THE MANY BATTLES OF BLOODWOLF

  Bloodwolf was true to his calling, and immediately set about to protect his clan.  Such was his strength; not even the three strongest warriors of the clan could match his might.  He ran with the speed and grace of the great deer, and could leap higher than any man or wolf.  Nor could any approach him and catch him unawares.  His sight, hearing and sense of smell were so acute; he could see, hear and smell a squirrel eating a nut at the top of a tree five stone throws away.
  He was also clever with his hands, making nets to trap beasts too dangerous to approach, digging pits and hiding them to catch beasts by surprise, as well as creating defenses for the clans caves that few beasts could penetrate.  Growling Bear, realizing the great destiny of his son, sought out the greatest warriors and hunters of the people to teach Bloodwolf their crafts and skills.  Walks in Dreams also assisted in the training, showing Bloodwolf the art of reading signs and portents in the actions of animals and insects.
  Over the next several years, armed with the knowledge and skills he learned, he battled many men and beasts that sought to do harm to the clan.  When Growling Bear became too old, Bloodwolf became Chief of Clan Moglok, and took a wife, called Morning Dove.  He sired three children: Running Fox, Grinning Bear, and Little Mouse.  When Running Fox was old enough, and proved to be strong and wise, Bloodwolf gave position of Chief to him, so he would have more freedom to protect the people.  And protect them he did.  Many were the battles he fought, against man, beast, and creatures that were neither and both.  But his greatest battles were yet to come.
  During the passage of so many years, Bloodwolf stayed young and strong.  His children grew to age, Morning Dove grew old, and in time died, but Bloodwolf remained vital.  The Dark Ones, seeing this, began to lose patience.  If time would not slay the Chosen of Ogg, then perhaps powerful beasts would.

THE BARION

  In a place not a place, at a time outside of time, dark figures gathered together.  There were eleven of them in all, five female, five male and one whose gender defied classification.  These were the Dark Ones, gods of great power whose sole purpose was to bring down the accomplishments of Ogg and the Bright Gods.  They were L’yor, O’uch, L’zhey, J’los, Pr’yid, Y’uhm, M’yhne, L’othe, D’zyer, P’nik and Dg’rade.
  L’yor, god of deceit, presided over the vile assembly.  As the brother/husband to O’uch, and father of the all other gods present, it was his right and duty to do so.  O’uch, as always, sat to his left.  As was typical of the meetings of the Dark Ones, the assembly was chaotic and noisy.  By the Dark Gods very nature, it was almost impossible for them to achieve any true semblance of order.  Still, L’yor always managed to settle his family down enough to address the issues at hand.
  “The Chosen of Ogg defies our efforts to bring down The People,” L’yor said without preamble. “We thought we could simply wait a while and he would die of old age, as mortals do, but apparently Ogg has granted his champion with an indefinite life-span.  Waiting for him to weaken with age is no longer an option.”
  “How old is he, this Chosen of Ogg?” inquired L’zhey.
  “Ninety-nine winters have passed since his birth,” Answered O’uch, goddess of pain.
  “We will need to send a beast to do the job,” supplied L’zhey, god of sloth.
  “Been there, done that, got nowhere,” said P’nik. “He is as strong as a bear and as swift as a deer.  No natural beast can challenge him.”
  “Oh, well, when it isn’t P’niks idea it can’t be any good, now can it?” pouted L’zhey.
  “P’nik is right,” Cut in Y’uhm. “We have tried lions and tigers and bears, all to no avail.”
  “Oh, my!” snorted L’zhey.
  “Why do we not simply destroy him ourselves?” demanded L’othe, god of hate. “I could ram a bolt of lightning right up his…”
  “Because Ogg and R’kam would not allow such a direct act to go unpunished!” roared L’yor, interrupting. “We are far from their equal in power.  To invite their ire would bring our own destruction.  No, we must play the game by his rules.”
  “Well, you don’t have to be so huffy about it,” Muttered L’othe.
  “I doubt it would work, anyway,” Added Pr’yid. “Many ordinary mortals have survived being hit by sky-fire and survived, and as we have all noted, this Bloodwolf is far from ordinary.”
  “We have sent other beasts to destroy this champion before, all to no avail,” Yelled M’ynne the Greedy.  “Lions, bears, snakes…all were useless.”
  “Why bother with him at all?” asked L’zhey. “Just use our powers to affect those around him.  Inflict a man with sloth or gluttony.  What can this hero do then?”
  “What can he do?  I will tell you!” roared L’yor. “He leads them to better behavior by setting an example!  Boys want to grow up to be just like him!  Women want to take men like him as mates!  As long as he sets the standard, our influence is greatly reduced.”
  “What of Dg’rades efforts?” inquired J’los.
  “The Barbar have absolutely no tolerance for that sort of thing, as a whole,” said Dg’rade. “It takes years to push them into committing acts of perversity, then they get burned at a stake the second they are caught.  No opportunity to influence others and bring them down.”
  “I thought same sex relationships were on the rise…”
  “The Barbar do not regard it to be a perversion.  Apparently, this is acceptable behavior as long as it is between consenting parties,” Interrupted Dg’rade. “Though it is somewhat frowned on when it is women, still it is tolerated.”
  L’yor looked stunned at this revelation.  “Truly, these are a primitive people!”
  “We need to destroy this Chosen One before all of our works come to naught!” declared O’uch.
  “How?” yelled the exasperated L’yor.  
  “Perhaps we can bend the rules of the game,” suggested Pr’yid the prideful.
  “In what manner?”
  “Normal beasts are the creation of R’kam.  Ogg and R’kam surely knew we would use such against their champion, and made him proof against them,” said Pr’yid.
  “Mayhaps,” said L’yor. “What do you have in mind?”
  “Let us encourage the unnatural among the beasts,” Continued Pr’yid. “There is a particularly viscous Barion known as S’nark-lak living in the forests near a neighboring clan.”
  “Better still,” added Y’uhm, “there is a man there to whom Bloodwolf owes a Life-debt.  Soaring Hawk, I think.  The Chosen of Ogg will have to go to aid this man if his life is threatened.”
  “Bloodwolf will not find the Barion a simple foe…”
  “S’nark-lak is a fierce monster…”
  “Aye, and powerful.  If we give it a taste for man-flesh…”
  “Increase its sense of smell, so it seeks out the places of men…”
  “We can guide it to this Soaring Hawks home…”
  “Soaring Hawk must not die before he calls for help…”
  “Bloodwolf will have no choice but to face S’nark-lak if he wishes to protect his friend,” Finished L’yor.
  “He can send a vision to the Shaman of Bloodwolf’s Clan.  He will tell the Chosen One, making it unnecessary to keep Soaring Hawk alive.”
  “Indeed, father,” said D’zyer, goddess of lust, whore to the gods. “Y’uhm should be perfect for this task…”
  
