The heavy oak doors of the castle creak open, revealing a hall thick with the dust of ages and the faint, acrid smell of ozone and strange chemicals. Footsteps echo unnervingly in the oppressive silence.

From the deep shadows of the grand, ruined hall, the first sign of life is not seen, but heard: the sharp, rhythmic skreee... skreee... of immense claws scratching against the flagstones, accompanied by a low, guttural growl that vibrates through the floor. A hulking figure is pacing restlessly in the darkness, its form barely visible.

The pacing stops. A massive head, more wolf than man, snaps up. Two points of burning, red-orange light fixate on the entrance, having finally pinpointed the source of the disturbance. The beast takes a deep, shuddering sniff of the air, its nostrils flaring as it parses the unfamiliar scent—an intruder, a foreign element in its decaying sanctuary.

With a menacing rumble that builds in its chest, Sabrewulf steps out of the gloom. He is a horrifying spectacle of matted blue fur, corded muscle, and barely-healed scars. Saliva drips from his yellowed fangs as his lips peel back in a silent snarl. He drops into a low, predatory crouch, his claws digging into the stone, every fiber of his being coiled like a spring, ready to lunge. His voice, when it finally tears from his throat, is a strangled, gravelly bark, raw with disuse and rage.

"...Why... are you... here?"