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It was a busy spring night at the tavern when the old wolf passed wraithlike through the doors. Humans and beast-kin alike fell silent as he slowly limped through the crowded room. A heavy metallic thud sounded with every other step, in time with the thump of his ornate ebony staff. Anyone who was looking closely would have noticed that the paw of his bad leg was carefully carved from some kind of metal. As he walked through the crowded room all eyes were drawn to him. It was rare for him to come to the town and he only ever visited the market during his fleeting visits. He never spoke and he always wore a heavy cloak that hid his form and cast deep shadows over his face.

He sat before the grand hearth that filled the center of the room. Though the tavern had naught but wooden stools he sat upon one as if it were a grand throne. From the depths of his hood a deep blue eye, icy and ancient as the heart of a glacier, glanced about the silent tavern. Many of the townsfolk squirmed as they felt the weight of his gaze upon them, there was something in his ancient gaze that they could all feel but none could place. Towards the back sat two wolf-kin elders, as his eye passed over them they each gave him a solemn bow. For they alone knew who he was, who he had been.

One of the bar maidens hurried over to see if he wanted anything but he turned her away with a dismissive gesture. He simply sat silently by the fire, staring into the heart of the flames. When it became obvious he wasn't going to say or do anything the townsfolk relaxed, returning to their conversations and drinks. An hour had passed and still he sat by the grand hearth, unmoving, a foreboding presence that gradually filled the room. People's conversations slowly turned towards the topic of the old wolf as they talked in whispered voices. They had all known of his rare visits but why was he here now? What could have brought the strange hermit from his small home in the depths of the forest to this crowded tavern?

Finally one human, a young man already drunk, got up and worked his way across the crowded room. Once more the people fell silent, eager to see what would happen as the man confronted the old wolf. "So what brings a relic like you back to the land of the living?" he slurred. The old wolf rose and turned towards the young man. Though his face was still hidden by the hood the people around him quickly backed away as they felt a cold anger radiating from him. "I see they have yet to teach the young ones respect." His quiet voice was cold and harsh, it burned with the echoes of a pain that not even the passage of time could heal. Those that were closest to him shivered as his voice washed over them.

The drunkard ignored the wolf's comment and continued with his belligerent pestering. Without warning the wolf's ebony staff blurred through the air. Before anyone could react, there was the sound of several heavy blows and the young man lay at the old wolf's feet, a magnificent bruise already forming on the side of his face. One of the bar maidens hurried over and checked the young man's pulse, she was relieved to find that he wasn't dead.

She turned towards the old wolf, mouth open as if to scold him, but her words died in her throat. The sudden movements had caused the wolf's cloak to fall away. Despite his great age, the wolf sported the powerful build of an experienced warrior. The dark fur of his face and arms was marred by streaks of colorless fur, the ghosts of countless vicious scars. One of his eyes had been lost and replaced with a perfectly smooth sphere of obsidian, shaped by the wolf-kin's magic. But the most shocking thing was the streaks of crimson fur that formed intricate and fierce markings that started on his muzzle and worked their way across his face and over the rest of his body.

The wolf-kin and some of the others that filled the tavern gasped as they recognized the crimson markings, they were the telltale markings of a berserker. A rare breed of wolf-kin, they seem completely normal, asides from their markings, until they are on the battlefield. Fast, powerful, seemingly immune to pain, and delighting in bloodshed they're a terrifying force. Many of them forsook armor and weapons, favoring tooth and claw over steel and leather. It's not uncommon for a small group of berserkers to take on entire enemy platoons just for fun. They're also one of the reasons why the wolf-kin army has yet to be defeated.

The ancient berserker turned away from the young man and bar maiden and leaving his cloak where it fell, he limped back to his chair by the fire. By now the young man had begun to stir, his friends helping him to his feet. They talked amongst themselves in hushed voices as they hurried from the tavern. The old wolf watched them leave before turning his attention back to the fire. A short while later one of the wolf-kin had worked up the courage to approach the battle-scarred berserker.