  “…and tie up the goats.”
  “Yes, father.”
  Soaring Hawk of the Gray Wolf Clan, and his son Runs With Goats were finishing their daily chores and preparing to return to their home for evening meal.  Weather had been good of late, providing just the right amount of rain for his crops to grow well.  There would be plenty to trade with neighboring clans, as well as feed his own family.
  Runs With Goats tied the goats to a rail over the feed trough.  Normally, the goats would be permitted to roam about and graze within the confines of the farm in a fenced in area, but something destroyed the northern section during the previous night.  Two goats had either run off or been taken, and Soaring Hawk didn’t want any more livestock disappearing in the night.
  “All done, father,” Runs With Goats yelled from across the fence.
  “Get in the hut, then.  Tell your mother I’ll be along in a moment,”  Soaring Hawk called back.  He led a horse over to a small shack and tethered it to a rail, then turned to go back to the hut.  It was getting toward late evening and Soaring Hawk was looking forward to supper.
  I’ll have to repair the north fence in the morning, he thought.  Strange thing about that.  Looked like a big animal ripped it apart, but there were man tracks inside.  Were-beast of some sort, maybe?
  A noise interrupted Soaring Hawk’s thoughts.  The goats were acting up, bleating and pulling at their tethers.  Without hesitation, Soaring Hawk ran back to the shack and seized his scythe.
  Before he was a farmer, Soaring Hawk was a Warrior for the Muzlok (Bear) Clan.  His body still bore many scars from battles past.  He even saved the life of great hero called Tr’ogg in a battle against a hoard of Orks from the Northlands.  An Ork had stealthily approached the hero from behind while he was engaged with three foes in front of him.  Soaring Hawk saw the forth Ork and brought him down with a well-placed sword-stroke that took the vile creatures head cleanly off its neck.  In gratitude, Tr’ogg swore an oath that he would repay the favor some day.  Among the Barbar, such oaths are considered sacred, and not given lightly.  Soaring Hawk later saw the Champion easily defeat five foes single-handedly, making Soaring Hawk wonder if he had truly saved the Chosen of Ogg.  Still, Tr’ogg could not simply be released from the oath.  It would have gone against tradition.  When the Ork Wars ended, Tr’ogg returned to his clan, and Soaring Hawk settled down to start a farm and raise a family.  Tr’ogg had never been given the opportunity to save Soaring Hawks life.
  The scythe was a poor replacement for a well-balanced sword, but Soaring Hawk was strong and well versed in its use and could wield it effectively.  S’lar, the sun, had set, taking his light with him, but the sky was clear, allowing the sparks from K’ohl's forge to provide some light.  Time had not dimmed Soaring Hawk’s eyes, yet.  Like most Barbarmen, his eyes were sharp, and able to manage well in the dim light.  Moving carefully, though quickly to where the goats were tethered, Soaring Hawk kept his eyes and ears open for sounds of a predator.
  The goats, while skittish, were unmolested.  The Farmer looked all about, seeking the cause of their discomfort when he heard a scream.  At first he feared it was his son, Runs With Goats, but a second scream convinced him it could not be.  It came from the Northern fence, and was too low of voice.  There were other sounds as well…that of some sort of animal, snarling and roaring.  It was unlike any sound the Farmer had ever heard before.  Rather than face a monstrous beast in the dark, he turned and ran back to his hut.  There, he lit a torch, commanded his wife and son to stay inside, and went to face whatever was trespassing on his farm.
  Moving as quickly as he dared while encumbered with the scythe and torch, Soaring Hawk moved toward the Northern fence line.  The noises had stopped, but the Farmer stayed wary.  Not all animals announce their presence before attacking, he knew.  
  At the Northern fence line, Soaring Hawk found a body.  It was ripped to pieces, as if by powerful claws.  An arm and a leg were missing.  There was only half a face remaining on the dead mans skull, as well.
  Soaring Hawk was able to recognize the victim.  It was Takes Things, a local thief.  No doubt the Rogue had heard about the damaged fence and thought to take advantage.  It was no doubt his tracks that Soaring Hawk had found inside the fence line earlier in the day.  That explained the two missing goats.  But what killed him? Wondered the Farmer.
  Soaring Hawk heard a low rumbling growl from behind him.  Without thinking, he quickly turned, swinging his scythe with one hand and bringing his torch around with the other.  The scythe bit deep into the flesh of the monster before Soaring Hawk even saw what it was.
  It was a Barion!  A very large one at that!  The leonine head protruding from the ursine body presented a fearsome image to the startled farmer, made all the more frightening with the hideous sounds issuing forth from the huge muzzle.  With a roar of pain the hybrid beast swatted away the scythe that was protruding from its massive torso.  A second swipe opened a deep gash in Soaring Hawk’s left shoulder.  On instinct, the Warrior turned Farmer leapt forwards and shoved his torch in the open maw of the Barion.  The Barion, taken completely by surprise by so bold an attack, still managed to swing a huge paw that sent Soaring Hawk several paces through the air.  The former Warrior felt his left-arm break between the shoulder and elbow as the blow struck, and felt a couple ribs crack when he landed on the ground.
  Weapon-less and wounded, Soaring Hawk knew he would die horribly if he failed to get to his feet and run away from the monster.  Like most Barbarmen, Soaring Hawk was able to ignore his pain, at least for a short time.  Reminding himself he suffered greater injuries during the Ork Wars, he forced himself to regain his feet.  It hurt his pride to run from a foe, but warning his family and Clan was far more important.
  To Soaring Hawk’s surprise, the Barion did not give chase.  Maybe I hurt it enough to make it think twice about coming after me, thought the Farmer.  Short of breath and bleeding heavily from his shoulder, Soaring Hawk fell through the door to the hut.  There, he commanded Runs With Goats to arm himself with his bow and keep look from the window, lest the Barion decide to attack the hut.
  “If we survive this night,” Soaring Hawk told his wife and son, “we will have to inform the Clan that a Barion is in our lands.  We may need help to destroy it.”
  Whether I earned it or not, thought Soaring Hawk, I will have to call in a favor from long ago.

