King Mirs sat by the fire quietly. He was a brute of a man who stood nearly seven feet tall, his extremely muscular physique mottled with an assortment of scars, each bearing testament to a great battle fought and won, a legendary warrior bested in single combat or a vile beast slain. Stories of his adventures were told far beyond the barbarian village that was his home; even in the “civilised” lands to the south his name was revered. Despite his status he wore the clothes of a berserker, simple garments of animal hides, with decorative jewellery made from the teeth and claws of monsters he had killed.

His son entered the tent, who was by no means a small man either but was still dwarfed by his father. Prince Iome coughed quietly to announce his presence and was beckoned to the fireside by his father; they drank wine and talked for many hours into the night about the ritual that was to come the following morning.

“A toast, father, to the glorious battle that is to come, this is a special wine I had stored for a special occasion; it was part of the bounty from my first raid last year. To the glorious future of the tribe.” Iome raised his grail and Mirs did the same, they drank the wine and Iome stood to leave.

“What is wrong my son? Don’t tell me that wine has gone to your head already?” Mirs boomed with laughter

“It will go to yours soon enough, father. We’ll need to sleep before the morrow, this battle is important. May the best man win.”

“We shall see my son. You were right; this wine certainly does have something special to it.” Mirs yawned as his son left the tent. Iome scrabbled desperately at the pouch by his belt for a potion; he uncorked it and drank it quickly.

“Something very special indeed my father and only I have the antidote” He whispered quietly and laughed. “You bested me last year, but not again. Silly old man”

At dawn the two were to face one another in single combat for the crown of the village. The village shaman stood in the arena and blessed the two as they knelt before him. When the ritual was over the two stood and faced each other, the larger man was sweating profusely and looked pale, Iome was calm and collected. Mirs roared and slammed a fist into his son’s face which sent the younger man reeling, he followed with a combination of short punches while Iome was dazed, he soon recovered and began to defend himself against the rain of blows, eventually breaking his father’s pattern with an elbow to the throat. Mirs once again bellowed, he stood back and tried to focus, he wasn’t this weak, sixty years of battle must finally be catching up with him he thought as he found himself on the receiving end of several well placed elbows and knees, Iome drawing in close to remove his father’s reach advantage, as Mirs began to defend more and more of his strikes Iome grew enraged, a red aura surrounding his body as he unleashed the raw fury of berserk rage. Mirs too then began to glow, his aura however was almost black with a purple corona, despite Iome’s best efforts the battle began to become very one sided as the legendary power of Berferkerwüt overpowered Iome’s rage. Mirs moved with a speed and strength that defied all explanation but with every strike he slowed down noticeably, his breathing got heavier and he was sure that the whole crowd could hear his heartbeat.

The older man collapsed forward, finally succumbing to the effects of the poison and his son took the opportunity to land a spectacular knee in the throat of his father’s corpse as it slumped towards him. Mirs was dead. By the laws of the village Iome was now king. There was a great feast in honour of the battle and the new king which lasted late into the night. When the feast was over Iome sat with the shaman in his tent.

“Tonight you are the greatest warrior in the village, the whole tribe worships you as the man who felled the mighty King Mirs, I however do not. I know what you did. You didn’t win that fight fairly.” The shaman turned away and Iome’s hand reached for his sword, the shaman flicked a small pellet at Iome, it exploded in a puff of green smoke that paralysed him momentarily “But worry not, I shan’t be telling anyone, you are the king now, I foresee you leading the tribe into great riches and an era of prosperity that will last many years. Your misdeed will not go unpunished though. One day you will in turn be felled in such a battle. You will meet your fate at the hands of a man with the strength to kill a buffalo with his bare hands.”

“No man has such power anymore. My father was the only one with that kind of strength and he is now dead.” Iome took to his feet shaking a fist with rage.

“Do you doubt my words? I told your father that he would be bested by his son many years ago and look at what has happened this day. I told his father that Mirs would become a legendary warrior. I have been guiding your family for longer than you will ever know young sire. You would do well to mark my words. I make for a useful ally; do not make an enemy of me.” The shaman left the tent without a further word.