This is chapter one of what I'm affectionately calling my isekai story. As you can probably tell from the title, I'm poking a bit of fun at the sort of lite novels that have insanely long titles. This is one that I'm genuinely in love with for a lot of reasons. Trevor is a fun character to write, of course, but River Blossom is the one that I almost literally squee every time I get to work with her.

I Was a College Professor Reincarnated as a Wolf King?!

Chapter 1

By StripedKittyScribe

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Trevor Gates was just an old college professor that was facing retirement down with a scowl. When he's unexpectedly killed, otherworldly beings take his soul and bring it into a new world so that he can end centuries of stagnation. Unfortunately for him, this involves not just a new culture, but a new species, and not all of the aspects of either sit well with him.

This story will contain sexual acts, including dubious/non-consentual, homosexual, and themes of domination/submission, as well as violence and death. The medieval world that Trevor finds himself in is not kind in many respects. If you are not of legal age to consume adult material, do not proceed.

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Trevor blinked. ... No. He didn't blink. For some reason he couldn't actually feel his eyelids shut. The effect was the same as expected; a temporary blacking out of vision. But he couldn't feel his eyes actually shut, and he was an old man. He felt everything.

_ Welcome. _

He turned to face the voices. Only he didn't. His view just shifted. Like one of those games his students played, where the camera just rotates where you move the controls to. He couldn't feel his neck or head turning.

Trevor; Stamford University, College of History

"Professor, does that mean that progress is necessarily slow because of all of the interconnected parts that need to be in place in history? Sure, the idea of measuring small things was around ever since humans were numerate, but it took precision parts for Gascoigne to make the micrometer."

Trevor smiled, and clapped his hands, "Excellent question, Mizz Garcia. Excellent. Well done." God damn but he hurt and was sore. His arthritis was particularly bad today, but even without that, his everything hurt. His doctor kept telling him that his hair couldn't hurt, but Trevor wanted to have another look at that medical license. He was leaning on his lectern with his elbows propped, and the motion of clapping took effort. But Trevor had always praised his students openly and enthusiastically when they asked questions that showed they were thinking.

If only it didn't hurt so damn much. He hated to say it, but he was getting too old for this shit. The cane that he toddled around with was laying against the lectern, a custom-molded thing that was a gift from one of his graduate students. He'd wanted to brain the punk with his own gift, but, it had been thoughtful, and it was so much better than what he'd been using. He braced his hands back onto the rostrum and said, "The answer is both yes and no. It's not slow by requirement, but it is slow because not everyone can make everything they need. That's something critical. You, y'damn bastards," he croaked, getting a laugh. Everyone loved the crotchety old professor act, even if some days it was less of an act than others. "You all need to remember this. Grind it into your heads, paint it on your eyelids; everyone needs something that they don't even know about to get something they want. Gascoigne needed precision screws. Watt needed better cylinders for his pumps. They needed something, and someone else solved that problem, but for a totally different application."

He was about to say something else, when the timer on his laptop screen started flashing. "Alright, alright, I think that I've shoved everything I'm going to get in your heads before they pop, and I have a tea date with Dean Wilson this afternoon and I have to go polish my chess set so I can properly get my fifteenth loss of the year in. Don't forget that we're going over the effects of standardization of interchangeable parts on Monday, which means you need to read Chapter 3 and come prepared to use that crap in your head besides taking up space between your ears!" He fumbled with the screen of the laptop, shutting it, and then tugged at the power cable to get it free. One of the students came up, and started asking him a question about the paper that was due in two weeks. Trevor pretended not to notice the deft way the young man packed the laptop off the lectern and slipped it into his briefcase along with the ergonomic mouse.

They really were good kids. It just pissed him off that he couldn't do things like that for himself any more. At least, not without taking a lot more time and care. He answered the question, and then looked at the four mile walk from the podium to the door. There must have been a flicker of something on his face, because the student just started to carry his bag and walk with him toward the office. If he hadn't been breathing badly in the first place (damn allergies) he would have been obviously panting by the time that he got the twenty feet to the door. Out in the hallway, he started to make his way through the students that were milling and weaving through each other.

The young man who was walking with him was the kind of student who was earnest, and quiet, and while he wasn't as openly brilliant in terms of pure thinking power or creativity, he had an uncanny sense of perspective, and the ability to pull back from a problem rather than focus in on it. Some of the engineering problems he'd worked on last semester were just elegant in a way that Trevor couldn't help but admire. Yeah, whatever those idiots in the press said, these kids were going to be alright. If the world didn't get blown up before they took over. The question being posed was somewhat complicated, and Trevor realized that while the young man was doing him a kindness in carrying the bag, it wasn't purely out of charity.

He was about to start to answer when he heard a bellow of testosterone-fueled rage, stopping to turn around and look for the source of it. "Oh, god damn it," he growled, turning away from his office door and toward the stairwell. By the time that he was able to get through the knot of students who were suddenly packed in to see the drama, he was able to determine most of what was going on.