  In a place not a place, at a time outside of time, dark figures observed the events at Soaring Hawks farm.  Most seemed very pleased with how the drama played out.  Most, but not all.
  “Why did you stop S’nark-lak from killing that farmer?” inquired Y’uhm.
  “We need at least one witness that the Barion is in the Muzlok lands,” Explained Pr’yid. “Besides, this Farmer is Soaring Hawk.”
  “So?  What of it?”
  “Bloodwolf owes a life-debt to this man,” Reminded L’yor. “With a Barion threatening his farm and family, he will have no choice but to seek aid.  Now, I wonder, who can he call on for help?”
  “I imagine he will first get his Clan involved.  Muzlok Clan takes great pride in fighting their own battles,” said L’othe. “Pr’yid may have something to do with that.”
  “Well, yes,” Admitted Pr’yid. “But it is also a matter of pride not to die without discharging any debts, or giving others the opportunity to honor their debts to them.  Soaring Hawk is sorely injured, and such injuries often prove fatal.”
  “What?  A few broken bones?  Bah!  Barbarmen often ignore such things for days at a time,” snorted P’nik.
  “True, but open wounds, like that gash on his shoulder, often become infected,” Retorted Pr’yid. “Infection kills more people than all the swords in Orkney!”
  “Aye,” Agreed L’yor. “Soaring Hawk will not risk dying without giving Bloodwolf the chance to pay his debt.  His pride and sense of honor will not allow it.”
  The Dark Ones shared a humorless laugh that shook the heavens.

  Bloodwolf, the Chosen of Ogg, awoke with a start.  He thought he had heard laughing, but all was quiet in the cave.  I must have dreamed it, he thought.  Seeing that the sky was starting to glow with the coming of S’lar, the Barbarian arose and left the confines of the cave, nodding to Grinning Fox and Sky Watcher, who were on guard.
  Outside, Bloodwolf looked about, wary of any predators or enemies that might be waiting in ambush.  He immediately saw Firestarter, the Shaman, tending a small blaze.  Though Bloodwolf approached the Shaman from behind with the stealth of a cat, Firestarter somehow knew somebody was behind him.
  “Come, Bloodwolf, and join me at my fire.”
  “One day you must tell me how you do that,” said Bloodwolf.
  “Do what?”
  “Know when I am behind you.  You are the only member of the clan I cannot surprise.”
  “I am a Shaman.  It’s part of the job.  And you are much too old to play such games,” said Firestarter. “You should act your age.”
  “If I did that, I would lie down and never move again.  People my age are usually dead,”      
  It was true.  Bloodwolf could boast that he had many grand children, something few Barbarman had ever lived long enough to see.  Yet he remained youthful in face and form.  Firestarter was the grandson of Walks in Dreams, the Shaman who foretold the coming of the Chosen of Ogg, and he was older than most clan, yet he could not remember a time when Bloodwolf did not look as if he was only twenty summers in age.
  “That must be it, then.  You have become senile, and insist on reliving your childhood.  Woe to the people!  Our Champion has become weak of mind!” Firestarter teased.
  “It is true!  For I take counsel from the Clan idiot!” retorted the Chosen of Ogg.
  “It is time for you to do so once again,” said Firestarter, suddenly serious. “There is a threat to the people of the Muzlok Clan.”
  “Muzlok Clan?  What is the nature of this threat?”
  “There is a Barion.  The Gods tell me its name is S’nark-lak.  Last night, it killed a thief known as Takes Things.”
  “Small problem, there.  S’nark-lak did the Muzlok Clan a favor,” Observed the hero. “I fail to see how a Barion could cause much trouble for them.  I recall that during Ork Wars the Muzloks were fierce and able warriors.  One even saved my life from a cowardly attack from behind.  I can’t imagine a Barion would last long against them.”
  “S’nark-lak is more than a mere Barion.  This one has been touched by the Dark Ones and made powerful,” Firestarter added. “It also almost killed a Farmer called Soaring Hawk.”
  “Soaring Hawk!” Bloodwolf recognized the name instantly. “Will he live?”
  “With our help, yes,” said the Shaman. “He suffered sever injury, but yet lives.  He will need medicine.  I will provide you with what you need, but you will need to leave immediately.”
  “It was Soaring Hawk who once saved my life.  I have a debt to pay.”
  “Indeed,” said Firestarter.

