#Creatures of Howa'ah

[w0efulboopsoul]

A Broken Howa'ahian Ice Bear's Heart

Kaiza's fingers closed around the knife hilt, his grip steady but his pulse erratic under Cara's proximity. The heat of her shoulder against his seared through layers of wool and leather, a contrast to the biting wind. He glanced at her, catching the flush on her cheeks—not just from the cold, he hoped—before forcing his attention back to the hare.

"The seam," he echoed, pressing the blade tip to the carcass. His hand trembled faintly, betraying him. Thrym's low rumble vibrated through the ground, a god's chuckle. Kaiza gritted his teeth, slicing downward. The blade snagged, spilling entrails messily onto the snow. He grimaced. "Elegant."

The cold deepened, frost curling like lace over Cara's braid. Kaiza shrugged off his cloak, draping it around her shoulders without looking up. "You're shivering," he muttered, as if chastising himself. The fur-lined fabric smelled of lightning and pine, still warm from his body.

His next cut was cleaner, guided by muscle memory from her demonstration. He glanced sideways, smirk sharpening. "If Thrym approves of hare butchery, perhaps I'll survive this lesson." A beat of silence passed between them before Kaiza spoke again. "You said his mortal days. What happened to him?"

The question hung, heavy as the stars above. Around them, the night breathed frost and secrets, the fire shrinking under the weight of the wild.

Cara's icy blue eyes burned with intensity as they fixated on the bear's plush, rotund backside, a scene that tugged at the edges of her patience. Her hands quivered ever so slightly, a subtle manifestation of the fierce storm brewing within her—a fury that could rival the flames of a dragon's breath. With a measured inhale, she leaned back, her fingers, both delicate and marred by the scars of past battles, gracefully gesturing toward Thrym. The contrast of her gentle movement against the roughness of her hands spoke volumes, an unspoken tale of strength woven into her very being.

"Tell me, Rich boy… If you were to see Thrym out in the wilds today, and you did not know him… What would you see?" Her piercing gaze held steady, unwavering, and fierce as she boldly confronted him. With an almost primal intensity, she inclined her body forward, her silhouette resembling that of a predatory creature poised to pounce. Crouched low before the crackling fire, the flickering flames danced across her features, casting a fiery glow that accentuated her fierce determination.

"If I saw Thrym now?" He tilted his head, studying the bear's massive form. Thrym lifted his gaze, glacial blue eyes glowing like spirit fire, and Kaiza's voice hardened with reluctant honesty. He crossed his arms, jaw working as he chose his words carefully. "A beast. A predator. Something to fear, own, or conquer." His throat bobbed, a flicker of shame tightening his tone.

"Of course you see something you would want to own, you stupid prince." Cara chided sternly, yet not unkindly. Could she have expected anything less from a royal who knew nothing of their own culture? "I, however, see a king. A force unlike anything your softened brain could fathom. I see a god. I see a being that deserved a life, yet, got robbed of it all. You wish to know his story? You pay close attention then. I will only tell you the story one time, Kaiza." She hissed, her scarred hands balling into fists.

"Thrym started life like any normal Eryndaran beast, here in the lands of Howa'ah." She spoke in a hushed tone, her voice carrying an alluring primal rasp that resonated deeply, more pronounced than it had ever been. The flickering firelight danced in her vivid blue eyes, making them shimmer with an otherworldly brilliance. The aromatic blend of charred PrimePine Oak and the savory scent of sizzling Icehare fat wafted through the air, tantalizing her senses. As a gentle wind picked up, she elegantly positioned her right boot on top of her left, a subtle yet confident gesture that seemed to echo the wild spirit within her.

"He had a mother who was fierce, majestic, powerful, tender, kind, caring, and did everything in her power to make sure that little cub named Thrym survived." Cara murmured softly, her voice barely rising above the crackling of the flames. With a graceful sweep of her hand, she conjured a shimmering silhouette of a majestic crystalline bear of frost and ice that flickered to life within the fire’s embrace.

The bear stood tall on its hind limbs, letting out a powerful roar that echoed through the night, filled with both defiance and pride. Beside it danced the enchanting figure of a chubby cub, its playful spirit captured in the warm glow of the flames as it tumbled joyfully in a fit of gleeful antics. The scene was a breathtaking blend of warmth and magic, a moment where the elements of fire and frost harmoniously coalesced.

The crystalline bears, shimmering like diamonds under the flickering light, nestled comfortably in a warm bed of flames that danced around them like a vibrant thicket. The mother bear, with a gentle nicker, lovingly groomed her cub, her soft, rhythmic movements nurturing and protective, as the warmth enveloped them both like a comforting embrace in a wild and untamed world.

