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"No! I absolutely forbid you to go." Ulfrik's voice rang throughout the whole hall. Ulfrik was a huge man, and fearsome. In his mid forties, with a mane of thick grey hair, and with a powerful build covered in robes several centuries out of fashion, he looked like a barbarian king.

"And I say, father, that it is necessary." Wolfgang's voice remained entirely level. The Scion of House Ebonhart had a reputation for keeping himself under control. The boy was skinny, and with thick black hair kept in meticulous order. A modernist in every sense, he wore the latest fashions from the capital of Geldin. One wonders how he was able to learn of them so quickly.

"Necessary? Fireblade wants you to watch his granddaughter. I couldn't possibly think of anything more trivial for a man like you!"

"It's not trivial, it's necessary to cultivate relations with the next generation of leaders"

"You need to learn how to rule, which is why you are staying here. I am sending Giftzahn and that is final."

"If you do, you will find yourself alone here. I am going, like it or not."

"How dare you talk back to me boy!"

"How dare you damage the future of this house?"

"The future of the house? If you go, and you are killed, then who will be the next lord, GIFTZAHN of all people? Giftzahn?"

"He is far more capable than you think, father. If you paid attention to him, you would know."

Silence.

"I'm going father, goodbye."

"Nikolai! after him!" The elvish captain of the guard stood up and began to follow Wolfgang out of the hall.

Wolfgang turned. "You heard my father, captain. Come after me!"

"Sir yes sir!" said Nikolai with a grin, and with that, the two of them marched out the front door.

"BASTARDS!" yelled Ulfrik. "You will come crawling back on your hands and knees!"

Giftzahn Ebonhart, a bit taller, and with far more muscle than his older brother, was also significantly more unkempt - unshaven, poorly dressed, and covered in fleas and the smell of alcohol - was far too drunk to be shocked. His father was standing in front of his throne, chest heaving. The prince had just left for Geldin with the Captain of the guard, to become the lapdog of some pampered Geldene princess.

Lord Ebonhart stormed out of the room, leaving Giftzahn alone in the Hall. At least he thought he was alone. He was too drunk to notice the guards. Giftzahn tried to think. When that didn't work, he tried to remember Wolfgang's words. And failed. Giftzahn only remembered bits of the speech. Even those he probably remembered wrong. Giftzahn stood up, took a few steps forward, fell over and realized his feet were tangled in the table legs. He pulled himself to his knees, then his feet, and stumbled into his room.

Giftzahn's private quarters were every bit as filthy and fleabit as his fur. It stank of dogs, alcohol and urine. Bottles of mead, full and empty gathered dust on the floor, on the table, everywhere. The bed was unmade and unwashed, a pile of wolves was fast asleep in the corner. Giftzahn crawled into bed and pulled up the covers to block out the daylight. He was about to fall asleep when his foot touched something cold. He twitched, reached down and found a large bottle of whiskey. Rage. The bottle shattered against the wall, and the smell of alcohol overpowered the smell of dogs. The sun was high in the sky when Giftzahn fell asleep.

Giftzahn woke up in the small hours, craving booze and blood. He had sobered up enough to find and open a bottle of mead. He took a gulp and immediately spat it out. It was too long since he had killed. For a werewolf, drinking might be fun, but still impossible on an empty stomach. A hungry werewolf needs blood, and will settle for nothing less. Giftzahn jumped out of bed and stepped on a large shard of glass. He muttered a curse and glanced at the wolves.

Most of them were sleeping happily in a large pile near the corner. The alpha slept at the foot of his bed. Once, a guard asked him if he named "his" wolves. It took Giftzahn a while to answer the question. It was hard. How could you explain wolf culture to something with half as many legs as you? He didn't bother. "Names are for dogs." He said with a joking smile, then raised a bottle of mead to his lips. Upon realizing that since the guardsman had a name, the joke fell flat. He really needed a drink. But first he had to eat. He shook the alpha awake. The two understood each other perfectly. Giftzahn changed.

He liked being a wolf. Four legs are very stable, and the new priorities made his room smell nice. The only downside was what six years of binge drinking had done to his ability to change. When he turned into a wolf, sometimes part of his clothes would change with him. This had on occasion, given him a lovely, bright purple fur coat. That was another thing he liked about wolves. They were colorblind. It didn't matter in any case, as he usually wore plain, grey clothes which he would go for months without changing, nothing like Wolfgang's ostentatious Geldene suits, or his father's old world robes.