  The lands of the Muzlok Clan were only a two day walk from the Moglok Clan caves.  Bloodwolf, in a hurry to aid his friend, but lacking a horse, ran most of the first day and walked through the night.  Two-thirds of the way, he was met by a messenger from Muzlok Clan.
  “Ho, there!” Bloodwolf called. “I hail from Moglok Clan.”
  The runner responded to the traditional hail. “Ho, there!  I hail from Muzlok Clan.”
  “I am going to Muzlok Lands,” said Bloodwolf as the two men closed the distance between them.  “I am called Bloodwolf.”
  “I am going to Clan Moglok in search of one called Tr’ogg.”
  “I am called Tr’ogg by many clans.”
  “My fortune is great, then.  I am called Runs In Wind, messenger of Muzlok Clan.”
  “I heard of the Barion.”
  “How?”
  “Shaman.”
  “You come to help, then?”
  “Yes.”
  “Follow me.”
  
 The Clans of the Barbarmen possess numerous protocols among themselves that must be strictly adhered to.  While audiences are informal, and far more verbose than wilderness meetings, still there were a number of rules.  One such rule of conduct was for visitors to present themselves to the chief of the clan being visited and present an offering.  Such offerings could be a well-crafted tool or weapon, a goat or sheep, or even the offer of a service.
  Slaying a troublesome monster, for example.
  “So you are Tr’ogg of the Moglok Clan,” Chief Dark Cloud stated as Bloodwolf was presented to him.  ‘Tr’ogg’ literally meant ‘Chosen of Ogg’, a title often used by neighboring clans. “I should make a joke about how I thought you would be bigger, but in truth, I would be lying,” The chief smiled.  “Big one, aren’t you?”
  Bloodwolf could not help but laugh. “Your wit is legendary, Dark Cloud.  I am honored to be in your presence.”
  Dark Cloud made a dismissive gesture.  “I understand you have heard of our current difficulties.”
  “Indeed.  I offer my services in ridding you of this pest.”
  “Pest!  Have you ever faced a Barion?” Bloodwolf admitted he had not. “Well, they stand twice the height of a man, with the head, tail and forepaws of a lion, body and hind parts of a great bear.”
  “I understand Soaring Hawk was injured by the Barion two nights past.”
  “Indeed.  He lies near death in his hut,” said dark Cloud. “And last night I lost two Warriors against S’nark-lak.  First, I called upon the archers of the Clan to fire upon the monster from a safe distance.  Though the arrows bit deep into S’nark-lak’s flesh, they failed to inflict lethal damage.  As the Barion approached close, I called upon the spear-men of the Clan.  The Barion swatted aside the spears as though they were so many flies.  Night Singer and Strong Arm attacked with their swords, only to be slain with two mighty blows of the monsters paws.  Slay S’nark-lak and you shall have anything in my power to give you.”
  “I am here to make good on my life-debt to Soaring Hawk.  I need no other consideration, Great Chief.”
  “You owe Soaring Hawk a life-debt?” said the surprised chief.
  “He saved my life during the Ork trouble some years ago.”
  “He never said anything about it.  Modesty is a rare trait in a Warrior,” said the Chief.
  “Soaring Hawk was a modest man, as I recall,” Admitted Bloodwolf. “May I have leave to see him?”
  “I grant free passage to wherever you may wish in my lands, Tr’ogg, as well as any assistance you may require,” Proclaimed Dark Cloud.  Such permissions were required by tradition in Barbar society, despite the fact that Bloodwolf was there by invitation.
  Guided by Runs in Wind, Bloodwolf wasted no time in rushing to Soaring Hawk’s farm.  He was heart-sore when he saw his old friend lying on his cot, sweating with fever.  Bloodwolf carefully inspected the arm, shoulder and ribs of the injured farmer, noting the arm was already set and splinted and the ribs wrapped.  Though the farmer’s eyes were partially open, it was clear he was unaware of his surroundings, lost as he was to fever dreams.
  “Your Shaman tended to him?” Bloodwolf asked Soaring Hawks wife, called Morning Breeze.
  “No,” Replied the woman. “I did.  Soaring Hawk taught me how years ago.  He said you taught him this skill.”
  “Aye, during the Ork Wars.  He was wise to share his knowledge with you,” Bloodwolf extracted a pair of pouches from his backpack.  One pouch he gave to Morning Breeze.  Make a broth with this, boiling water, and goats blood.  I shall make a poultice for his shoulder.”
  Morning Breeze did as instructed while Bloodwolf cleaned Soaring Hawks shoulder wound and applied the poultice.  Though barely conscious, the injured farmer was made to drink the broth after it cooled a bit.
  “Firestarter, my Shaman, gave me these medicines,” Admitted the Chosen One. “Let us hope they are strong enough.”
  “It will be night, soon,” said Runs in Wind. “S’nark-lak will come out of the forest in search of prey.”
  “Let us draw him to a place of our choosing, then.  Where did he last attack?”
  “Just outside of this farm to the North.  That is where Dark Cloud arranged the ambush.  A Barion will often return to the same place night after night, so long as he finds prey, there,” supplied Runs in Wind
  “He will not be disappointed, then.”
   
