The wind howled as it rushed inwards, sweeping through the gardens from all directions before crashing together above the centre of the carved magic circle. The cold night air, which only a second ago had been placid and peaceful became a sudden maelstrom which swirled and pulled and threatened to tear the plants from the ground with their intensity; it was a violent reaction to the blood sacrifice used to begin the summoning process, even more so than usual for the summoning of a heroic spirit. A boom of thunder tore the air apart as the Servant appeared. There was no fanfare, no sparkling lights or glorious entrance; just what was once an empty space finding itself suddenly occupied by a bloody minded Viking as a sound like the world exploding rang out. The mana which had lit the circle slowly faded out, even the old leylines seeming to dim, leaving the night to be lit only by the moon above, the red marks on the new Master’s hand, and the glint of barely restrained fury in the Servant’s eyes. The new arrival stood tall, taller even than Katherine, and imposing; he wore nothing but a fur pelt around his waist and a cloak fashioned from the plundered fur of a bear, the rest of his body bare to expose a muscular form untouched by blade or spear or arrow. Not a single scar could be seen. Berserker, for with that appearance he could be nothing else, wielded a solid oaken club in each clenched fist, the weapons held with white-knuckle intensity as if the warrior was already eager to bludgeon something. The weapons were nearly identical to the one still resting on the altar. From the moment he had been summoned Berserker’s eyes had been locked on Katherine’s own but now they turned away, looking down at the altar that sat between Master and Servant and the wooden object on its surface. Placing his two clubs down on either side of it, the warrior picked up the old weapon in his right hand, holding it almost tenderly as he ran the fingers of his left hand over its smooth surface. It was nothing more than an old piece of wood, lacking the magic of a Noble Phantasm, lacking anything other than the distinction of once being wielded by a legendary king, but it was familiar. As he examined the catalyst used to summon him Berserker’s eyes no long held the glint they did before, taking on a calmer and more relaxed appearance. [@LukasVolkov]