The pack bounded outside, Giftzahn in the lead.They were ready to hunt. Giftzahn sniffed the air. A deer, eating berries, an elk with her calf. A peasant walking home, covered in the smell of sweat and sex. Giftzahn ran for the elk and the wolves followed.

The elk saw one wolf at first, seemingly wounded and limping, but slavering and hungry. Its intent was clear. She rushed it, and was shocked when it took off like a shot. Another wolf came from behind and broke her daughter's neck. She chased the wolf, but it disappeared around her, as others nipped at her flanks and wore her down. She fell, and a large, silverbacked wolf leapt from the trees and tore out her throat. Giftzahn was happy. He had tasted blood.

The wolves liked hunting with Giftzahn. He could give them mastery over the largest animals in their territory, and do it with none suffering so much as a scratch. Giftzahn liked hunting with the wolves. They didn't call him stupid. They called him "boss."

Giftzahn ate his fill and returned home, leaving the calf and the rest of the elk to his pack. Giftzahn was tired. And thirsty. He slumped into bed and grabbed a bottle off the floor. Still full. He opened the bottle and smelled the mead. Sickly sweet honey. He raised it to his lips, and remembered Wolfgang. He remembered who he was. Giftzahn, scion of house Ebonhart. This was his chance to make something of himself, because one day he would be the baron. It was his chance to step up, and by Fenris, he would do it. So he drank the whole bottle. And another. And another. And another. By the time he passed out, the sun was already rising.

Giftzahn was used to the shame. He had never felt much else. The drunken hunter lived in Wolfgang's shadow; charming, intelligent and sophisticated, his brother was a true werewolf. Giftzahn never described it like that. When pressed, he would always mutter "He's better than me." Simple. Accurate.

Giftzahn was used to the headaches. Alcohol damaged a werewolf's ability to control his shape. His hangovers were the result of a wolf brain in a human skull. Something like that wasn't lethal; it wasn't silver or fire. but that didn't make it hurt any less. It was worse when he retained his wolf heart. he didn't even have the energy to moan. Giftzahn had been lying awake for over an hour when the sun came through the windows. Pretty. Painful. He barely mustered the energy to roll over.

Giftzahn was used to contempt. When he finally dragged himself out of his room, every guard in the hall was staring at him. Giftzahn had gotten used to it. But today, they weren't glaring. They were scared. They were absolutely terrified that one day, Giftzahn would be the one giving orders. He was not used to this. He felt sick.

He was about to turn around and walk back to his room to drink, but Ulfrik yelled at him. "Boy! Come!"

"Yes father." He followed the Baron into his private quarters. Once inside, he closed the door and sat down across from Giftzahn,

"You are the new heir. So you are now important." said Ulfrik. "Lord Karsten would like to meet you in person."

"Is he coming here..."

"Idiot. You ride tonight for the old palace at Kargau."

"Yes father."

"Now get out of my sight." Giftzahn opened the door and trudged out of the room. "And by the wrath of Fenris, take a BATH!"

Giftzahn ignored the advice and went hunting. When he returned, night had already fallen. He was put on a horse and sent with a four man "honor guard." None of whom would speak above a whisper, or laugh below a shout. Even Giftzahn could tell they were laughing at him - he heard his name as part of the funnier jokes. In any case, he was barely paying attention. The ground was beautiful, the rolling hillsides, dense woods, a bridge over the Wolfsfluss; a deep, wide, slow-flowing river. With abundant game and beautiful scenery, the barony of Ebonhart is an excellent place to go hunting. But the muttering still got to him. After a night on horseback, the end result was a hungry, angry werewolf who desperately needed a drink.

The city of Kargau was finally in sight. Great mirrored towers stretched high over broad boulevards with trees planted along the gutters, to take in water, clean the air and give shade to the countless scholars who called Kargau "home." At the center of this glowing city stood a palace of marble, with great halls covered in mirrors, hung with tapestries from the greatest weavers that Graureich had ever seen. It was the most beautiful city in the world. The key word here is "was." The city had gotten far uglier since Nigel Fireblade burned it to the ground. Twice.

