.' I paused.

'Go on.' Tancerville said.

'Well, after my last night's work, sir, it angered me that they would carry on their threats. I did not think that they actually could carry any of them out.' I told him.

'For goodness sake, Wil.' Said de Tancerville. 'Remind me to do my own negotiations in future. You are a man of war, not a man of words. Oh, don't get me wrong, those are fine words, but just not in this context.'

Gervais was obviously disappointed at my Lord's response, so he thought he would push a little harder to get me in the shitty mire.

'Maybe we can stop them by giving them Williams head. It is not like he is using it, is he?' He said. He, for once, was not drinking, which I found confusing, but other matters were much more pressing at this time. His witticism was thankfully ignored.

'So we know that they are going to send over this stuff. We know that the pots contain poison, evil and death. We know we have no way to stop them hitting, so what do we do?'

Gervais, the normally drunk, got to his feet in a very serious and sober manner.

'I think that the answer, my Lord, is to get as many people under cover. I would choose the church house. That would protect them both spiritually and physically. It has a slate roof and stone walls, in case they were to send fire.' Gervais put a foot up on a wooden chair and leaned on his knee, speaking to us quite conspiratorially.

'Go on.' The Lord was engaged and nodded his approval at his words. 

Gervais looked at me, and I nodded mine, too.

'We could give our men protective scarves around the mouths and noses. We could keep those scarves wet with holy water. That might help, might it not. I mean, if they are using dark pagan magic. We could also have the people blessed by the Bishop.' Gervais Laughed.

'Wow, being sobre allows me to think.' He said smiling.

'We also could pray. I don't like to bother the Lord up there often, but in this case, I think it may do us some good.' Outlined Gervais.

'What will you do or offer Percy?' The Lord de Tancerville asked, turning to the man.

Percy was shaken out of his tauper. He pointed a finger to his chest, his mouth falling open.

'What me, my Lord?' Percy asked, confused.

'Yes, Percy. Brave Sir Percy Duke of Northumberland should not be left from this skirmish, should he?' 

'Erm... I, my Lord. Erm... I can offer to defend the women and children in the church.' offered Percy.

Gervais laughed in response. 

'Thank you, Percy. That will settle my mind when the trouble begins. Knowing that our finest is protecting our weakest heartens me.' Gervais looked at me and mouthed. 'What the Fuck.' Silently so only I could see. 

Then, he spoke himself.

'Aye, Percy, it will settle my mind also.' Agreed, Gervais, his response dripping with sarcasm as he turned away, a little annoyed.

Percy seemed to calm down and accept that all was okay.

'Do you know what?' Said Gervais, turning towards the table. 

'I was going to try to do this fight sober. But now I need a drink to settle my mind properly. I must remember that every day I spend with you, Wil is probably the last day of my life. I will not go to hell lucid. Welly, pass me the jar.'

Within the next hour, the castle was set. As set as we could possibly be. Water barrels from the well were stored in the Cellar of the keep. Livestock and people were hidden away. When the plague rained down, it would find it difficult to find any victims. 

Gervais and I stood on the walls overlooking the camp of the Count. The trebuchets were being loaded with pots. The Count's famous herald, The brave cock was making an inspirational speech of sorts to the soldiery. The black-cloaked figure of the necromancer was at the forefront, moving his hands and arms as though weaving evil magic. 

'I hope he's better at the dark magic than the dancing, eh Wil. He is a shit dancer.' He said.

'I would love to attack and kill that man. I should be a wolf man and be in that camp now. Killing cock, Count and magician.'

'You know that is not a possibility,' Slurred the now-drunk Gervais.

'If the Bishop sees what you really are, then Tancerville and yourself will be cast from the mother church. That would not be good for either of your souls. Excommunication might be the final action for your soul to be condemned to hell.' He laughed.

'Although how you unearn that right, already, I do not know.'

The cock now turned towards us on the wall and took his short sword from his scabbard on his hip. He lifted it above his head and rambled something before dropping his sword. The two giant siege machines were unleashed, and as if in slow motion, the weighted arm moved, letting fly a large number of pots. 

We watched them now as they came towards us and then sailed over our heads and into the courtyards, exploding on contact with buildings and the ground. 

Green haze. No smoke, no fugue spread from the impacts, and the centre of the castle was lost to our sight. There seemed to be a silence for a moment. It was an evil silence as the bitter haze spread.

We turned back to the camp of the counts and saw the trebuchets being rewound for another release.

Behind us in the castle, we heard screams and the baleful lowing of cattle. Our attempt to hide our people and our creatures must have failed. We couldn't see, but we could hear. Innocent animals and people are dying. 

Again, we heard the thunder of the trebuchets, and once more, we saw a barrage of black dots as they flew towards our home. We watched them pass and fall.

The castle was now completely obscured to us. Green flames were rising into the sky. We could feel the heat at this distance. Something was on fire, not only with natural fire but... A fire that was burning stone! What magic was this? More screams and sounds of people hurting rose to my ears. I shook my head, my mind whirring.

I couldn't let this go on; I had to do something. 

'Fuck this.' I told Gervais

Gervais turned to look at me.

'What William.' 

'Fuck this.' I told him grimly.

'I will end this.' I continued.

'You can't, Wil...'

'No, not by the way of the wolf. I will give the Count what he wants.' I told Gervais.

'and that is?' He asked.

'I am going to give him me.'

'William, no.' he replied.

'Gervais, yes. Now, help me or hinder me, but I will walk to that camp and surrender and allow them to do what they wish with me.'