Irileth was seen rushing up to Jorrvaskr, and after around 10 or so minutes of discussion a group of ragged, yet fierce, warriors charged out of the building, all of them wearing frightening facial markings painted on hastily in blood-lust. They all wore their own armour after getting changed so quickly, some of them clipping weapons to their belts as they ran, or fastening buckles. Bringing up the rear was the short, stocky figure that the Odd Jobs knew, in a dark greed mottled riding cloak which seemed to shroud Igfrid's features rather well. She wore her iron armour underneath it, spattered with old blood and stains that wouldn't come out in the wash. She also wielded a large, heavy-looking axe with non-magical runes scratched into the surface for decoration, or perhaps otherwise.

As she ran past, the hood fell back to reveal her long mane of white-gold hair, her striking golden eyes staring right at Aria and Cronic from behind a smear of green that reached down her left eye. In the brief moment they had eye-contact, it was clear that Igfrid was thinking of Riverwood as well; but she had her orders and the Southern Outpost awaited. The only thing she managed to mouth was "Help them" before she had to follow the Companions out of the gates, and into the night.

Once the Companions had gotten there, the sight that met their eyes was no less horrific than Igfrid had imagined. The tower was blossomed with ice, where a great, hulking beast - probably 5 men across, and a wingspan as long as two giants - was malevolently freezing the base with a chill that caused Igfrid to shudder. The thick crystals of frozen water were forcing the guards to the top of the tower, where it was certain that the dragon planned to eat them.

Only five words broke the spell that the horror had upon the companions - a male's voice, newer than Igfrid to the Circle - "Do we change or not?" Stares of disbelief were thrown through the dark and beat down the man's question right away. Igfrid didn't even know who he was, and whilst a part of her - and she knew exactly what sat in that part - wanted to agree with him, a larger part of Igfrid told her patiently that Whiterun was literally just up the road. Going wolf here meant death, either if she won or not. But the wolf in her was salivating at the thought of dragonflesh - something which Igfrid promised the beast, just to keep it at bay for a while longer.

An arrow was shot out of the inky blue and stuck into the wing of the dragon - the pale grey dragon, with the spines as long as Igfrid's arm and darker than the night itself. The dragon with frost covering and reinforcing each thick scale, claws as sharp as snapped icicles and two small, white eyes shot in the direction of the Companions and their hiding place. Igfrid didn't have to look far to know where the arrow came from as Aela the Huntress tightened her bowstring a bit more. "What?" she grunted, and unlike the new boy she managed to beat back the glares. "You were going to wait for her to finish off eating them?" she added. Igfrid looked more closely - it was a she, a she who had an arrow stuck out of her leathery wing. It wouldn't ground her - no, to do that you needed to rip the wing apart - but nevertheless the dragon stopped playing with her food and thundered over to something which had the gall to attack her.

"COMPANIONS!" roared Vilkas. "ATTACK!"