  In a place not a place, at a time outside of time, dark figures continued to observe the events at Soaring Hawks farm.  The Dark Ones were well pleased to see that their plan was progressing as anticipated.
  “S’nark-lak will make short work of this Chosen of Ogg, I dare-say,” said Pr’yid with a humorless grin on his lips.  “Maybe we should play with this Bloodwolf a bit…make things more interesting.”
  “Fool,” said L’yor. “Ogg will be watching his chosen in this battle.  If we use our magics’ in any way on or around his pet hero, he will know it.  We can watch, only,”  
  “Well, I will make an orb of crystal to capture the battle, that we may replay it over and over,” said Y’uhm.
  “A fine idea!” agreed Pr’yid. “I will never tire of watching it!”

  L’nar, the moon, was more than half covered in darkness as it rose in the sky.  L’nar often covered herself with a cloak of darkness, concealing much of her light.  Bloodwolf thought perhaps L’nar was shy, choosing to cover herself most of the time.  Mortal women often changed their attitude over the course of a month, maybe the same was true of goddesses.  Whatever the reason, there was less light that night than Bloodwolf liked.  Though the Chosen of Ogg could see as well at night as a great cat, he was still at a disadvantage.  Barions were said to see at night as though it were day.  For this reason, as well as to lure the Barion to him, Bloodwolf had set up two large torches.
  Since S’nark-lak seemed to prefer the forest area just North of Soaring Hawks farm, the hero set up camp just beyond the damaged fence.  Despite protests from Runs in Wind and Runs With Goats, Bloodwolf went to face the Barion alone.  Armed with a heavy club, the Chosen of Ogg prepared for a long night. 
  Bloodwolf did not dare fall asleep while waiting for S’nark-lak, so he took up a position in a tree where it would be impossible for the Barion to reach him.  Barions were said to be able to move silently when stalking prey and Bloodwolf elected not to risk being caught by surprise.
  As he waited, Bloodwolf reviewed his knowledge of his opponent.  Arrows had not been able to pierce the monsters thick hide deep enough to hit any vital organs, hence his choice in selecting his club.  A rock will defect arrow points, yet still be crushed by a club.  Bloodwolf hoped the same could be said of S'nark-lak's skull.  Spears had proven similarly useless, as had swords.  Runs With Goats claimed that his father injured S’nark-lak with his scythe and a torch but failed to do more than chase the monster away.
  Bloodwolf heard a sound, as though something brushed the branches of trees.  A quick search revealed S’nark-lak ten paces away from the grounded torches that Bloodwolf had set.  With his opponent in full view, the Chosen of Ogg left the safety of the tree branches and returned to the ground so that he may face his foe.
  The two faced each other, both keeping a careful distance at first.  Bloodwolf, out of respect for his foes power, S'nark-lak out of confusion, as prey rarely approached him.  Each sized up the other, seeking a weakness to exploit.  S’nark-lak, while confident of his power, no doubt learned to be wary of the humans, possibly due to the injuries he suffered at Soaring Hawks hands.
  Bloodwolf’s keen vision readily spotted a large scar on the monster’s abdomen, as well as the burn marks on its muzzle.  Soaring Hawk left his mark, thought Bloodwolf. 
  “Ho, monster!  You face a foe that shall not be defeated by such as you!” proclaimed the hero.  S’nark-lak, perhaps understanding the taunt, roared his defiance.
  With inhuman speed, the Barion landed a blow that lay open Bloodwolf’s scalp, though it did not pierce the bone.  So great was the force of the blow, Bloodwolf was sent flying backward several paces.  Stunned, the Barbarian was unable to react quickly enough to avoid a second crashing blow against his left shoulder, causing him to lose his club.
  Blinded by the blood flowing into his eyes, he was quickly snatched up in the monsters powerful grip, soon to be crushed to death if he failed to get free.  As mighty as Bloodwolf was, he could not break free of the crushing grip that held him.
  His club was useless so close to his foe, even had he not already dropped it.  His arms trapped, Bloodwolf used his head to butt the Barion square in its muzzle.  Normally, such an act might not have had any effect on the beast, but Bloodwolf struck the sensitive flesh where Soaring Hawks torch had burned it.  In pain and surprise, the Barion released its grip on the Barbarian.  Bloodwolf, quick to seize the advantage, recovered his club and swung at his foe.
  The club struck the beast in its forearm.  Unfortunately, the blow was a glancing one, failing to inflict any real damage.  S’nark-lak swiped at the Champion, catching him full on the side of his head.  Again, Bloodwolf was sent flying for several paces.  On a normal man, such a blow would have taken the head off the shoulders.  As it was, Bloodwolf was stunned.
  S’nark-lak, more cautious, now, slowly approached the fallen Barbarian.  Unable to recover fast enough to escape, Bloodwolf waited for the Barion to approach.  When the monster was close enough to grab the Barbarian, Bloodwolf kicked out with both legs and stuck the Barion full in the abdomen, one foot connecting with the scar left by Soaring Hawks scythe.  The force of the blow knocked the monster several steps back, howling in pain.
  Recovering his feet, Bloodwolf took the fight back to the Barion, this time catching the monster on the side of its head with the club.  S’nark-lak roared anew his rage and swiped at foe.  Bloodwolf, now aware of the monster’s speed, was able to dodge away without injury.  S’nark-lak, perhaps sensing the loss of his advantage, turned and fled.  Bloodwolf tried to give chase, but the Barion was to swift, and soon escaped into the night.