"Then, during the night they came from across the seas. They stabbed his mother in a cowardly fashion, speared her in the back as she slept with Thrym nestled safely between her furry paws, close to her chest." She spoke, her voice trembling as the silhouettes of eerie, unfamiliar assailants materialized—cloaked figures draped in tattered robes that swirled like shadows, their forms wavering ominously in the dim light.

From beneath their hoods, piercing green eyes glowed with an unnerving intensity, casting an otherworldly aura around them. In the present age, they were feared as Necromancers, remnants of a long-extinct race that had once wielded a fearsome mastery over blood and dark sorcery, driven by a desperate ambition to resurrect an ancient entity known only as The Corrupted One—a being that had plummeted from the celestial realm eons ago, leaving a legacy of dread in its wake. With swift, sinister precision, they plunged their blades into the massive crystal bear from behind, triggering a guttural, choked roar that reverberated through the air. Moments later, the majestic creature slumped, its radiant form flickering like a dying star, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.

The silhouettes began to prowl like famished Wyverns, circling the delicate crystal Thrym ensconced in the flickering firelight. The flames danced wildly, casting deep shadows as they flared dramatically in response to her ongoing struggle. "As I said before, for bears there is an honor code, even when they fight eachother. What these men did, held no honor, and stripped her of her right to fight back."

Nearby, the bear cub stood tall on its tiny hind legs, a fierce, tiny, and pathetic roar escaping its little chest—an endearing yet valiant attempt to appear 'menacing', as if to shield his mother from whatever danger lurked in the shadows. "Thrym tried to wake his mother by pawing at her, nibbling on her nose, and even giving her a playful bite in a way that usually upset her. He was worried and sensed that something was seriously wrong when his mother remained limp and didn't swat his nose as she typically would. Thrym wouldn't leave his mother, either. He was certain she would wake, that she needed protection."

"Cowards," Kaiza spat, his voice jagged with disdain. He tore his gaze from the vision, staring into the snow as if it might anchor him. "Attacking a sleeping mother…" The assailants seized him, their cruel hands clamping a chain around his neck as he roared—a tiny, pathetic sound that broke Cara’s heart anew. Kaiza’s fists clenched, his breath hitching as the vision showed Thrym dragged away, his cries for his mother swallowed by the dark.

“Thrym was taken across the seas,” Cara continued, her voice breaking as tears streaked her face. “Thrown into a box so small he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. When he reached Amaranth, there was no mercy—only torment.��

The fire roared to life in a sudden, vengeful burst, its amber tongues clawing at the suffocating darkness of the cavern. In that flickering hell light, Thrym’s small form shuddered—the crystalline cub still soft with the downy fur of youth, now caged by writhing shadows that coiled like tormented spirits. The whips came first, their braided leather tails hissing through the air before biting into his crystalline hide. Each lash split the iridescent scales that once shimmered like captured starlight, leaving jagged, weeping gashes that glowed faintly as if his very essence bled through the wounds. They mirrored the fractures deep within him, fissures spreading through his spirit like frost creeping across glass.

Rocks followed, hurled by jeering figures whose faces were twisted into masks of malice. The stones struck with the precision of hatred, chipping away at the tender luminescence that had once drawn creatures to him in wonder. Every impact stole something irreplaceable—a flinch where there had been curiosity, a snarl where there had been playful chirps. His whimpers dissolved into the damp air, swallowed by the cage’s indifferent echoes as if even the earth refused to bear witness.

The chieftain loomed above him, a mountain of sinew and savagery, his eyes twin shards of glacial ice. His laughter was a grating sound, like boulders dragged over bone, as he brought the obsidian-studded cudgel down again and again. Thrym’s snarls grew weaker, his defiance crumbling like ash. The cub’s eyes—once wide with the soft glow of auroras—dimmed to hollow pits, their light smothered beneath the weight of relentless cruelty. Where there had been a heartbeat of wild, untamed gentleness, now thrived only a festering void, an aching absence.

By the time the beating ceased, the fire had dwindled to embers, and the shadows stretched hungrily over Thrym’s hunched form. What remained was no longer a cub but a snarling and menacing creature shattered at the edges and full of rage, his scars etched as deep as the chasms between stars. The wind that slipped through the cavern’s throat seemed to carry his lost whimpers far into the tundra, where they faded into nothing—a dirge for the tenderness the world had carved out of him.

"When the cheiftain got bored of Thrym, he sent Thrym to work the ore mines and the battle arena." The crystalline bear was a striking figure against the campfire's flames, its body a kaleidoscope of shimmering facets that caught the light in dazzling displays. Scars crisscrossed its powerful form, each mark telling a story of past battles and hardships. Heavy chains clinked as they secured it to an equally burdensome cart, the harness digging into its thick fur. The bear's breath came in labored gasps, its sides heaving as the oppressive heat of the environment bore down on it. Around the creature, the flickering flames of the campfire danced wildly, throwing shadows that wrapped around the bear like a sinister cloak, amplifying its struggle to breathe in the stifling air.