Under Lord Karsten, Kargau turned from a city of lights, to a city of ashes, to a hellhole. Slums. Dirt. Stink. Manufactories. Karsten was obsessed with the damn things. He admired the more industrialized nations to no end, and in his quest to emulate them, he covered the entire city with factories that produced shoddy products, with terrible working conditions that seemingly did little but pump out choking clouds of soot. Despite this, people kept moving in from the country in search of wages. They died in a gutter, or on the job with horrifying frequency. Some parts of the city smelled like rotting flesh.

But as far as Karsten was concerned, it was all worth it. He was the world's largest producer of gunpowder. It sent shivers down his spine when Chaplain Fireblade, lord of Geldin, came to him for weapons. It gave him different kinds of chills whenever anarchists blew up an armory. No matter though. They would soon be stamped out. All he needed to do was borrow a bit of money from Fireblade and he would get back on his feet. This deal worked out well for all involved; Karsten got his chance for real wealth, Lord Fireblade got free gunpowder, not to mention making a killing on interest, and the Kargau anarchist commune was able to purchase cheap weapons from Lord Fireblade.

Giftzahn rode through the city gates, and rented a nice room at an inn for his muttering guards.

***

The Palace was big. Gardens included. A small path of stone led to the palace gates. Giftzahn hated it. He hated the gardens. The flowers were beautiful, and would have been well kept, but Coal dust was settling on everything in sight. A He tried not to look at it when he walked into the palace, but all he could think about was how badly he needed a drink.

The foyer was lavish, but Giftzahn couldn't stop looking at his feet, and at the footprints on the carpet left by coal dust. A butler greeted him, but Giftzahn kept staring at his feet, and noticed the knife hidden in the butler's sock. All the way up to Karsten's study, Giftzahn stared at his feet and noticed the smell of roast beef in the air, almost completely masked by perfume and... something. And he didn't notice Karsten's smirk, because he was looking at his feet, and trying desperately not to think of mead. Or blood. Giftzahn was hungry.

"Not a talker, are you?" asked Karsten.

"No."

"A private man, then. I respect that. So we shall have lunch in my office."

Giftzahn agreed, because then the duke might talk less.

the duke's private dining room overlooked the gardens. A large glass wall provided an amazing view of the city. Vile. There was a small table set for two, with a large loaf of bread and some wine. "I know you have simple tastes, Giftzahn."

"I guess." This had to be a joke. A werewolf can't eat bread. "Could I have some meat?"

"I'm sorry, the kitchens don't make anything this early in the day. Maybe..." Karsten held out a small bowl of butter. "Could you eat this?"

"Yeah."

Karsten laughed. "So aside from this little gaffe, how are things?"

Is he serious? "I need a drink." Caught off guard, Giftzahn said the first thing that came to mind.

"Of course, of course."Karsten stepped out of the room and shouted "A brandy for the guest, please!" he returned with a full bottle of dark brown nectar, poured himself a glass and handed the bottle to Giftzahn. "So how are things, Prince Ebonhart?"

"Good."

"glad to hear it. And your father?"

The conversation continued for some time. More bottles piled up, and Giftzahn never knew the exact moment he passed out.

He woke up in a strange room with a werewolf hangover. Wolf ears as well, this time. He could hear everything in the whole damn palace, cooking noises, maids stumbling and gossiping. He heard the clink of glasses, the jokes of effete nobles, and he heard Karsten crack a joke about Grandfather Ebonhart on a leash. Giftzahn hated them all.

He was only able to control his shape hours later. He got dressed and stumbled into the hall. A butler led him to Lord Karsten's billiard room. Giftzahn blinked groggily, and wondered if there was anything to hunt in the garden.

Karsten was playing pool with a lithe, dark haired woman who was missing her left eye. Several other lords watched the game with interest, and nodded politely when Karsten lost. He took his loss gracefully, and then turned on Giftzahn. "Ah, Ebonhart! Some friends of mine arrived this morning. I informed them you were taking a bath, and could not be disturbed." The insult went right over Giftzahn's head. Karsten smirked, and then introduced Giftzahn to the other nobles; a meaningless string of names and faces that Giftzahn found impossible to fit together. A fat man with a walrus mustache, a skinny man with no hair. All human.