One of the young ladies had apparently been propositioned in some manner by someone who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. While he had been willing to bet that it was one of the jocks at first, when he finally wormed through the last pair of people blocking his path, he saw that it was so much worse.

Charles Whitmore, II. AKA "C2". Command and Control. Trevor had been on enough military-adjacent projects to know that one. Charlie-boy was about as mean, spoiled, and vile as any human being Trevor had ever met. Scion of one of the least reputable military contractors that existed, and with all that blood money to back it up. There was little doubt what this was over.

Someone had put together a list of creeps that wouldn't stop until they'd gotten their dicks wet in something hot and tight, and wouldn't you know it, C2 was only one name down from the top of the list. It was anonymous. C2 had been brought in at least once that Trevor knew of in connection with a sexual assault matter. If C2 weren't involved, Trever would eat his desk from the bottom up.

Trevor moved in, waving his arm over his head, and by some miracle, he didn't have to cough or wheeze as he roared, "Enough!" He pointed a bony finger at the young 'man'. "Back off." He then turned to look at the young lady, who looked like she was breathing hard, tensed for a fight, but wasn't hurt. Her phone was out, and she was already filming. Good girl. Smart. "Young lady, are y..."

"That fuckin' lyin' little cunt slapped me!" C2 held his arms wide, turning to the crowd. "You all saw it!"

The girl was practically vibrating, but she managed to get out, "You put your hands on me. I told you to let go and you didn't. You have no evidence that I've lied about anything, let alone you."

This time, Trevor's voice wasn't up to the challenge. "Enough," he called out once more but the squabbling was louder than he was.

C2 was advancing, finger shoved forward.

The young woman was standing her ground. Good for her.

Demands were flying all over the place. Turn that fucking camera off. Stay away from me. Give me the fucking phone. C2 calm down. Trevor wasn't even sure who was saying what, and he had to brace one hand on the stair's railing while he pointed with his other hand at a student he recognized. "Call campus police. Now." He pointed at someone else. "Go get Dean Wilson." He then put his cane back down and started forward, trying to interpose himself between the brave young woman and the idiot. By this point, C2 had two of his cronies on him, each one struggling to restrain the much larger man. God damned bullies. Never surround themselves with anyone as capable as they are, always have to be the bigger something than everyone else in the room.

What happened next was a blur. The young woman was slowly backing away, still filming, declaring that she was not interested in anything that he had to say or offer. Someone called out that the cops were on their way. That put C2 into a near frenzy, and he heaved forward, knocking one of his companions loose. His outstretched hand shoved past Trevor's face and clipped his shoulder. Trevor overbalanced. He fell down the stairs.

Something snapped.

All of a sudden, everything below his neck didn't hurt. That was strange. Someone was screaming. A lot of people were screaming. They needed to quiet down. Didn't they know this was a school? There were a lot of faces looking down at him, one of them was holding his head. She was saying something about an ambulance. Trevor blinked. "Tell Dean Wilson I think I'm going to be late," he managed to get out.

Trevor; Unknown and Undefined Space

His vision rocked slightly as the memory came back to him. There were four... things in front of him.

He will have been found guilty of manslaughter. During the trial, evidence will have been presented that he committed nearly a score of drug-assisted rapes. His lawyers will have been unable to sway the jury or judge for any semblance of leniency. His family will have gone bankrupt defending him. Does this information please you?

The words weren't exactly spoken. They were simply there. The information was just not in his mind one instant, and then it was. He wanted to shake his head to clear it, but he felt like he didn't have any weight. Or to be more precise, he didn't have any mass. "Yes," was all he said. Without a mouth. Somehow.

you do not have any hint of vengeance in you as you say this why do you say that you are pleased if this is not for your own sake

They weren't the same being, and he wasn't clear which was which. They didn't pulse with a light when one of them communicated. "He killed me, but he violated all of those young women. He's a rabid dog. Not a huge fan of the death penalty but I wouldn't cry if he got the needle." He seemed to realize what he just said, and thought over it again. He, C2, killed me, Trevor. "I'm dead." He started to laugh. And cry.

You are a strange being, Trevor Jonathan Gates. You are laughing. And yet you are not happy. And yet you declare that you are pleased. And yet you weep. Explain.

It took some amount of time for Trevor to come back to a sense of being in control of himself. "I don't really know where to start. I'm dead. I'm talking to whatever you all are. I've been agnostic at best since I was a boy. So the idea that I'm suddenly confronted with supernatural beings, and that I was both right and wrong is just too good to pass up. I note a distinct lack of pearly gates. So is this heaven, or hell?"

NEITHER, TREVOR JONATHAN GATES. WE ARE NOT OF YOUR WORLD. NONE OF YOUR CURRENT UNDERSTANDING EXPLAINS WHAT WE ARE AND WE DARE NOT RISK YOU BY REVEALING ALL. YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED TO BE GIVEN MORE.