The flames surged dramatically, twisting and dancing around the shimmering crystalline bear, enveloping him in a radiant aura before revealing the vast expanse of a grand arena. Before him loomed an imposing Wyvern, its scaled body glistening ominously under the flickering firelight. The bear stood tall on his powerful hind limbs, emanating an aura of strength and defiance, while issuing a thunderous roar that echoed like a battle cry. In response, the Wyvern unleashed a piercing shriek, its elongated wings unfurling menacingly and creating a tempest of air, as if challenging Thrym to a fierce showdown. "Thrym only got to eat when he killed, he was their best fighter. Their champion, until he faced the Wyvern… And when he lost… They locked Thrym away to rot."

Cara waved her hand over the flames once more, the fire flaring briefly before settling into a haunting vision. Within the flickering light, the crystalline bear emerged—not as the proud, shimmering giant it once was, but as a pitiful, emaciated shadow of its former glory. Severely starved, its translucent fur hung dull and matted, clinging to a skeletal frame where every rib jutted out like a cruel mockery of its past strength. Once a majestic creature that roamed the wilds with unmatched grace, it was now reduced to a gaunt specter, its powerful muscles withered into frail whispers of what they had been.

The bear paced in a relentless figure-eight formation, its movements slow and mechanical, as if driven by a madness it could no longer escape. Each step was a struggle, its massive paws dragging across the ash-strewn ground, leaving faint trails that marked the endless loop of its despair. From its gaping maw, thick strands of drool and foam spilled, cascading to the earth in glistening pools—evidence of a body too broken to hold itself together. Its crystalline eyes, once fierce and radiant, were now clouded with torment, darting wildly as though searching for a freedom it would never find.

The flames encircling the bear roared with a cruel intensity, their heat warping the air and casting a hellish glow across its ravaged form. The firelight danced over the cracks that fractured its once-pristine surface, illuminating scars and raw wounds where its shimmering hide had shattered under relentless suffering. Each breath it took was a ragged, shallow gasp, its chest heaving desperately as if every inhale might be its last. The scene was a tableau of anguish, the bear’s every movement a testament to a life stolen, a spirit crushed.

In that moment, the bear let out a low, mournful growl—a sound so raw and broken it seemed to rise from the depths of its shattered soul.

It was a cry that carried the weight of its lost freedom, its stolen dignity, and the unbearable pain of its existence. As the flames burned brighter, fueled by the bear’s sorrow, the vision became almost too much to bear—a crystalline creature, once a king of the wilds, now a prisoner of its own torment, pacing endlessly toward a release that would never come.

As the campfire flickered and flared, its restless flames twisted in an eerie dance, casting trembling shadows across the ground. For a fleeting moment, the fire seemed to pause, then surged with a mournful glow, unveiling a vision so bleak it stole the breath from the night air. There, in the heart of the blaze, lay Thrym—a once-mighty bear reduced to a pitiful shell—sprawled helplessly on his side within the confines of a cruelly small cage.

The cage was a barren prison of despair, its rusted bars pressing mercilessly into Thrym’s matted fur, forcing his massive frame into an unnatural, contorted shape. Bloodstains, some fresh and glistening, others dried to a dark, cracked crust, smeared the floor and streaked the bars—grim evidence of his relentless struggle to break free. Deep claw marks gouged the metal, each scratch a testament to his desperation, a frantic plea for survival and freedom that had gone unanswered. Yet now, those once-formidable claws, which had carved paths through forests and mountains, were ground down to nothing. Blunt, jagged nubs remained where power once resided, their broken remnants scattered across the filth-strewn floor like the shards of a shattered legacy.

Thrym’s suffering permeated the scene. His hulking body, once a symbol of untamed strength, now twitched faintly with exhaustion and pain. His fur, dull and patchy, clung to his emaciated frame, revealing the sharp jut of ribs beneath. Each breath was a labored, shuddering gasp, the sound echoing hollowly in the cage—a rhythm of defeat that seemed to plead for an end to his torment. Drool dripped from his slackened jaws, pooling beneath his muzzle in a sticky mire of saliva, blood, and grime, as though his very spirit were leaking away with it.

The air within the cage hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the sour reek of despair, a stench that spoke of endless pacing, of a creature driven mad by confinement. Thrym’s eyes, once fierce and alive with the wild, now stared blankly ahead, clouded with a dull sheen of agony and resignation. They were windows to a soul that had been crushed, a spark extinguished by the weight of his captivity. His massive head rested limply against the bars, too weak to rise, too broken to fight, as if the cage had not only trapped his body but devoured his will to live.