The nobles went back to talking amongst themselves, and Giftzahn's attention wandered. He began to set up a pool game with the one-eyed lady, whose name he had already forgotten. They played in silence, and Giftzahn lost. again and again.

"That's the old Ebonhart spirit, isn't it Felix?" asked the skinny man.

"So it is." said the fat man. "A good dog never stops barking up an empty tree."

Giftzahn ignored the taunt, but gritted his teeth at the laughter.

"Easy Otto." Said the skinny man. "Idiot or no, he's still our guest."

"Bah, the boy's useless." said the fat man. "A good jab should get him moving."

Giftzahn finished setting up. The one-eyed lady allowed him to go first. It was a good break.

"You do know you're going to lose." said Karsten. "You're quite bad at this game."

Giftzahn missed his next shot.

"I suppose it comes from your father. Strong or not, the Ebonharts never figured out how to handle a cue."

The one-eyed lady shot a glare at Karsten, and then sunk two solids.

"But that's just the men. I bet this boy's mother really knew how to play pool! But that's self-evident. all you need to be good is practice."

Giftzahn's blood boiled. He turned around, hefted the cue and locked eyes with Karsten. then glanced at the glass of wine in his hand. Karsten hadn't touched it since he poured it half an hour ago. "Ah, it seems I have your attention." He held out a bottle. "Would you like some wine?"

"..."

"Well, doggie?"

"Yes."

"There's a good boy."

"..."

"Karsten, you really are going a bit too far." The one-eyed lady stepped in.

Karsten sighed. "Oh, very well then, I'll give him the wine. Here's a treat for doggie."

Giftzahn took the bottle and smashed it over Karsten's head. The man collapsed and the room went silent. Blood trickled onto the carpet. The duke moaned, and twitched. Still alive. He smelled good. And Giftzahn hadn't eaten in days. He changed. He lunged. He sunk his teeth into Karsten's throat and ripped. He swallowed, It felt good. The blood drenched his muzzle. Giftzahn ate his fill and changed back, still drenched in blood. Karsten's mutilated corpse lay at his feet. a small band of terrified aristocrats cowered at the other side of the room. Silence.

Giftzahn walked out. Halfway down the hall, he broke into a run. He saw the butler crouch for his boot knife and knocked him to the floor in one swing.

Giftzahn dashed out into the garden, shocking the occasional gardener, tracking, dripping blood over the charcoal covered grounds. Through the gate, into the streets.Shock from the humans milling about outside the factories, innkeepers, drunks, tanners, productive members of society, nobles, doctors, the occasional priest. all saw a blood drenched man tearing through the streets at breakneck speed, and saw him throw himself into a rather seedy inn near the city gates.

He found his guards, drinking in a corner. "We leave, now."

Slack-jawed confusion, mixed with horror. It was a mark of the Werewolf's position in Grauen culture that they didn't run at the sight - bloodstained werewolves, while bad news, are not uncommon enough to warrant such a response.

"I ate Karsten."

"What."

"I ate Karsten." The guards stared in disbelief.

"You fucking idiot."

Giftzahn returned a day later, walked into his room, and promptly drank himself into a stupor. He was awakened about noon the next morning, by his father banging on the door.

"Idiot!" Yelled Ebonhart. "You Idiot!"

"Sorry."

"Sorry? You murder the most powerful man in Graureich and bring a dozen armies on my head, and all you have to say is sorry?"

"I was hungry, and..."

"Oh, wonderful. I was worried that the next duke of Ebonhart wouldn't have a healthy appetite!"

"he..."

"I don't give a damn. Whatever you did, whatever you tried to do, you failed. You failed, and all the wizards in Geldin can't change that! I have to call in every favor I am owed just so I can live another day, never mind the very future of this house!"

"He insulted my mother!"

"Then you duel him, dammit, don't bash in his skull with a wine bottle!

"..."

"Idiot." Ebonhart glared at him. "Get out. I have work to do, cleaning up your mess. I long for the days when the worst that could happen was you soiling the dining hall."