Well that explained just about nothing. He was about to say something when an object materialized in front of him. It just faded in, like it had been obscured by mist that melted in the sunlight. "A prize wheel?!" It was covered in odd glyphs. Nothing he'd ever seen before. It looked almost like claw marks on wood, but was far too regular to be a random animal scratch. Philology and linguistics weren't in his wheelhouse, but he'd bet anything that this was some form of an alphabet. To him, it looked almost like a crude form of Norse runes, with lines jutting up or down in combinations from a central horizontal line.

my gift to you trevor jonathan gates is a new form in a new world you will have time restored to you

The wheel started to spin, before he was able to put anything like a key to this puzzle together, and finally landed on one of the sections. He couldn't help but chuckle. They even had the little clacking pointer hanging from a peg at the top so that there was never a question of if the selection was one section or the other. Trevor's mind hadn't ever dulled. His body may have started to disintegrate, but he'd remained sharp his whole life. The construction was crude. Not in terms of craftsmanship; it was balanced perfectly. Not even a hint of warping or draedling, and that never happened without industrial construction. But there weren't any screws. Just pegs. At least, not any screws that he could see. There could be some hidden behind plates or pegs, but if that were the case, the central axis was too thick. He'd have to do the math but he suspected that it was big enough that the wood itself supported the weight of the wheel without any kind of metal reinforcement. Odd.

It landed on a particular set of runes, and while he didn't recognize the word, he did see it repeated several times around the wheel. Again, he'd have to count and do some math, but just at a glance, there were somewhere between 20 or 30 distinct glyph sets, and some were repeated more frequently than others. He could imagine all kinds of possibilities for what this would be, and baseless speculation would get him nowhere.

your form is chosen

The wheel shifted, and while he wasn't able to read this foreign script, he'd seen enough Chinese and Japanese numbers to recognize a counting system when he saw it. One horizontal slash, then two, then three, then a 'backslash'. Three 'backslashes' then a forward slash. Three forward slashes then a vertical. Three verticals then a box. A quaternary counting system. That would take some getting used to. It spun, and when it landed, the clacker stopped on three horizontal slashes, one backslash, three forward slashes.

He felt a flash of frustration as he wanted to scratch his head as he did the math. 55?

your time is restored

Then the presence simply vanished along with the wheel.

MY GIFT TO YOU TREVOR JONATHAN GATES IS POWER AND VIGOR ABOVE WHAT MORTALS SHOULD POSSESS. GO AND BRING GLORY TO YOUR NEW HOME.

Another presence vanished. Trevor didn't feel any better. Or worse. Or anything. He still felt as empty as he possibly could.

My gift to you is access to all of your knowledge and the language of your new home. You shall never forget.

Well that was a mixed blessing, at best. There were all sorts of things that he would doubtless want to forget in the future, as well as several things in his past. Like his broken neck. Not that he could complain as another one vanished, leaving just one presence beside his own.

My gift to you, Trevor Jonathan Gates, is the power to grow.

If he could have sat down hard, that would have made him. The presence vanished. So did his perception.

Sir Javeth; Javeth Point Keep, War Room

"Sir Javeth! A moment of your time, I beg!" Sir Javeth looked up from the table he was examining, a map of the region spread out before him. That morning, the messenger that he'd been expecting from Baron Teers had arrived with instructions for the canine's yearly military campaign against the equid scum. The target hadn't surprised him, the previous year the damn Clops had come through in greater numbers than anticipated, and while his battle had gone well, several others had not. This time, the Baron's instructions from his lord had been to join for a thrust to reclaim territory. It was far north of where Javeth normally operated, and he was busy studying the terrain. The keep was as busy as it could be, runners scurrying around and preparations being made to send out messengers to all of Javeth's holdings to muster soldiers for training and then to march north by mid summer.

The intruder was his monk, and Sir Javeth scowled at the fat, useless cleric. His powers were so weak that he could barely mend a broken limb, let alone a slash from a sword. "I am busy, monk. I care not if the signs are ill or good, doubtless you are simply unable to read them correctly." He looked back down at the table, and was determined to keep going with his plans for the march.

The monk stayed in the room and practically moaned, "The gods have sent a Chosen one."

That snapped his head up. This was horrible news. "Which god?"

Greeble's fingers started twisting themselves into knots, and at first Sir Javeth thought that it was some mixture of holy signs that he'd never paid attention to. But no, it was just Monk Greeble's nervousness at delivering such bad news to someone with a famously bad temper. "That is the strange part, My Lord," he almost whimpered. "Different portions of all four gods were indicated."

Sir Javeth groaned, and waved him away, "Begone, speak your nonsense elsewhere. I have no time for you."

"My Lord, the signs are still lit. They will be so for the rest of the day. Come, see for yourself."

