In the age of Darkness and Chaos, before the time of the Great Intervention by the Powers, was I born unto the daughter of Mika, the First Prophetess of the Ruby Sorceress. It was not until the Great Intervention that any would know my Divine Maker as Wee Jas, for her name was not spoken as such until the gods made themselves known to the world at large. My father was Jargrynd, a servant of Kord; a name well known to my people.
From the frozen wastes of the North did I come, when my age brought me towards manhood, casting aside the tribe of my birth and heralding the coming of the Great War. I had felt the coming of the Tanar’ri in my blood, and smelled it in the air. Before I took my leave, my dying mother told me that my people would be safe, for my brother, Beljymor, wielder of the Formir, would be as an unstoppable titan against the hordes. Had he not slain the great white dragon Vorfrostir? Had he not slain the Ogre Horde when the far eastern land had boiled over with their wrath? My brethren would be safe, and I was to heed the call of my Goddess, to head south.
Deep into the heart of the world I traveled, beyond river and forest fair, and some foul, unto even the mountains that guard the eastern coast of this land from the encroachment of the Great Desert, that ever-cursed land of tribulation. Guided by my dreams and visions, I came unto a forest I had never known, and yet I knew. And there, at the mouth of this foreboding place, I drew upon my courage, for there did I meet Those That Should Not Be. The ones I had seen in my dreams and visions. The Horde of the Howling.
I had not the great strength of my brother. Nor did I have the indomitable power of the Formir. But what I had, that even my brother did not, nor any among my people, was the Call, and the Promise. I had received the Promise from my Goddess in a dream… the Promise that, should I serve her on the day of her Call, I would remain in this world to guard her sacred shrine forever, and never fear the grasp of any natural death. I had but to answer the Call, and she would fill me with the power to fulfill this divine oath. And so, when, much to my surprise, I came to learn that she had not meant the shrine that I had known all my life, but rather a hidden and untended place in a foreign land, I made my final decision.
They came against me then, howling in their baleful twisted way, calling for their brethren to join in murder against me, for the crime of setting foot in their Forest. And yet, this was the Forest of my Goddess. The Moon was full every night in this place, and its power filled these creatures with strength. It mattered not, my Goddess fulfilled her Promise. With every step I drew blood. In my great rage, the gift of my barbarian bloodline, I gained strength and power. But beyond what my people knew, I gained something else… much like the ravenous beasts I faced then, my hands grew great claws, and from my face did sprout a maw filled with teeth like daggers. But where they howled and whined like the dogs they were, I growled and roared low and deep; a thundering cacophony of rage. Fur lined my skin, and I grew in size until the trees gave way to my bulk and weight. It was then they realized that I was no mere mortal man, nor any easy meat. Nay, I was a breed of shape-changer unlike any they had seen. And they learned even in their deaths of the mistake they made when they angered my Goddess.
I have taken the Forest of the Moon. The Howlers will always be a plague unto this world, for their Master, Erythnul, spawns new abominations to replace the old. And yet, I will prevail. My Goddess is not alone, for The Shalm turns his wrath against the perversions of The Many as well, and the blood of Kord still runs thick in my veins, an everlasting inheritance granted by my forefathers.
Where the Howlers come to slaughter and kill, I came to relentlessly protect. Where they pervert The Forest, I come to set it aright. Where they spawn in diseased masses, I breed a valiant clan of guardians. I care not for the politics of men and elves, nor for the world beyond our borders. The dwarf-lords step wearily in my woods, but respectfully, and so they may pass unmolested by me and mine. Sometimes others travel here in their folly, and they shall be judged as they are, should they manage to survive the Howler’s predations.
I am the Were-bear, Guurhal, and I am called The Mighty.
Hail the Ruby Sorceress.