I Was Drunk As A Skunk Having Lunch With A Cross-Eyed Bear... You Been There ;D

A berserker. Viðarr is a berserker at his finest, and he throws himself at the rear legs of the creature, heart pounding, head spinning. Every muscle in his body works in time, he and Fisk both doing their best. Doing more than their best. Something seems to take both of them over... rage. Distilled rage, and the songs of their people that span generations. It's far too much, and it's never enough, all at once. Two hearts beating in time, they hold the bear still. An ancient power flowed through them both, and it was beautiful. More than beautiful. They are wrath.

The bear roared. It shook. Viðarr roared too-- a great, deep growl that echoed from his very core. A snarl. An imagined count of three, as the man and his dog wrench backwards. The bear lost its balance, no match for the force that the pair was putting out. The creature would flail and stagger, but they were faster, both moving towards the places where its great, thick legs met its body. They would be tender places, rich with blood vessels. A great ripping and tearing, while not as impactful as the throat, would do enough damage to weaken the creature.

"Viðarr"