Sir Javeth clutched at his own sacred symbol, a circle with the swords of war, the dice of luck, and the holy light of healing. If this fat fool was tricking him or reading the signs wrong, law and tradition be damned, he would flog the monk himself. "Show me," was all the knight growled, and he followed the monk through his keep. The chapel was in the keep, of course, and it took a hand of moments to get there.

Inside, the sacred spaces for the four gods were set in their own quadrants of the sacred circle. Yyvash, the warrior, was the most visited section of this chapel, and Sir Javeth turned to kneel and bow to his patron god. Touching his forehead to the stone of the altar, he then stood and saw. The sacred symbol had been only partly illuminated. Luck and Healing. Damn. Not even the most critical portion had been lit. The one that Sir Javeth needed. The sword.

He turned and saw that something similar was on all of the other symbols over the alters. Shan, the lawgiver, was next in the circle to the north, and her symbol showed the portions for law, and love. Again, the two most useless symbols.

Rumesh, the farmer, showed agriculture and corruption. Finally, something he could use, though he'd have preferred weather over corruption.

Genta, the mage, showed chaos and trickery. He practically spat. The Chosen wasn't even a mage.

Monk Greeble stammered something, starting what sounded like four different words until he settled on, "My Lord, this has never happened! Not once! I must send word to Abbot Teers. You must prepare a rider. The law dictates..."

"I know what the law dictates, Greeble. Doubtless you know that they already are aware of a new Chosen, and all I need to do is tell them that it lies within my lands."

"But, my lord, they may not know! Such a sign has never been seen. It may be that this is false, or that the gods have..."

"No, Greeble, this is nothing new. Send the rider to Teers, tell Baron Teers that we are still searching for the Chosen and will let him know when we find them. Until then, say nothing else. Not one damn thing to the Abbot. I will not have you starting a panic over something until we know more. You MAY tell the rider to ask to see the signs. He should arrive just in time to catch them if he rides hard." Sir Javeth stormed out of the chapel and bellowed, "Ready my mount and armor, and prepare two days worth of food. It could be anywhere from Shield Rock to Distal Bend. Send word the moment that any of the lookouts spots something strange. Doubtless the serfs will celebrate their new friend, and we shall see where he is tonight."

Trevor; Distal Bend, Sheriff's House

Trevor blinked, and sat up. "Does that mean no one else can grow?" He was laying down on his back, in the middle of a strange... magic circle. Seriously, he'd seen some of his students wearing shirts with some animated thing and a kid with a metal arm, this looked a lot like that, from what he could see past his nose.

He could see his nose.

His nose wasn't his nose any more. He crossed his eyes, and couldn't quite process what he was seeing. He gulped. That felt wrong. There was way too much tongue there. Trevor closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I'm going to put my hands in front of my face. I'm going to open my eyes. And I'm going to be in a hospital bed, with more tubes coming out of me than central London," he thought to himself.

He opened his eyes, and his hands weren't his hands. They were covered in dark silver fur. He was missing a finger on both hands. Only three digits and a thumb. He ran his hands up along his arms, and he felt hard muscle there. The kind that he hadn't packed on since his days in the SeaBees. He wouldn't be putting Lou Ferigno to shame, but he wouldn't get sand kicked in his face on the beach either.

He looked down, and saw that he was covered in fur there, too. Fur, and nothing else. "Oh, shit," he groaned, and started to look around the room for a mirror or something. He knew there was no water.

Wait. HOW did he know there was no water? He couldn't smell any. He started to breathe hard. No, he started to pant. Muzzle. Yes. Muzzle. Muzzle open, tongue extended.

"I'm a rrrrgrrrrRRrr." He shook his head. The word was werewolf. Say it. "rrrrgrrrrRRrr."

That just made no sense. "I'm a man. I'm a wolf. I'm a rrrrgrrrrRRrr." There was no word for 'werewolf' in this new language. Ok. Was that a lack of Olde English, a lack of concepts, or the concepts just didn't combine that way?

He was about to start trying other things, when the door opened, and someone's head poked through. Reflexively, his hands darted to his crotch, covering his... sheath. And balls. It did take both hands, and not because his equipment was that much larger, as much as they were more spread out, somehow. He hoped that he could walk without falling all over his tail.

The female wolf's face brightened, and she said, "Oh, the gods have blessed us, finally!" She bustled into the room, walking upright, wearing what looked like a peasant's skirt and blouse. Her own fur was a lighter silver-gray, and her eyes were somewhere between yellow and brown. Almost gold, but not quite. She was exactly what he would have thought of if he'd been told to imagine a 'wolf-girl', complete with pointed ears, a dark nose and a muzzle. "Please, my lord," she said as she dropped to her knees. "My name is River Blossom. You are most welcome here. It will be our pleasure to serve you in any way you wish."

Something about her put his hackles up, and not like preparing for a fight. She smelled wonderful. She smelled sweet and fresh and young and fertile and her tail was wagging higher than it would be if he were just a friend or a friendly face. She pointedly let her eyes drift to where his hands were, and after a dart of her tongue, she whispered, "Anything that you want, I shall provide."