Giftzahn walked off, staring at his feet. He would have gone back to his room, but he was intercepted by Karl, a guard, one of the few who he knew by name, and went off to the barracks. He entered, and found almost the entire guard sitting quietly, all eyes on him, stern. And now for another lecture. Giftzahn missed his wolves, they trusted him, they liked him, they even looked up to him, they saw him as the leader, they didn't just...

"What do we do?"

What.

The same guard, sitting close to Giftzahn, repeated his question. "What do we do?"

"Ask my dad."

"That's not going to help. He's trying to talk his way out of this, and anyone with half a brain will know that won't work."

"Shouldn't it, I mean..."

Another guard. "Giftzahn, unless you do something, and soon, we are all going to die."

"More like I will."

"No, We all will."

"What?"

Karl spoke up. "Messenger came in this morning. Karsten's brother just declared war."

"Then why don't you leave? you can just pack up and take everythi-"

"Shut up... I have kids in this city, my wife runs a bar here, I've spent my whole life here, and I am not moving."

Another guard "My wife's pregnant, second child. No way she can deal with the road."

"My family's served here for generations, and I'll be damned if it ends with me."

Every guard here had a reason to stay, some half-baked, some almost rational. None of them made sense. What was going on? Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

"I guess I'll go talk to the guy in person..."

"DAMMIT!" yelled Karl. "That's not going to do anything!"

"Yeah, I guess..." Giftzahn got up, and walked out.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"My room." Stunned silence. Giftzahn left the barracks, and slumped back into bed to sleep off the last of his hangover. He woke up later that evening, hungry. His pack

woke up, and they went hunting. He sniffed the air as he ran, and filtered through the smells. Deer, another elk, human woman, bear, avoid that one, a moose ... Probably the deer, easy target, and Giftzahn was feeling lazy. The pack ran for it, behind Giftzahn, and managed to surround it without it even noticing. It was barely a chase, and Giftzahn snapped its neck effortlessly. He sank his teeth into its flesh, filling his nostrils with the scent of its fur, its skin, its blood, the other wolves didn't join in, a kill this easy usually turned into a frenzy but now they were all... He looked up. He hated relying on his eyes in wolf form, they were unreliable, hazy, and totally colorblind, but there was too much blood in the air and on his muzzle for him to smell the human woman standing in front of him. One eyed, dark hair.

"Hello Giftzahn."

silence.

"I apologize for the intrusion, but I would rather not deal personally with your father. The man's a fool, and would put no value on the information I have to give him."

"..." Giftzahn turned and started trudging back to Ebon Hall

"What do you want, Giftzahn?" The woman matched his pace

"..."

"Money? Power? Sex?

"..."

"What about respect?"

Giftzahn shifted, into human form, clothes and all - an unusual trait for a werewolf. "I have my pack."

"How would you like it if humans looked up to you?"

"Humans are shit."

"Why?"

"All they do is talk."

"What about?"

"They talk about tits and reputation. It's boring"

"Only when fools are talking."

"So shut up."

"Really, that kind of rudeness?"

"yeah."

"Even after I stood up for you in Kargau?"

"..."

"At least look at me, Giftzahn."

Giftzahn turned quickly to look at the one-eyed woman, as well as survey the scene. His pack was cowering, utterly terrified of her. Giftzahn wished he could get a clear sniff. The first time they had met, she was wearing too much perfume, and now, with all the blood... Who? No. What the hell was she?

Faint smile, raised eyebrow, slight enough for Giftzahn not to notice. "Now will you listen to me?"

"yeah."

"Good. The first thing you should know is that Felix, the new lord of Kargau, is a complete and utter idiot."

"Runs in the family?"

"Listen, Giftzahn. The second thing, is that he has decided that if you and your father are quickly dispatched, he will be able to gain control of your holdings with minimal

diplomatic consequences."

"..."

"The third thing is that he has ordered one of his subordinates here with three hundred men. They are on their way as we speak."

"..."

"They're taking their time though, three hundred infantrymen move rather slowly in the narrow trails here. He does not believe there will be any resistance worth

mentioning, and that the guards will simply turn the both of you over."

"..."

"In addition, he has decided against scouting, to minimize risk that someone will give anyone away"

"..."

"He'll be arriving in Ebonhart territory through the main road, in fact, the one you used to get to Kargau."

"Okay."