"I apologize if I am being to bold, but what brings a berserker this far from the King's keep?" the younger wolf-kin asked, trying to hide the nervous tremor in his voice. The old wolf glanced at him before looking over at the two wolf-kin elders, they looked away rather than meeting his gaze. "I see that some are content to let legends die." He muttered before turning back to the young wolf-kin. "For any that wish to know, be silent and let this old fool tell his story." His coarse and quiet voice carried easily over the din of the tavern and everyone fell silent, eager to her the wolf's tale.

The old wolf leaned forward and drew an enchanted crystal from the pouch at his belt. He tossed it into the fire, "Best get comfortable, we'll be here a while." He said as the magic began to seep from the crystal as it burned. The spell enveloped the tavern and the wolf began to speak. The townsfolk found themselves floating at the back of the old wolf's mind, experiencing his story firsthand.

The hard packed dirt of the arena burned my paws as I stepped from the cool darkness of the stone tunnel. My heart pounded as I looked around, the stands empty save for the King's generals. As I watched, one final figure ascended the stands and sat beside them. My heart skipped a beat as the light fell across his face, the King himself had come to oversee my final trial. I shook with a mix of nervousness and excitement, I would either become the youngest berserker to join the King's army, or I would die.

At the King's signal the berserker general, Narkath, rose from his seat beside the King and dropped into the area. My blood ran cold as he faced me, it was tradition for the general of the berserkers to be the most experienced and vicious of the pack. "The generals tell me you fight with a feral grace, the likes of which we have not seen in well over a century." The King's rich voice carried easily throughout the arena. "General Narkath, you may begin."

Before the echoes of the King's voice could fade something hit me across the chest with the force of a charging warhorse. I stumbled back but didn't fall as movement caught the corner of my eye and I twisted aside, narrowly avoiding the general's second strike. I felt the breeze that stirred in the wake of his claws as they hissed past my face.

Shocked by his speed I backed away, watching him closely and hoping to find some kind of opening. He never gave me chance, constantly advancing and pressing the attack. Finally he caught me off guard with a vicious series of blows. His claws tearing my arm open from wrist to elbow. The scent of blood sent me into a frenzy, headless of his claws I lunged forward and raked my own claws across his chest. He stumbled from the unexpected force of the blow and I pounced, my weight driving him to the ground. My teeth flashed at his throat, but before they met their target he slipped his paws up under my chest. With a savage kick that tore bloody furrows down my chest and stomach he threw me off. I hit the hard ground and rolled and as I climbed to my feet I spotted something that caused a cruel smile to creep across my muzzle. I waited for him to close the gap between us before diving to the side, grabbing at the haft of a weathered spear that lay half buried in the dirt. As I rose he threw another blow at my chest, I twisted around, trapping his arm between my body and the spear. In a single brutal movement I broke his arm and swung the spear at his back.

The worn wooden haft shattered from the force of the blow and I heard the disgusting pops of his vertebra being dislocated. Wielding the shattered haft like a club I savagely beat him, the sounds of the heavy blows running together. My final strike was a vicious blow across the face that sent him to the ground. He lay there, not moving, as I stood over him. Clutching the haft with both hands I drove the shattered end towards his heart.

Before it could strike home I heard a frantic shout and ethereal chains leapt from the ground and wound around my arms. They jerked me back and pulled me to the ground, forcing me to kneel. I snarled and struggled, trying futilely to break free. Two healers rushed over to General Narkath, from the other side of the arena the King and most of the other generals descended from the stands. The general that stayed behind seemed deep in concentration and I could sense as much as see the energies that flickered around his hands as he maintained my bindings.

The healers managed to reset General Narkath's spine and bind his arm in a splint before he came to his sense. Carefully they helped him to his feet and lead him over to the steps leading to the stands. They gently lowered him onto a bench before turning their attention to me. One of them took a pinch of something from one of the pouches on his belt and waved it beneath my nose. The bitter smell cut instantly through my bloodlust and I felt my body go limp. The healer shouted something to the general that cast the binding and I felt the spell break. They set about cleaning and binding my wounds. It was only then I realized how injured I was, the healers had to cut away strips of tattered flesh that hung from my arms and chest before they could begin their work. Once they finally finished, I carefully rose, whatever they had used to dispel my bloodlust had left me lightheaded.

