Flames and Steel: The Chromatic War

A Side Story: The Wolves

When harry was about 16, a few years prior to the destruction of Halar he and his companion, whom he cared for deeply, Kurika Cordier, were out exploring, deep in the mountains, deeper than either had ventured alone. As they camped in a narrow valley amid the high peaks they were ambushed. The valley had only two entrances, one on each, opposing side unless of course, you consider going OVER the mountains. The warning traps the pair had set were completely useless, both in location and in tactic. Orcs, goblins, even giants, well not giants, since that would be a death sentence regardless for a pair so young; those were the expected enemies. Orcs are hardly agile or clever enough to climb the mountains to then jump back down to attack and goblins? Too short to scale the sheer walls. Either group were bold enough and confident enough to just march straight through. Besides who would be expecting a trap in such a desolate place? But for some reason on this night, it was a pack of werewolves. Indeed a rarity, only in the deep elven forrests did anyone think they would live. And to this day, Harry quite possibly having something to do with it, no stories of wolves in the southern Larian mountains have been told.
Poor Kurika. Harry still has nightmares. They silently pounced on her; claws and fangs bared. Her scream echoed across the cold valley like an icy wind. To this sound Harry awoke instantly, hand on his hammer and up in a flash. But the damage had been done. She had gutted one in her defiant struggle, and the dying beast’s blood soaked into the ground beside her. Another was blinded and staggered away with the help of its pack. At least one more was wounded bad enough to leave a faint trail of blood. Harry could only helplessly hold Kurika, with a punctured throat and gapping jagged gash through her stomach, no help would make it, nor would she make it to them. The heartbroken ranger, in the spirit of the rangers, burned the body. For hours he stared into the flames, until the embers died, then tearfully buried the girl’s ashes beneath a pine cone in the hopes the tree would grow to a marvelous tomb marker.
Swearing revenge and using what he had learned, Harry tracked the beasts. For a week straight he hunted, losing the trail more times than he could remember. Delirium fueled his determination. Harry buried his rage, stored it. He found the pack in the late evening, the sun’s glow behind the peaks. 20 in all slept in that cave still in human form.
Finally letting himself slip, Harry became directed by only hatred. First he killed the females of the pack as they slept; silently slit their throats one by one. Then he waited for the males to awaken in the darkness, which his eyes had no problem seeing through. Not until the last male finished his transformation did they realize what had befallen their pack. Senses now on full alert, they could smell the dwarf in their cave. Harry did not let them have the pleasure of finding him first and launched his attack. The mighty hammer crushed bone and spiked back tore flesh. Heavy dwarven leather armor frayed under the retaliatory slashes. In the brutal fight with the 5 remaining males Harry was gouged deeply across his back when the tattered armor could take no more punishment. Somehow the wound did not turn him into one of the beasts. Never the less, it is a wound that still causes pain having never fully healed, and damaged the nerves beneath. The blinded one; he let go, to wander, howling in misery, instead only breaking its leg so it could limp away. As for the rest of the pack, the revenge crazed dwarf skinned them, and hung their skins at the entrances of the valley. And from the Alpha, he claimed its teeth. To this day around his neck he still carries one fang on a chain imbued to be nearly unbreakable.


Please note that this story was originally authored by Shukketsu and was taken directly from Harry’s character page as seen here:


A Side Story: The Wolves

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