"What are you going to do with this information, Giftzahn?"

"I'm going to go to sleep."

the lady shrugged. "That's fine I suppose. You'll die then."

"Yeah, I guess I will."

"And what about your pack?"

"They'll leave, find a new place to hunt."

"I doubt that."

"I don't"

At which point the woman drew a pistol and pointed it straight at Giftzahn. "Silver bullet, so you know."

"Just shoot already." Giftzahn was about to say, until he hear the snarling. Every single one of the wolves was on its feet, teeth bared.

"They fear me, as they should. But despite that, they can push those fears into the ground the second you are threatened. They love you, Giftzahn, and whatever you think, people do care about you. If you die, they will mourn. If you run, Karsten will hunt you and I promise that your pack will suffer for it. You have one option, win. Is that acceptable?"

"Yeah..." muttered Giftzahn. "I'll win."

"Good. Do you have a plan?"

"I guess."

"Then carry it out." She lowered the pistol, Giftzahn changed back into a wolf, and led his pack back to Ebon Hall.

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was about halfway to its height, the birds were singing in the sky, a few small, furry woodland creatures scurrying about were noticeable for their absence. Deep, dark impenetrable woods that would on any other day be intimidating. A dirt road cut through the forest,which stretched behind him for ten miles before reaching the village of Ebondorf, and crossed the Wolfsfluss river with an old, wooden bridge about twenty meters long. The water was at a far lower level than usual, due to the drought this year, but still waist-deep for most men, and the banks were a sludgy morass of deep mud. Far off in the distance was a thick cloud of dust, Karsten's expeditionary force. Sitting in the middle of the road was Giftzahn. It was a warm morning, and he was hungry, and needed a drink.

The men from Kargau were finally in view. The rank and file had plate armor, mainly of the mass-produced, one-size fits nobody variety, with muskets slung over their shoulder. Almost pointless. Geldin used rifles now, Rousson wasn't far behind. Armor was useless in a major battlefield, but in a backwater skirmish where swords were still commonplace, and most people didn't have the money for modern, high powered rifles, heavy armor was the difference between life and death. It still felt odd though, that Karsten would bother equipping his men like this, considering he wanted to be seen as a first-rate power. He was probably broke. In the front was a single man on horseback, dressed in red, with a breastplate, and a sword that while probably not very sturdy, was extremely shiny.

The men came to a halt at the bridge. "Who goes there?" yelled the horseman

"Nobody.."

"Then get out of the damn way!

Giftzahn didn't really feel the need to get up. He was comfortable, and the sun was hot, and the horseman wasn't quite in reach

The men resumed their march. "Out of the way, beggar!" yelled the horseman. Shots rang out, and the air was filled with shouting as the bridge promptly exploded. The horseman was within arms reach. Giftzahn clumsily lept at the man, still startled by the explosion. After a brief gap in Giftzahn's memory, the werewolf was standing over the horseman's body, several bullets lodged in his torso, and the general's sword broken off in his stomach. The general's head hung from his neck by a few threads. Blood. Blood. BLOOD!.explosions of his men's rifles, bullets whizz by his ear, blood on half-formed claws, dripping down what was not quite a muzzle, he felt himself lunge, tear through flesh, bone, steel, he heard the screams, and felt the visceral joy of violence, the delightful taste of blood, lead ripping through his body, arms legs, one through his neck, the agony of the wounds closing with the bullet still inside blinding pain blood in his eyes powder in the air almost drowning out the blood. and the weakness because even though he was never shot with silver, he had still been shot, stabbed, bludgeoned long past human endurance. Giftzahn collapsed.

As he awoke, the first thing to strike him was the stench of battlefield gore. The second was the far nicer taste of blood in his mouth. Human blood was a rare treat for him, one that tasted far better than deer. Human blood satisfies the body, but also the primal, violent urges that a werewolf knows so well. That's not something that a thinking werewolf admits to, if he wants to keep his human followers. It's not something Giftzahn admitted to either - mainly because nobody bothered to listen to him.

That may change soon, however. A brief look up and down the road told him everything he needed to know about the course of the battle. Most of the column had fallen in the river and drowned. Panicking soldiers ran as fast as they could onto Giftzahn's side of the bridge, too fast to notice the fifty-odd soldiers armed with rifles, waiting in a nearby ditch. The rest had been chased down by Giftzahn's pack, waiting in the trees. The ambush was pulled off without a hitch, just like going hunting.