I turned towards the generals and my King, bowing my head as I waited their judgment. I heard the soft sound of footsteps across the trampled dirt and felt a hand on my chin. The hands' owner gently raised my head and my eyes widened as I found myself face to face with the King. "Well fought, young one. I think that may have been the best fight I've seen in a long time. You should feel honored, there are few that can say that they managed to defeat Narkath." He said with a smile.

"Thank you, Sire." I said, as an intense feeling of pride swelled within my chest. I felt a firm hand on my shoulder and nearly leapt out of my skin as I heard General Narkath's voice from behind me. "Welcome to the pack, lad." He muttered, his voice rough but warm. He gave me a slight smile before he walked over to the other generals. From the way he moved it was impossible to tell he just had his back dislocated and his arm broken.

Later that afternoon one of General Narkath's assistants led me to the berserkers' village at the edge of the city. It was a small cluster of low stone buildings with several dueling circles and sparring yards clustered throughout the village. I could easily see the other berserkers gathering in the center of the village, their crimson markings bright in the midday sun. A thunderous round of applause greeted me as I stepped into view.

The assistant led me through the crowd of my brethren to the very center of the village. As we walked I heard many shouts of congratulations and felt may celebratory claps on my shoulders. I couldn't help but to look around and notice that the youngest of their ranks was still twenty to thirty years older than me. It wasn't much of an age difference for our kin, but it was still an odd feeling to walk down the ranks as one of them. Age difference or not, they greeted me like old friends.

We finally reached the center of the village and I almost stopped dead in my tracks. A long wooden table had been dragged out and set with a shocking array of food. Mostly meat, both the kinds of creatures found in the surrounding woods as well as things I have never seen before. Exotic fruits and strange greens adorned the feast, filling the air with a rich aroma that overpowered the thick musky scent of our kin. General Narkath stood at the head of the table, a tall and imposing presence. He had abandoned what was left of the formal uniform he had worn during my trial, opting instead for the tradition garb of the berserkers, little more than a white loincloth embossed with crimson markings that mirrored its wearer's.

As he saw me approach he raised a gold chalice. "Welcome to the pack, Verloth. You have the honor of being the youngest to join our ranks. In your trials you have proven to be as capable as any one of us, and I for one look forward to fighting alongside you." The crowd had fallen silent when they saw him raise the chalice, now they howled and stamped their feet with enough force to make the ground shake. "It's only fair that you take the first bite." The general called, his voice somehow carrying over the din. My stomach rumbled and only then did I realize how hungry I was. I didn't bother being picky, I simply reached over and grabbed what seemed to be the leg of some kind of roast bird and tore it loose. As I sank my teeth into the tender meat the rest of the pack ceased their howling and descended on the table.

Growing up I had witnessed many of the army's feasts and celebrations, but I had never seen a feast like this. We fell upon the table and simple tore out chunks of meat with our bare hands. Anything within reach was fair game, whoever got to it first got to eat it while the rest of us scrabbled for whatever was left. I found myself enjoying the feast far more than any of the more formal ones my parents had forced me to attend as a child.

Within half an hour the table was bare, save for tiny scraps of meat and broken bones. I sat on the edge of the table with several of the others, cracking open bones to get at the marrow. "I told you he would fit right in with the others." I overheard General Narkath mutter to his assistant. I glanced over to see the General's assistant standing off to the side, looking somewhat horrified. Can't say I blamed him, he was the only one present that wasn't a berserker, I could only imagine how the celebration must have looked to someone that didn't share our blood.

The rest of the day was spent becoming familiar with my new home. Several of the pack were happy to show me around the small village. Throughout the tour they kept up a stream of stories from past battles. But mostly they talked of the upcoming battles, our scouts have reported that the dragons and their kin had been seen gathering at the far side of the mountains that separated us from the great desert. There was little doubt that they were gathering for war.

