Theren Stalkingwolf was born in the Selari Wilds of eastern Verivar, a land of vast forests and proud elven traditions. His clan was devoted to the art of war, believing that the greatest warriors would live on after death as patron ancestors, guiding future generations.

From childhood, Theren admired the mounted warriors of his people. He marveled at how horse and rider moved as one, each fighting with purpose and precision. The horses were not mere beasts of burden—they were partners in battle, noble and fierce.

Growing up in this martial culture, every child dreamed of becoming a warrior. Theren and his friends spent countless days sparring with wooden swords and wrestling after chores, pretending to win glorious victories that would earn them a place among the honored ancestors.

The Fire

When Theren was ten, a group of boys—including Theren—sneaked away after watching the adults train. They ventured deep into the Selari Forest to imitate their heroes. That day, one boy, the son of a wizard, brought a glass potion bottle filled with a glowing red liquid. The children thought little of it—such trinkets often spiced up their mock battles. But when the bottle was thrown and shattered against a tree, it erupted in a fiery explosion. A wave of flame roared outward in a thirty-foot circle.

This was no ordinary fire. It burned hotter, moved like a living thing. Panic erupted. Boys screamed and fled as the inferno consumed trees and grass alike. Some fell, their skin aflame. Theren, frozen in shock, felt a strange pull. While others ran, he knelt beside a great tree root, pressing his hand against it, whispering words of comfort. “Fire renews the land… this is nature’s cycle.” He repeated this at another tree, and another, entering a trance—until a boy’s agonized screams snapped him back. The child was engulfed in fire.

Theren ran toward him, but the flames surged, as if aware of him. They licked his right leg, burning through fabric and into flesh. Pain seared his body, his breath grew thin, and darkness claimed him. Just before he blacked out, he felt a sharp bite at his neck.

The Temple and the Gift

He awoke on cold stone, light streaming through a high window onto a stone altar. On it rested a pair of antlers. Beside him stood a tall half-orc in robes, a staff in hand, and a massive dire wolf with eyes like molten gold.

Terrified, Theren reached for the antlers as a weapon—only then noticing his burned body and that most of his clothes had been reduced to rags. His skin shimmered faintly blue, and on his finger glowed a ring, radiating a cool, soothing light. It was knitting his wounds, starting from his arms and torso, moving toward his ruined leg. Fearing the magic, he yanked the ring off, and it clattered to the floor. The glow vanished instantly. His leg still burned.

The half-orc calmly retrieved the ring and slid it back onto Theren’s finger. “A gift,” he said. “So long as you protect the wilds, they will protect you. But your leg… it will never heal fully. You interrupted the blessing.” As the cold spread to his leg, the pain ebbed, though scars would remain forever.

The orc revealed that all Theren’s friends perished in the fire—while Theren survived because of his connection to nature, his instinct to comfort the trees and speak with the horses as equals. The orc then vanished without another word, leaving Theren with the dire wolf. The beast locked eyes with him, and Theren understood its thought: Climb on. Time to go home.

Before leaving, the wolf led him to the altar. The antlers were gone; in their place, a leather bag lay waiting. Inside were the antlers, transformed into something unknown. Theren took the bag and mounted the wolf. Together they raced through charred trees, the smell of ash thick in the air.

The wolf left him near the village, then disappeared into the forest. Theren’s mother found him moments later and rushed him to the elders. After hearing his story and seeing the ring, the antlers, and the strange blue-tinted scars, they knew this was no ordinary event. They told Theren that the temple belonged to Veona, Goddess of Nature—and that she had claimed him as her own.

The Rite of the Ancestors

Years later, when Theren came of age, he underwent the sacred ritual to bind him to his patron ancestor. During the rite, wolves howled in the distance—unusual in number and proximity. The shaman chanted over the bonfire, tossing in sacred herbs. The flames roared and shifted, revealing a great dire wolf and the image of a wooden shield emblazoned with a crest: the mark of the Stalkingwolf, symbol of the druidic circle.

Theren was chosen.

He trained first with a warband, mastering the double-bladed scimitar—a weapon of elegance and deadly grace. When his martial training was complete, he joined the Horse Watchers, a druidic order sworn to protect the elven steeds. These horses were no ordinary beasts—they were believed to be the descendants of ancient elves who once took equine form in battle and were cursed to remain so.

The druids preserved these sacred bloodlines, tended the herds, and bonded elf and horse. They were not mere caretakers—they were warriors, channeling nature’s wrath against those who would harm the wild. Among them, Theren thrived. Though too young to assume beast shape, he formed deep bonds with the steeds, feeling as if he had finally found his true calling.

The Vanishing

One morning, Theren arrived early at the stables to find chaos. Ten elven horses had vanished during the night, and a young druid—no older than Theren—had been slain. The elders suspected poachers: ruthless hunters who marked their bodies with sacred runes that granted power over beasts. These criminals trafficked magebred animals—horses, hounds, even griffons and pegasi.

At the mention of the poachers, Theren’s ring glowed cold blue. The elders noticed. When Theren later heard the name of the poachers’ elite hunters—the Blessed—the ring froze over, and frost traced his fingers. Alarmed, the elders pressed him for answers. Theren told them everything—the fire, the temple, the dire wolf, and the gift of the ring.

The elders exchanged grim looks. They believed Veona herself had chosen Theren for this task. The disappearance of the steeds was no mere theft—it was an affront to the Goddess of Nature.

They charged Theren with a sacred mission: track the poachers, uncover their lair, and end their magebreeding abominations. If he needed help, the warband would answer his call. But the journey would begin alone. Before departing, Theren received his first druidic tattoo—a lone wolf, symbolizing the solitary path ahead.

With his scimitar at his side, the antler bag tied to his belt, and the ring of frost upon his finger, Theren Stalkingwolf set out from the Selari Wilds—hunter, guardian, and chosen of Veona.

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