He was drooling. Every urge in his body demanded that he pounce and pin her to the floor. She wanted it. Hell, HE wanted it. He was an 86 year old man, or he used to be. He hadn't wanted to rut a bitch like this since... ever.

He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and started forcing himself to breathe through his mouth. It didn't help. He'd hoped that not smelling her would relieve some of the tension. He couldn't smell her. But he could taste her on the air. "River Blossom. You are very beautiful." He almost had to cough the words out. "I need to know what is going on. I am old enough to not just be your father, I could be your father's father's father. Perhaps even his."

That just spiked her desire, for some reason. She ran her hands along his shoulders, and he could feel her leaning forward, putting her frame almost on top of his.

Her tits were right there. Grab them. GRAB THEM, his need was practically screaming through his veins, and he bit his own tongue. Hard. Hard enough that he drew blood. "River Blossom, please," was all he got out, and she was on top of him, whining and nipping at his neck and shoulders. He felt her curves press into his chest, and her hands tugging his away so that she could stroke him.

Trevor had never wanted sex. Companionship. Friends. But never sex. Not with men or women. It made him an outcast among his peers when he was in the Navy, not going with the other sailors to the brothels or clubs. It had made his life hard, up to the point that the world simply expected that he was too old to perform, and it stopped being such an issue.

His lack of ardor had meant that he was able to focus on his career, and his studies. He made Chief within 8 years, thanks to the Vietnam war. He made Master Chief after another 6. He finished his 20 years, and went into the universities, and never looked back. He'd been perfectly content to make friends, and study in his field. The few dates that he went on were awkward, because the woman wanted or expected something that he didn't.

Now he did. Depending who you asked, and what their standards were, he still was a virgin. Not because he'd only been partially naughty with some woman back on Earth. Because the instant that River Blossom touched his cock, he erupted. Her hand was so soft and had that intoxicating mixture of tenderness and urgency. She probably hadn't meant for him to burst like that. She'd probably been aiming to get him inside of her. But he just went off.

He'd never felt anything so purely amazing in his life. Every nerve was singing in pleasure. His vision went white for a moment, and it wasn't because something got in his eye. His head fell back on his shoulders, and he groaned as what felt like years of pent up need just... went everywhere. Him. The floor. Her.

She started, possibly shocked at the fact that he hadn't even gotten inside. Possibly upset that he had just gotten her clothes dirty. When his vision cleared, he looked at her, and she had a strange little smile on her face. "As you wish, Master."

"Uh." That was all he could think to say.

"It will be my pleasure to be yours. Truly." With that, she leaned forward and quickly licked his jaw. It was an odd sensation, since his jaw was so much longer. Somehow he knew that it was a chaste kiss. Or at least if not exactly 'chaste', perhaps 'sweet' was better. Affectionate.

"I will go and notify the sheriff of your arrival and your decision, Master." She smoothly lifted up, and almost proudly displayed herself and what he'd spattered on her. God, it really had gone everywhere. There were dark streaks in her blouse that were exceptionally conspicuous. Especially lower down. It couldn't look like anything other than what it had been. Doubtless if they were all wolves, it would smell like exactly what it was. She turned and strutted out, as if she were the happiest woman in the world

"What decision," he called. After she didn't answer, he bellowed, "At least bring me some clothes! Or a towel, or something!" He heard her pause in the hallway, and then scurry back, ears folded in embarrassment. She had a kilt in one hand, piled on a shirt and a towel on top after setting it on the floor. "Forgive me, Master," she said, as she set them on the ground by him.

"It's Trevor," he said, grabbing at the towel to wrap around his hips. She reached out of the door to get a basin of water, and then set it on the ground. She bowed, and turned once more to leave. "Of course, Master Trevor." This time, she really was gone.

Growling to himself, he dabbed the water in the basin and started wiping the mess off of himself, and then the floor. The kilt was simple enough to figure out, tied in the back with a small vent for his tail to fit through. The shirt was a simple pull-over shirt. Too tight across the chest and shoulders. A little on the short side, but not too bad. No buttons, just a laced bit around the upper portion of his chest that he left open. Certainly nothing to complain about since he literally showed up naked and hadn't paid for this.

No shoes, but he wouldn't complain about that either. He knew good and well that boots and footwear were expensive, and leather was a necessary commodity for many other things in a low-tech society. While he hadn't explored fully, he knew an all-wooden framed building when he saw one. He looked up into the corners and nodded to himself. Wood pegs. Probably a box frame. No curved pieces. Not very large in the least. The room was barely 8 feet squared, if that.

"Which puts me anywhere from pre-bronze age to late middle ages," he said with a sigh. "Well. That narrows it down." He couldn't make any kind of guess about anything else, not even based on clothes. He opened the door and squeezed through it to start making his way out into this strange new world. He didn't have any trouble balancing, and it took him a minute to recognize that his tail was rather naturally following him around and not knocking into things. Which was when it started to not behave, and he knocked it against the stairwell, making him wince. It was a narrow and steep set of steps, but it felt natural.

