He was a boy when last he saw his village.

But in the high mountain pass he threw aside his trepidation and with a mighty thrust of his spear slew the wolf-beast. With that kill he became a man, a man whose name would bestow legend upon his people.

The journey home was arduous. The track down from the mountains was rocky and rutted, strewn with loose stones. He carried the wolf-beast on his back, a lifeless, heavy trophy. His muscles ached, the sheer weight of the beast forced him to rest often. It was only grim determination to see his family that spurred him on, for soon he would take pride-of-place around the night-fire, to recount the tale of his Trial to his clan.

It was Tradition.

Upon his return he was praised with a hero's welcome. But Kurgen had never been so happy to greet his father, never so proud to enter the Warriors Hall.


Alconan, head of clan Dreadeye, all but crushed his heir in a bear-hug. He appraised the blood-stained wolf his son had carried home, and with a solemn nod of his head ordered the beast be prepared for the feast.

Life on the steppe taught many important lessons, chief among them was never waste an offering from the Gods. The wolf was such an offering and the Gods must be honoured. So every part of the animal would be used.

It's skin would be a warm fur for Kurgen to wear on the coldest nights. It's meat would be roasted over the night-fire, to give nourishment to the clan as Kurgen spoke of his Trial. It's fangs and claws would be made into fine necklaces. It's skull would be mounted in the Warriors Hall. It's bones and marrow would be crushed to powder, mixed with spices to make an aphrodisiac Kurgen could use for his pleasure.

Much pleasure would come for Kurgen. There would be pain as well. For pleasure cannot exist without pain as good cannot exist without evil.

The Gods alone knew what course Kurgen would travel in future days. Passing his Trial and becoming a man was merely the beginning...