  In a place not a place, at a time outside of time, dark figures observed the battle between man and monster.
  “’S’nark-lak will make short work of this Chosen of Ogg, I dare-say’,” Mocked Dg’rade. “S’nark-lak has fled into the night, and Bloodwolf yet lives!”
  “S’nark-lak was still wounded from his previous encounters with Muzlok Clan,” Countered Pr’yid. “Were he fully healed and recovered, Bloodwolf would not have a chance.  Look there…Ogg’s Chosen used his head and struck S’nark-lak in his muzzle where he still suffered from painful burns.  And here, the Barion is kicked where he was wounded by the farmer’s scythe.  S’nark-lak was off his game.”
  “Perhaps we can even the odds a bit, then,” said L’yor. “Let us heal the monster and leave no weaknesses for Bloodwolf to exploit.”
  “Can we do so?” asked P’nik. “Would that not be considered interference?”
  “Gods heal their followers all the time, or so it is believed,” Countered L’yor. “No reason we cannot do the same.”
  “Round two will surely bring about the end of Ogg’s Chosen One!” laughed Pr’yid.

  Bloodwolf awoke with a start.  Again, he had dreamed of evil laughter.  It took him a moment to realize he was back in Soaring Hawk’s hut.  He had made his way back after the Barion had escaped.  His wounds were all wrapped and his club was on a stool next to his cot.
  “Good morning, lazy one,” Came a voice.  Sitting on another cot on the opposite side of the room was Soaring Hawk.  “Care for a little breakfast?”
  “Indeed,” Answered Bloodwolf. “You are looking much better.”
  “My fever broke during the night,” said Soaring Hawk.  “I suspect your Shaman’s medicines have something to do with that.”
  “Firestarter is an accomplished healer, to be sure.  You look good.”
  “Better than you did last night, I think,” smiled the farmer. “S’nark-lak did you a damage, I dare say.”
  “I returned the favor.  Unfortunately, he yet lives.”
  “Well, you almost didn’t from the look of your wounds.”
  “I’ll heal.  Tonight I will face S’nark-lak again, hopefully for the last time.”
  Soaring Hawk looked disturbed for a moment, then said, “You don’t have to, you know.”
  “What?” said the surprised Bloodwolf. “Is he not still a danger to your clan.”
  “Aye, if he comes back.  But your debt to me done.  Thanks to your administering those medicines, I am recovering, making you free of any debt to me.”
  “Hardly!  Firestarter gave me those herbs.  Still, debt or no, I would not leave your clan to face S’nark-lak alone,” said Bloodwolf. “And I doubt a little fever would have killed a stubborn ox like you, anyway!”
  Soaring Hawk released a long sigh. “Can’t talk you out of it, can I?”
  “Why would you want to?” Bloodwolf asked.
  “You were a sorry mess when you came in last night.  I fear you will not survive a second battle with S’nark-lak.”
  “Do not worry.  S’nark-lak was in a bad way in order to flee from me.  Barions heal no faster than normal bears, but I heal very quickly,” Bloodwolf removed his bandages revealing healthy, healed flesh.  There was only the faintest of scars to show he had ever been injured. “Tonight, I will face a sorely wounded S’nark-lak, but he will face a healthy Bloodwolf.”
  “Amazing!” Soaring Hawk had seen Bloodwolf wounded in battle during the Ork Wars, but never realized how fast the hero recovered.  Barbarians tend to make light of their injuries, so long as they can still fight. “If ever I doubted you were the Chosen of Ogg, this convinces me it is true!  Even your hair has grown back,” soaring Hawk raised a hand to his own receding hairline. “Wish I could do that.”
  “What you have lost in hair, you make up for in experience.  Makes you look wise, I think.”
  “Time has granted you the power of flattery, I think!” Laughed Soaring Hawk.  “Well, then, we must have a mighty breakfast!  Morning Breeze is preparing it now.”
  “Wonderful!  I feel as though I could eat the Barion raw!”
  “Perhaps we should skip dinner, then.”