Right up to the point that he knocked his head against the landing, and cursed, sitting down on the steps. On his tail. Which made him yelp, and stand back up. Into the goddamned ceiling! He fell down the last few stairs, landing on his arms, thankfully sparing his muzzle from an impact. He curled up and whined, one hand on his head, the other on his tail, which had curled between his legs.

He heard a few people coming in, and wanted to snap at them to go away and not look at the clumsy oaf that he was, but he managed to get his temper under control. That was odd. He'd never really been all that hot-headed. He'd always had a very long fuse, and usually managed to calm down before something blew. Sure, he'd had flashes of annoyance, but never in the last 30 years had he come even close to yelling at someone for a personal affront.

He slowly uncurled himself, and a few people gasped, and he managed to work out, "By the gods, he's a big one," among the whispered statements. Pushing himself up to his feet, he slowly stood, making sure that he wouldn't hit his head again. He didn't, but he could feel his ears brushing the floor above him. He could see that there was a reason that his shirt was so tight. Scale was going to be something he had to figure out, and quickly. He looked down at everyone, and not by a little bit. If he was six feet tall, they were somewhere between four and five, even the males. Which was when he realized that it wasn't a kilt. It was supposed to be a skirt that went to his lower calves, like the women wore. It covered his knees. Barely. A quick check told him that he hadn't hitched it too high up on his waist, either. It was riding 'where it should', compared to the other males. His ears flicked back, embarrassed. "Hello," he finally said, and everyone present bowed to him.

So he bowed back. Which made a few people gasp out in shock.

"My lord," an older wolf said, his muzzle and head more gray than anything else. "Please. Welcome to our humble village. You are," the old wolf said, trailing off as he tried to find words. "Long awaited," he said finally, and motioned toward the door. "Perhaps we should go outside, you may be more comfortable out there." Trevor nodded his ascent, and then held his arms, trying to usher people out in front of him. Instead, they made a path, and he reluctantly led the way. While he wasn't going to form fast conclusions about sociology, this worried him almost as much as the 'my lord' comment.

Most people thought that was simply a polite way of addressing someone in the olden days. In most hierarchical societies, though, it held legal implications. Implications that Trevor was not pleased with. Especially if they were true. He had to stoop to get out of the building, even going so far as to turn his shoulders to easily fit through the frame. "I feel like I'm being born," he muttered to himself as he stood to his full height, and then almost backed into the house in shock. His tail saved him, telling him that there were people back there that he'd run into so he just froze.

There were nearly a hundred people present, counting the ones inside. When the rest of the people who were in the house finished coming out of the structure, he looked for the sheriff, and asked, "Is this everyone in the village?"

The old man nodded. That told Trevor that this was about a normal sized village for agriculturalists. Everyone would work almost completely to either farm, hunt, or support those who did. There wasn't even a long house or communal hall.

Which made him freeze. He hadn't known that. He hadn't known that at all. His area of specialty was the transition from late middle ages into the renaissance, the age of science. He had enough familiarity with developments in agriculture to be conversant, but he didn't just have that information at the ready. Someone started to ask a question, and he held a hand up. He had to think.

What day did the Battle of Agincourt happen? October 25, 1415 AD. He hadn't known that. Not to that degree of certainty either. He knew it was St. Crispin's day, thanks to Shakespeare. But if he'd been asked without any reference, he'd have guessed about a hundred years earlier, and some time in spring or summer, not that late in the year.

He started asking himself other questions, and the more that he asked, the more that he knew. And he simply knew it. Things that he wouldn't have even thought about knowing, he suddenly did. His eyes started to go wide. "Quickly," he said to the mayor. "Name an ancient battle."

Everyone was staring at him in confusion as their guest clearly looked like a lunatic. The mayor said, "What? Oh. Um. The Battle of the Eight Dukes is famous and ancient." He was about to say more when Trevor waved it off and shushed him. When was the Battle of the Eight Dukes fought?

He had no idea. Which meant that he knew things from Earth and not here. Which would be frustrating as he learned, but then again, he would never forget. At least according to whoever it was that gave him that gift. A broad smile started to cross his face. "By grgrgr," he said, and then blinked. Jove. He'd... oh. Jupiter didn't exist here. He'd attempted to be amusing, and failed.

Trevor looked around, and said, "I am grateful that you have been so kind to me." He turned and raised his voice just a touch, addressing the crowd. "You have all been kind in giving me things without payment, and I can see that you are eager to learn what I am doing here." That made most heads tilt in confusion. Which made him pause. They already knew what he was doing here.

Well that would be nice for him to know, because he still had no idea what was going to happen nor what was expected of him.

