text: You walk forward, staring at the wall in front of you. The scenes are in red paint, depicting fearsome werewolves prowling across the wall, chasing simple outlines of human figures. You follow it from right to left, seeing a massive chained wolf howling at the sky at the very left. Despite the brutal simplicity of the drawings, they reflect a certain life, certain realism, a certain bestial energy that's beyond you. You stare inherently, slowly moving your hands towards them.
  
  
  Your hands slowly edge towards the murals, fingers tracing the outlines of shapes and scenes. The first one depicts a wolf, bound and chained, surrounded by vague outlines of spear-wielding humans. The next depicts a spear wielding human holding a chain in the beasts maw. The next seems to depict a half-man, half-wolf. No doubt the first werewolf, frozen mid transformation in a scream.
  
  
  You pause, staring at the scene in front of you. Despite the simplistic nature of the drawing, being little more than a stick man with a wolf head and claw, most other duties vague and confusing to you, but it holds impact to you. You can almost hear the faint screams of the man as they turn to howls, feel the familiar pain he went through in your heart. You truly understand him.
  
  
  As you look on, the pictures seem to beat and hum with an animalistic energy. The next scene shows the werewolf hunting down packs of warriors, catching one by the leg. The next shows the werewolf watching him transform, as once again his painful transformation feels all too familiar to you. Then, you see an image of a pack of werewolves running against the tunnel walls. 
  
  
  The final image shows you the glowing image of the moon, surrounded by a pack of werewolves tearing around Mother Luna. You stare at the moon, watching as the symbol drawing hums and haws with power, glowing in your eyes with a tremendous power beyond human comprehension. You watch, your eyes shining in the reflection. 
  
  
  Bright. Moon. Power! Beast! FENRIR! FENRIR CALLS!
  
  
  You heard the world shake and shiver around you, as a booming growl fills the tunnels.
  
  
  "Little one... look at how far you've fallen. Once a proud mortal hunter, now a slave to your bestial urges... my bestial urges," a booming voice growls, tearing through your mind as you feel the urge to howl back at it. 
  
  
  You drop to your knees, clutching your hands to your head, you try to focus on the burn of the silver inside you or your wounds, trying not to let your urges consume you.
  
  
  "I am Fenrir, God of Beasts, Hróðvitnir, Hound of  Ragnarök, Vánagandr, son of Loki, father of Sköll and Hati Hróðvitnisson, the prophesied killer of Odin, the creator of the werewolves and the Great Maw That Will Consume The World."
  
  
  Focusing on your pain, you manage to hold back the beast within, but only barely. Focusing on the burning hot silver coals in your chest, the pain of your torn up face and the stab wound in your side that's been jabbed in your side, you hold onto your sanity, your humanity, yourself.
  
  
  "You've proven yourself strong. Courageous. Violent. Powerful. I wish to make you my champion. I will sharpen your bestial instinct, I will lengthen your claws, broaden your form, strengthen your flesh, harden your bones. I will make you far more powerful than you have been tonight, a true avatar of my form."
  
  
  You stare ahead at the mural, as the confusing red lines seem to draw together in the growling face of a wolf for a moment, before it becomes too painful to look at.
  
  
  "Simply... embrace the change. Embrace the beast within. Embrace yourself. I'll even leave you with enough of a mind that you can finish what you started here. All you have to do is to release the beast within, and answer my call!"
  > You fIGHT THE CHANGE!
  You growl, squeezing your head between your hands as you take a deep breath, focusing on your pain. You focus on the human shape of your hands as they burn with pain, and the feeling of your skin glow with red hot pain, and your humanoid face which burns from silver. You focus on who you are, as you fight off the transformation.
  
  
  "No," you say. "I won't be doing that."
  
  
  "So be it," Fenrir grumbles. "I'll leave you to your fate. Rot in it, mortal one. Soon, your mind will be mine anyway."
  
  
  The roaring noise begins to fade, as the glow of the shifting murals calms, the mural solidifying in front of you. The magical glow that hangs over you fades, and you're left alone in the darkness.
  
  
  You sigh, turning away from the scene in front of you, not wanting to look at the animalistic mural ahead of you, as all it does it draw out the beast within. You shan't be making any deals with Fenrir, the father of beasts. 