By Ulthos of Raging Tides.

His sleek form rushes at the wraith scout. The wind is with him and he channels it into raw energy. With deadly ferocity and speed beyond human capacity, he springs his trap on the quarry. Teeth rend and claws tear at the surprised foe. White fur on pristine snow... now darkened with the black blood of the evil wraith. It was the perfect camouflage. The wraith never saw its doom coming.
 

The enemy stares wildly at the skies, gurgling piteously as it tries to call for... What? Reinforcements? Its master? Whatever foul gods it serves?

'It must be hard', thinks the barbarian pensively, 'to cry out for anyone without the use of vocal chords.'

The tiger pants and paces, watching the last light bleed from his foes eyes. The wraith's body slackens. A sound on the wind. The battle-hardened Barbarian tenses. He knows the sound of a horde. His attuned senses can detect every bootfall on the snowy hillside. The snow softly grinds. He can faintly make out the sound of rasping breath in the frigid winter air. This scout is dead, but more are coming. There are at least twelve distinct scents on the wind. A whole squad of wraith vermin. A low growl escapes the Barbarians throat. The fur on the back of his neck rises at the prospect of another challenger. Perhaps this time he would find the wraith leader that killed his father...

Snow gently falls, mocking the violence that had just taken place.  The fire from his Untamed paws melts the snow, creating ever-widening watery footprints. He stands, contemplative, listening to the raucous wraith squad on the wind... The air smells of the cold, of pine, and of wraith. A forest over the next ridge. That is where they will come from.

The wind shifts directions. The Barbarian knows the wraiths will come for him now. They will smell him on the air just as he smelled them. Bipedal form. The transformation is seamless, a painless transition. The Untamed are changelings, and this one is imbued with the spirit of the wolf. Paws become hands and feet. Arms and legs thicken, bulging with vast musculature. Chest broadens. Eyes that were previously pure fire become cool and green as a spring day, yet maintain their ferocity. The spirit of the wolf has replaced that of the tiger. And the form has followed.

Now standing erect on powerful legs, the Barbarian scans the horizon. He works the leather-bound end of his polehammer, wringing it in his powerful hands. They are coming for him. He knew they would. His muscles tense and relax as he readies himself for battle.

The Barbarian begins to channel his chi, readying himself for the upcoming battle... He would need it.