  That evening Bloodwolf returned to his previous campsite to await S’nark-lak once again.  This time, however, Soaring Hawk and a goat accompanied him.  As before, Bloodwolf was armed with his club, while Soaring Hawk bore his scythe.  Both had heard how ineffectual swords had been, and brought weapons that had wounded the monster before.
  “I wish you had stayed at the farm, Hawk.”
  “Afraid I will steal your glory?” quipped the farmer.
  “You can have all the glory you want.  You are not yet recovered from your last battle.  It could be weeks before that arm is fully healed,” Bloodwolf pointed at the splint on Soaring Hawks arm. “Hard to use that scythe with only one good arm.”
  “Managed it before,” Replied Soaring Hawk. “Do not worry, Wolf, I will stay out of your way and allow you to finish off S’nark-lak.  I just want to see the brute get what he deserves.”
  “That is if S’nark-lak returns to the same place.”
  “The goat will help with that.”
  “How?”
  “I think Takes Things only took one goat that first night.  S’nark-lak took the other.  That suggests that S’nark-lak likes goat meat as well as human flesh. I will slaughter the goat and hang it from a tree limb allowing the blood to pool beneath.  This will draw S’nark-lak out and lure him to us.”
  “Seems like a waste of a perfectly good goat,” Bloodwolf said.
  “Not at all.  This was tomorrow’s dinner regardless.”
  “I think we should try live prey first.  S’nark-lak found the other goat without special assistance.”
  “Hmmm…bears do not eat carrion, perhaps Barions avoid it as well,” Observed Soaring Hawk.  “Live bait it is, then.”
  Soaring Hawk tied the goat to a tree then took a seat on a nearby stump.  Bloodwolf took up a position near him on a downed log.
  “Last night I took to the trees, but that arm makes it impossible for you to climb.”
  “Last night there was nobody to watch your back.  Tonight there is.”
  “Like old times, eh?” said Bloodwolf recalling the Ork Wars.
  “Did I really save your life from that Ork?”
  “In truth, you did.  I heard him coming behind me, but with the other three attacking from the front, I couldn’t turn and defend myself in time,” Bloodwolf admitted. “I would not insult you with a lie, Hawk.”
  “But can you die?” Soaring Hawk pressed. “You have lived longer than I, yet seem half my age.  Your wounds vanish overnight.  Perhaps you can’t be killed,” 
  “Come, now!  What was our motto during the war?”
  “’If it can bleed, it can die’.”
  “I bleed plenty.  One day M’ort shall come for me as he comes for all men.”
  “Well, I expect you will out-live me so I name you my Pyre-man when my time is done.”
  “I will be honored and saddened on that day.”
  The two men spoke quietly for some time reminiscing about the war and what they had done since then.  Bloodwolf allowed his friend to dominate the conversation, partly out of genuine curiosity and partly so he could stay aware of his surroundings.  At one point, Bloodwolf felt something was wrong and motioned for Soaring Hawk to be wary.
  “What is it?” whispered Soaring Hawk as he looked around.
  “Something is missing,” said Bloodwolf.
  After looking about for a moment, Soaring Hawk asked, “Where is the goat?”
  Barbarians rarely admit to being afraid.  Life is hard in the Barbarlands, making the people who live there hard and strong.  But at that moment Bloodwolf felt the tingle of fear all along his spine.  S’nark-lak took the goat from under his very nose!  The monster made no sound and left no scent.
  “Back to the tree,” Bloodwolf ordered his friend.  Instincts honed during war-time came to the fore and the farmer instantly obeyed, taking a defensive position with his scythe.  Bloodwolf held his club in front of him as he turned slowly about.  He was looking in Soaring Hawks general direction when the farmer shouted a warning.
  “Behind you!”
  Whirling about, the Chosen of Ogg blindly swung his club with tremendous force.  The club struck fur-covered flesh with a dull thud.  There stood the Barion, towering over the Barbarian. Once again, the pair sized each other up.  Bloodwolf was surprised to see that the Barion showed no signs of its previous injuries.  The burns and scars were all gone.  Fear still gripped the Barbarian, though he fought it down.
  “Sneaky bastard, isn’t he,” Called out Soaring Hawk. “All healed up, too.  Damned inconsiderate of him, I would say.”
  The farmers attempt at bravado heartened Bloodwolf.  “Indeed.  I will have to discuss it with him,” Bloodwolf now appreciated Soaring Hawks company in a new way.  The farmer’s casualness acted as a calming influence, helping the hero to control his fear and surprise.  Bloodwolf had never before felt so afraid.  It was as if something was forcing a sense of terror on him.
  S’nark-lak launched a crushing blow on the side of Bloodwolf’s face, sending him staggering back stunned.  The Barion was quick to seize the advantage and launched another blow that sent the Barbarians weapon flying off into the forest.
  Soaring Hawk watched as the Barion seized Bloodwolf in its powerful grip.  Again, Ogg’s Chosen was trapped, both arms pinned to his sides as the monster sought to crush the life from him.  As before, Bloodwolf head-butted the Barion in its muzzle, but this time with no effect.  Ignoring his own injuries, the farmer rushed forward swinging his scythe.
  S’nark-lak roared in pain and fury as Soaring Hawk’s blade bit deep into his flesh.  In surprise, the Barion dropped his foe and turned on his new attacker.  Hampered by his injuries, Soaring Hawk was unable to avoid the S’nark-lak’s attack.  A powerful blow from the monster’s claw sent the farmer headlong into the nearest tree.
  Bloodwolf heard the snapping of bones as he regained his feet.  Lacking his club, the Barbarian pounded on the Barion’s back with his bare fists.  As the S’nark-lak spun around, Bloodwolf dodged the monster’s flailing forepaws.  All traces of fear left the Barbarian as a dark rage welled up within him.
  “Come on, you misbegotten bastard!” yelled Bloodwolf. “Face your slayer!”
  The Barbarian stood his ground as S’nark-lak rushed forward and again grasped him in a powerful bear hug.  This time, however, Bloodwolf kept his arms high, so they were not trapped in the monster’s grasp.  Ignoring the pain in his back and the blood in his eyes, Bloodwolf took hold of the Barions mighty jaws.  With all the strength he could muster, he forced the beasts jaws wide, even as he forced its head back.  Further and further back he forced the monster head, even as he opened the jaws wider and wider.  The beasts' fangs pierced the flesh of Bloodwolf’s hands, but he did not relent.
  S'nark-lak, never before challenged in such a manner by his prey, became maddened by the pain in his jaws and tried to shake his head free of the Barbarians mighty grip, even as he redoubled his efforts to crush the champion in his grasp.  With ever mounting fury, the monster increased the strength of his attack, trying to crush the human that caused him such pain.
  Bloodwolf, feeling his ribs crack and break, continued to pry the beasts jaws further apart, and force it's head back.  The Chosen of Ogg nearly passed out when he heard a load cracking noise.  He feared another broken rib, at first.  It was not until the beast released his hold on him did Bloodwolf realize the Barion was dead, from both a broken neck and shattered jaws.
  Bleeding and breathing hard, Bloodwolf rushed over to Soaring Hawk.  It was obvious from the farmers labored breathing numerous wounds that he had not long to live.  Soaring Hawk looked up at Bloodwolf and smiled.
  “You got the…bastard…at last, I see.”
  “We got him, Hawk,” Bloodwolf corrected. “You have a very bad habit of saving my life whenever we get together.”
  Soaring Hawk coughed blood as he replied, “I…imagine that…it will get me…in trouble some day.”
  “It might at that,” Bloodwolf agreed, as his eyes grew wet.
  “Help me…to my feet,” soaring Hawk commanded. “M’ort must take me standing.”
  Knowing his friend would not survive more than a few heartbeats longer, he lifted the farmer up and carried him over to the Barion’s corpse before standing him up.  Bloodwolf lowered Soaring Hawks feet so that one foot was on the ground, and the other rested on S’nark-lak’s head.  Soaring Hawk had just enough time to smile at the gesture before he released his last breath.  Bloodwolf wept openly as he carried his friends body back to the farm.