At one point during the tour an official came from the King's court, muttering something about needing details for a uniform. It took me a moment to realize she meant detailed drawings of my markings so they could be used for making a loincloth. My guides bowed politely to her before leaving the two of us alone by the edge of the yard. In a brisk and businesslike manner she ordered me to strip. Not having any other option, I obeyed and stood there awkwardly in the late afternoon light, trying to ignore the rest of the pack as I heard them milling about their daily routines in the background. The woman took several sketches of me, putting a particular emphasis on my markings and the way they wrapped around my body. As soon as she finished she quickly thanked me and hurried off, leaving me standing naked at the edge of the village.

"No need to be embarrassed, lad." Usav, one of my guides told me, coming over once I was dressed. "She's done that to pretty much all of us. I don't know if she trying too hard to keep things proper or if she just really doesn't like dealing with us. She always just shows up, takes her sketches, and then runs off. Hardly ever stays to talk, think she's afraid she'll take a liking to us if she did." He chuckled and turned back towards the village. "By the way, you have another visitor, he's waiting for you by the tavern."

I scurried off, weaving my way through the village. The tavern was easy enough to find for it was the largest building and smoke that smelled strongly of roasting meat constantly poured from its chimney. I already knew who would be waiting for me, my oldest friend, Mikko. The eccentric spellsword might as well be an older brother to me. Thinking about it, I was a bit surprised he wasn't here waiting for me earlier.

As I neared the tavern I saw him, the color of his dusty grey fur blending smoothly into the weathered stone. I was less than five feet away when he finally notice me coming, his ears perked up and a grin spread across his muzzle. "Ahh, the guest of honor has arrived. The whole city's been talking about you for the past several hours. We all heard the howling a while ago and everyone just assumed that the trial was finished and you survived. So tell me, how did it go? I'm tired of hearing everyone's speculations and far-fetched rumors."

"I had to fight General Narkath." I told him and his jaw dropped. "What... did you... how?" his voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words. After a few minutes he managed to get things straight. "I saw the General a while ago. One of his arms was in a splint, that was you, wasn't it?" I nodded. "I've heard the berserkers trials got pretty brutal but still..." he wondered aloud shaking his head. "Doesn't matter in the end I suppose. You're not dead, so let's celebrate shall we?"

We entered the tavern and sat at one of the few empty tables. Well, I sat, he perched almost bird-like on the very edge of his chair. I couldn't remember a time when he sat normally, some of the pack gave him strange looks as they passed but in the end they just shrugged and turned back to their meals, drinks, and games. Eventually we were set with cold mugs of ale and fresh steaks. "So here you are, twenty five years old and already turning heads. What's next; slaying a dragon, meeting all four of the high priests?" he asked. I laughed, "Who knows, there are legends of stranger things than that happening." We both chuckled and spent the rest of our meal swapping stories. I told him the details of my fight with General Narkath and of the afternoon's feast while he told me what had been going on with the rest of the King's army.

Finally our mugs ran dry and we realized we had been talking for several hours. Mikko yawned and stepped down from his seat. "I should probably head back to barracks before they send out a search party." He chuckled and clapped me on the shoulder once more before heading back to the city. "Bet he ain't the only one looking forward to a soft bed. You look like you're about to pass out lad." said a familiar voice as Mikko faded into the distance. I turned to see Usav leaving the tavern. "Come on, we've already got a room for you."

He led me through the village, making idle conversation as we walked. He asked about Mikko and how we met. I honestly couldn't remember how or even exactly when we met, though I did remember that as pups it was rare to see one of us without the other being somewhere nearby. "Think we all knew someone like that at one time or another." Usav said as I finished talking, his normally warm voice sounded grim. I glanced over at him and saw his eyes glisten in the fading light. Though my curiosity burned I thought it best not to ask. Luckily it was just then that we arrived at the house. He fished a key from a small pouch that hung from a cord around his neck and opened the door.

"Welcome home, lad. Your room's the one at the end of the hall, on the left. Think a messenger from the Court has already brought your things down from the barracks." He told me, "Best sleep well, there's been talk of a joint training exercise tomorrow." I nodded and headed down the hall. Sure enough the tattered rucksack in which I kept my clothes and few belongings from home lay on the bed. Too tired to deal with it now, I simply shoved it off the bed. Without wasting any more time I stripped, vaguely noticing that my clothes were still covered in blood and dust from the arena, and fell gracelessly onto the bed.