As he struggled back onto his feet, there was a shout from one of his soldiers, picking the corpse of a Kargauan infantryman. "Hey, he's awake!" A few other soldiers turned as Giftzahn shook off the last bits of sleep.

"My lord, are you all right?"

"Shot a few times... Knife?" he muttered.

"Oh, yes si..."d

Giftzahn snatched the knife, thrust it into his neck, and began rummaging around for the bullet as his men stared slack-jawed. Fenris' TEETH, it hurt, but the ball was lodged uncomfortably where he couldn't swallow, and that was a bit more annoying than copious blood loss. He felt the knife sink into the soft lead, and then flicked it out of his neck, and it fell into the guard's outstretched hands. His jaw was slack, and there was a pregnant pause before the guard finally asked the question that was on everyone's mind.

"How the hell did you do it?"

For a depressed, suicidal alcoholic, the time before battle is not so much horrifying as annoying. Everyone around you is pissing themselves in terror, and you're the only one calm enough to tell THESE men to dig a ditch, and to listen to THIS man who used to work in Kargau, and knows how to set a barrel of powder to blow if you so much as look at it funny, but you have THEM ready to shoot the damn thing because...

"I need a drink." thought Giftzahn. "I need a drink and I'm hungry."

You take the wolves out to the woods behind, set them in the woods, where they can hear Karsten's men coming, and then you watch the digging, and see that one idiot is slacking off so you take his damn shovel and show him how it's done because you want to get this OVER with because you need a drink and you're hungry, and you're tired because you haven't slept because last night you were up until four in the morning hunting, and from there, you had to rally the palace guard.

"I need a drink." thought Giftzahn. "I need a drink and I'm hungry."

You walk up to Ebonhart Palace with a pack of wolves on your tail. You stumble into Ebon Hall as your father is busy ignoring you, and scratching around with a quill even though civilized people can use a goddamn typewriter. Guards sitting around in their armor, with swords at their sides, and your head is pounding and full of fog because

"I need a drink."

And as you stumble into your room because you really don't want to talk to the guards, you notice that someone has taken your alcohol and you know it's your father but that's a conversation you want even less. So you tear the place apart, even though it's all clean, but it was stupid to expect that there'd be anything because Baron Ebonhart is a werewolf, and he can smell the booze whereever it is even over the smell of gunpowder. Wait, what? You find a gigantic pile of high-powered Geldene rifles and a few thousand rounds under some of the floorboards. And it feels good, because those were definitely not here when you left, and maybe someone, somewhere

has faith in you, and that feels good.

"I still need a goddamn drink."

You lean out into the hall because you kind of have to, and beckon a few men in, grateful for the chance to get away with having no idea how to inspire people, and start handing out rifles. By dawn, you were all off to the bridge, and you all have rifles that you didn't even know existed until half an hour ago, and now you have a battle plan, but you're still working out the kinks on the way to the first battle of your life. And you have no idea what you're doing, but the wolves are confident because they're wolves and don't know any better, and the men are confident because you're fairly sure they have the best guns in Old Graureich, and for some goddamn reason they think you have a plan, but you don't have a plan, but you can't tell the soldiers that. ANY of that. So you tell them...

"I needed a drink."

There was a silence. Followed by a larger, deeper silence. This was broken by a sigh, and a few scattered coughs.

"I got some Schnapps.."

Giftzahn approached the soldier, covered in his own blood, horse blood, idiot blood, soldier blood, powder burns, body odor, and shit. That's the worst thing about humans, they shit themselves when they die. Piss too. And Giftzahn was one of the first ones down. There were at least a few layers of dead soldiers, pissing and shitting and bleeding on top of him. .

"I need a drink." Another pause, long to begin with, lengthened by circumstance, shortened by pity.

A small, steel flask. Filthy, but no filthier than the bloody, soiled werewolf draining the damn thing as quickly as possible. He handed the absolutely disgusting bottle back to its owner. Another moment of silence.

"Sir, any orders?"

"Take a bath...." He looked around at his men, no, his Soldiers. "You all smell like shit."