Rage and need drove him. He was fast, strong, and deadly. He’d out maneuvered the formations, and out-fought the men that had broken ranks, killing many.

Grey-Fang found himself standing before the great pavilion of General Dhava. It seemed a life-time since he’d started, but he was finally here. Sweat and blood covered him from head to toe, his axes dripped with gore. Exhausted, he managed to stand tall and proud. Only one more test and he could rest.

“Gods, I thank thee for thy blessings. Guide mine lowly spirit to your people, for I am thine.” Grey-Fang whispered.

General Dhava jumped to the ground which trembled beneath his feet. At seven-feet tall, he dwarfed Grey-Fang in every way. During the bloodshed, he’d taken the time to put on armor and grab his fabled great sword- Jorjon. He ran one beefy hand along his bald head and raised his voice so that all nearby could hear.

“You have made it far, I’ll not deny you that, nor dishonor your skill. Let no other man enter this fight. This is between us.”