The sheriff gave a bark of laughter, calculated to carry just right. "You are quite right, my lord. We are eager to learn what you will do for our village. But we have things that we must address. Come, let us walk and discuss. Everyone, we will have a feast tonight!" That got a cheer. "Please see to the preparations." He fluttered a hand, and almost everyone got into motion, rushing to get things in order.

Trevor looked at the sky, finding the sun quickly. He took a measurement with his hands, and then stopped halfway through. He had no idea if that would even work here.

"My... lord?" The sheriff was motioning toward the forest, along a well worn path. "What are you doing?"

Trevor looked at him and then back toward the sun. "Trying to find out what time it is," he admitted.

The sheriff looked at the sky. "Mid morning."

Trevor almost asked him to be more specific, and then realized that he couldn't reasonably do that. Time hadn't really been quantified until fairly late in history. Sundials were around, but they typically functioned in terms of "about" this time or that, not to the minute like moderns were used to.

That information did tell him something though. East and west, north and south. He had no real measurements to go off of, so he couldn't tell if he was rotating about the same rate. Or how far north or south on the globe he was. He held his head, struggling with all of the thoughts racing around. He had no measurements. He had no idea what the atmospheric pressure here was. He had no idea if the atmosphere was even the same mixture or heavier or lighter.

"Forgive me," he said as he shook it off, and motioned for the sheriff to lead on. "I am overwhelmed at all of this."

The old man nodded. "From what I know of the arrival of outsiders, that's quite common. Not that I know all that much," he quickly admitted. "I have never experienced it personally, but from what our local knight tells us, you all tend to need help with the oddest things. It's as if you don't even have the slightest clue about the things that we simply grow up knowing."

They walked a bit further. The sheriff introduced himself as Timber Hauler. As the pair moved along, Trevor got some more information that he needed. The village was called Distal Bend. It sat on a small river, the Distal. That would take some getting used to, since he knew 'distal' as an anatomy term. They farmed and fished and hunted. There was a single leatherworker in the town, and a single lumberjack, though the idea of a lumber mill was utterly foreign.

Trevor was about to ask if they'd figured out crop rotation, when Timber Hauler stopped and turned to look up at him. "I know that you are foreign to our ways, my lord. But I have a request."

Trevor motioned for him to continue.

"Please. Don't take our village to war." Timber Hauler rushed on, as if expecting a protest or outburst, "It is your right, of course, but I beg of you. Distal Bend is not able to give you more than 48 fighters and that would be after months of being able to store up enough food. Certainly not at this point in the year."

Trevor was stunned. "Timber Hauler, I have no intention of taking us to war. Ever. I will defend us, of course, but I hate war. I find it useless and wasteful."

Timber Hauler sagged, obviously relieved. "That is good. That is good, and we will thank you for it. Our local knight may not look so kindly upon that attitude, but there is little he can do about it."

Trevor was about to ask something, when it occurred to him that '48' was an oddly specific number to just throw out. "How many did you say?"

Timber Hauler sighed. "48, my lord. Nearly half of our village can take up arms."

Trevor had to think about it for a moment and then he tilted his head back and laughed. Whatever powers had been granted him, his mind was automatically converting numbers from base 4. 48 was '300' in quaternary. A perfectly round number, if you didn't count in tens. He held a hand up to forestall any questions. "Timber Hauler, you will find many strange things about me. If you ever ask me to guess a number for something and I give you a strange answer, just go with 'about that' unless I say otherwise."

Timber Hauler cocked his head to the side, and then said, "As you will. But there is something else that we must discuss, and it is why I brought you out here. River Blossom is now yours by our custom."

That brought Trevor up short. He had almost forgotten about the younger wolf and how she had 'tended' him. Which then made him think of something else that she'd said. Which made his blood run cold. "Oh no. Noooo no no, please don't say what I think that you're about to say."

Trevor listened, half shocked, half disgusted. River Blossom was now his property. The laws of slavery were well and truly codified in these lands, and while no one who wasn't an outsider could simply claim a slave outside of either contract or combat, outsiders were quite literally outside the law. The way that slaves were claimed was what he'd done. He'd marked her. It didn't have to be seed (which nearly made him gag in revulsion) but his scent was on her. Now she was his. "But I don't want her! Or.... well I do, but not like that!"

Timber Hauler tilted his head to the side. "My lord, she rather eagerly told anyone who would listen that you had claimed her for your own. You cannot deny that she is a comely lass. She will warm you at night and give you strong children, should you recognize them as your heirs of course."

Trevor shook his head, and then buried his face in his hands, "But it's wrong," he said. "Owning someone is just... it's wrong." The instant that he said it, he knew that he wouldn't win this argument. Not because he was in the wrong. But because, damn it all, he knew just how recently slavery had been deemed wrong. Humanity was tens of thousands of years old at the very least, and in terms of percentages, over 99% of that had been with the notion of slavery as normal. Justified by philosophies, religions, cultures all over the world. Timber Hauler would simply not understand. Trevor might as well try to explain a jet engine. He had to try a different approach. "What if I released her? Set her free."