  The next morning found Bloodwolf hard at work erecting a funeral pyre for Soaring Hawk.  Word had spread quickly that S’nark-lak was slain, and that Soaring Hawk played a part in the act, as well as saved the Chosen One’s life a second time.  As Soaring Hawks chosen Pyre-man, it was Bloodwolf’s responsibility to build the platform, lie the body out, and set it aflame.  Morning Breeze and Runs With Goats stood to the side singing the song of farewell as tradition required.  Chief Dark Cloud commanded that the entire clan attend the service, and all were present.  When Bloodwolf started the blaze, all the Clan Warriors screamed out their war-cry so that M’ort would know he was taking a warrior that day.
  S’nark-lak’s corpse was skinned and half his hide was used to wrap Soaring Hawks body.  The remainder of the hide was tanned and returned to Bloodwolf.  The corpse was  burned and buried far from the caves.  Bloodwolf warned that none should eat the flesh of the vile spawn of the Dark Ones.  However, three men failed to heed Bloodwolf’s warning not to eat of the monster’s flesh, and were driven mad, running off into the wilderness, howling in pain and terror.  These were the first "howling men", the mindless men that run naked through the forests, howling like wolves, and slaying any man they meet.  Women and children they find are taken away, either to be eaten, or violated, thus propagating their tainted lineage.
  Before Bloodwolf took his leave of Muzlok Lands, he spoke with Morning Breeze and Runs With Goats.
  “Soaring Hawk saved my life before he died.  I now owe a life-debt to those he has left behind.  If ever you are in need, send for me and I shall come,” said the Chosen of Ogg. “I have a son, Hunting Fox, who lost his wife in child-birth five winters past.  His son needs a mother, just as Runs With Goats needs a father.  I will send him here to you, and if you find each other suitable, I grant my blessings that you join together.  He will have a sizable dowry of cattle from my own herds.”
  “I would be honored to meet the son of Tr’ogg,” said Morning Breeze. “And his grandson.”
  “No more than he should be to meet you both.”
  Bloodwolf made his farewells and returned to his own Clan.  He would never forget the brave Warrior turned farmer who saved his life, not once, but twice.

  In a place not a place, at a time outside of time, dark figures roared their anger.
  “With his bare hands he killed our ‘invincible’ monster!  BARE HANDS!” yelled L’yor.
  “Soaring Hawk saved him.  If not for that farmer, Bloodwolf would be so much Barion excrement, now,” Whined L’zhey.
  “I enhanced his fears ten-fold, but he shook them off when he saw his friend mortally injured,” Added P’nik. “He seemed to draw power from his rage, after that.”
  “Bah!  T’or and B’tal must have aided him!” ranted L’yor.
  “Won’t grandfather be pleased we sent him a new soul?” inquired Y’uhm, referring to M’ort.
  “BAH!  Now Soaring Hawk is immortalized in Barbar history and will inspire others to selfless acts of greatness!  We are worse off than before!”
  “Especially if Ogg suspects our direct involvement.”
  “Dragon,” said Pr’yid. “We should have used a Dragon…”
