[Cimmerian]

Bulvard enjoyed himself. The rush of battle, the scent of fear, the howls and screams of agony spurred the great warrior on as his broadsword sang, hewing wargs to shreds.
It had been a long time since he had been in the thick of battle, free of Aronja's hold, it was an exhilirating feeling.

In his bloodthirsty state, Bulvard failed to noticethat his sister was no where in sight, all he focused on was slaying wargs.

Suddenly the howling wargs began to retreat, as the tall, savage-like warrior plowed through them. And then his grey eyes fell upon a small form huddled in a corner, his wild glare softened and he lifted the limp form of Elanor, the witch, into his arms. Looking into her trance-like stare, he felt a certain sense of belonging. Turning around, he strode back toward where the others were, his battle-crazed state of mind relaxing with every step.