Timber Hauler shrugged, "You may do that, of course. She would likely take her own life in shame, and even if she didn't, no one else would ever take her to wife. Maybe to bed, but never to bear children. It would destroy her, especially so soon after you claimed her. She would be seen as unworthy."

Trevor slammed his head back against the tree trunk that he was sitting against, snarling in frustration. Either he destroyed her or lived with something just as bad on his conscience. "Damn it," he said, at least a half dozen times. He heard the sheriff inhale to say something, but then stop. "Say it," Trevor sighed. "Just... whatever it is, say it. Never hold back when you think that I should hear something. Even if you think that I won't like it."

Timber Hauler grunted, and then started, and stopped several times. "We don't have many slaves here," he started. "We simply don't have the food. A couple of the fighters brought slaves back from the previous wars, but only a few. I don't understand your position, but it is your right to decide things in your holdings. However, if you are set against it, you should know two things. It is expected of you. Several of the village's young women will try to get your mark on them as well. Likely at least two tonight."

Trevor's jaw felt like it would bounce off of the ground as he stared. "They want to be my slaves?"

Timber Hauler nodded. "You are a Chosen one. On top of that, you are tall, and strong, and handsome. By the gods, you're practically a statue from one of the capitol cities. If you're less than 18 hands tall, I'll eat my own tail. You have the blessing of the gods, and you will give anyone who is with you fine strong children."

Something occurred to Trevor, something else that he worried about. "This may be uncomfortable, but I need to know. Is homosexuality known in this world?"

Timber Hauler shrugged. "It is known."

The response told Trevor a lot. There wasn't any real judgment in it, simply a statement of fact. Homosexuality was actually quite easily explained by evolution, and it served a purpose; a supply of parents for orphans. Probably also some population control, but that wasn't entirely proven. The implications were vast. Hell, the implications of everything he was learning were vast. He would need time to sort through everything. For the time being, he tried to return to matters of fact finding, and spent the rest of the day asking questions.

Timber Hauler did his best to answer them, and Trevor found that he would have almost literally killed to have this conversation and be able to publish about it. Even ignoring the 'discussion with an alien species' aspect, it both proved, and disproved some of his conjectures about necessary invention and development. On the other hand, this world had magic. Actual mages and wizards that circumvented much of the laws of physics. They were rare, and thus were considered exceedingly powerful.

Crop rotation hadn't been discovered, and it took far longer than Trevor liked to explain that he didn't mean literally turning the crops while they were in the soil. There was livestock, of a sort. No draft animals, but herd animals. The wheel was known, which was something he had not predicted. A common theory was that if you didn't have draft animals, you didn't have wheels. That would bear some study.

There were nearly two dozen other races, if one subdivided the major groupings; equids, canids, felids, mustelids. War was, as expected, distressingly common. Masonry and bronze were common enough that everyone knew about them. Iron wasn't common at all, though that seemed to be due to a scarcity of resources rather than anything else. Water power wasn't known at all, because it seemed that no one had thought that structures near the water would be safe.

Four seemed to be more than just a sacred number, it was a pattern that held everywhere. Four gods. Four major races. Four Kings. Four Dukes to a King, and so on. Dukes, then Marquis, then Earls, then Viscounts, then Barons, and finally Knights, though for whatever reason Knights could be more or even very rarely less per Baron.

By the time that they got to the structure of the churches, Trevor was convinced that whatever translation his powers were granting him, were pulling rough equivalents out of his head just so that he could process it. Doubtless the local language wasn't English. Nor was the top layer of the church actually a 'Patriarch'.

One pleasant surprise was an absolute lack of sexism, at least as he knew it. The king of the canids was a man, but the 'king' of the felids was a woman. His mind didn't translate the title, for some reason. That was interesting. Perhaps something like Hachepsut, that one woman Pharaoh who had ruled in her own right, wearing the beard of office as makeup in spite of her being a woman. There wasn't "Duchess Three Rivers". She was simply the Duke.

Trade was mostly still barter, at least between peasants. Coin was known, but most of the coinage was between nobles. There was no real merchant class. That was interesting. Everything was the property of the local noble. That was annoying. Now he was that local noble.

That was worrying.

---

This story is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any characters, living, dead or imaginary is purely a coincidence. All characters are a product of the author's imagination and copyright to them, unless noted guest appearances of other copyrighted characters are listed in this notice. Comments may be left (and are encouraged!) on the author's FurAffinity page. If you liked this story, and wish to support the author, please visit their Patreon.

This story is a work of fiction. Any immoral acts included in this story are a fantasy and should not be taken as encouragement to perform or endorsement of these acts by the author. Specifically, because apparently it needs to be said; anything other than expressed consent for any sexual encounter by a legal unimpaired sentient adult is wrong, immoral, and evil. Unwilling subjugation of sentients who have committed no crime is wrong, immoral, and evil.