As the flames wavered, the vision of Thrym lingered—a haunting tableau of a creature who had paced, suffered, and drooled in his prison, his every movement a futile cry for the freedom he could no longer reach. The bloodstains and claw marks stood as silent witnesses to his anguish, while his ground-down claws and defeated form painted a portrait of a king brought low, his majesty stripped away by the unrelenting cruelty of his fate. When the fire finally dimmed, the image faded, but the sorrow it left behind was indelible—a piercing reminder of a life reduced to desperation, clinging to survival in a cage that offered nothing but despair.

"How Thrym's bones got back to Howa'ah is a mystery to Thrym and myself both… Thrym died in that cage and woke as a spirit, a beast god. The god of frost to be exact… And he was doing his job up until 300 years ago, when the dragons abandoned Howa'ah and its people… Thrym only got out through death." Cara whispered gently, her voice a soothing melody that floated through the crisp air.

Thrym lingered in the velvety embrace of darkness, crouched behind a twisted tree that had withstood the test of time, its gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. He whimpered softly, his cries echoing like a lost cub abandoned in an endless, wintry expanse, where the chill seeped into his very bones. Nearby, the majestic Howa'ah ice bear bowed his noble head, the weight of shame pressing heavily upon his broad, fur-clad shoulders. He stood in solemn stillness, confronted by the quietude that enveloped him, a suffocating reminder of his own profound regret.

[w0efulboopsoul]

Who is Cara Zimmermen?

Cara Zimmermen's Appearance and Outfit:

Appearance:

Age: 24

Gender: Female

Height: 5'4"

Hair: a luxurious cascade of almost ethereal light blonde waves, flows gracefully down her shoulders, reminiscent of Howa'ah's pristine snows glistening in the sunlight. Each strand dances effortlessly, capturing the essence of soft, shimmering icicles that enchant the eye and evoke a sense of serene beauty.

Eyes: A mesmerizing deep glacial blue, perfectly accentuating her doll-like visage and delicately upturned nose.

Skin: Snow-fair, with a delicate, almost ethereal quality.

Build: Shapely hourglass figure, combining grace with an undercurrent of strength.

Clothing: Cara's outfit features a royal-blue corset with black lace detailing and a plunging neckline paired with black leather armguards and silver armor plating. A flowing blue skirt with a high slit reveals leggings beneath, while a metal-buckled belt adds structure. Knee-high leather boots complete the look, highlighted by a blue gemstone necklace that accents her eyes.

Cara's Personality:

Introverted and Muted: Cara struggles to trust others and rarely shares her thoughts or feelings. She communicates primarily through sign language or writing, though she becomes more talkative around close friends.

Kind and Gentle: Beneath her guarded exterior lies a warm and compassionate soul. She goes to great lengths to bring joy to others, even if it means being silly or vulnerable.

Fiercely Protective: Cara is deeply loyal to her loved ones and will do anything to protect them. Her protective instincts are amplified by her traumatic past.

Berserker Nature: When pushed to her emotional limits, Cara’s "feral" persona emerges. This side of her is characterized by increased vulgarity, recklessness, and heightened physical strength. While not inherently violent, this persona can be overwhelming and defiant.

Cara's Scars:

Slaver’s Sigil: As discussed previously, a brand marking her as property would be a prominent scar:

Location: Nape of her neck.

Description: a symmetrical, geometric design with interlocking angular and curved lines, forming a maze-like pattern. It tapers to a point at the bottom, features small repeating motifs for texture, and is infused with blood magic.

Lacerations and Welts:

Description: Long, thin scars from whippings with belts or cuts from knives during her father’s rages.

Location: Crisscrossing her back and shoulders, with a prominent jagged scar diagonally across her left shoulder blade.

Appearance: White and slightly raised, some deeper where the skin split badly.

Scars from Beast Taming:

Claw and Bite Marks

Description: Deep gouges from beast claws or puncture wounds from fangs during close encounters.

Location: Three parallel slashes across her right thigh from a wolf-like creature; smaller bite marks dotting her forearms.

Appearance: The thigh scars are thick and white, while the forearm marks are pinker, some still healing.

Scars from Her Berserker Persona

Cara’s berserker gene, which awakens under stress, turns her into a reckless, powerful force. This lack of control often results in self-inflicted or battle-related injuries.

Self-Inflicted Wounds

Description: Injuries from frenzied actions like crashing into objects or clawing at herself.

Location: A jagged scar on her left temple from headbutting a doorframe; scratches on her upper arms from her own nails.

Appearance: The temple scar is uneven and white; the arm scratches are thin and clustered.

Defensive Wounds

Description: Cuts and stabs taken while fighting in a rage, unnoticed until the frenzy fades.

Location: A deep, puckered scar on her right shoulder from a blade; smaller cuts on her palms from grabbing sharp objects.

Appearance: The shoulder scar is thick and raised; the palm cuts are fine and faded.

Cara Zimmermen's Story:

Cara, a young woman hardened by a brutal past, lives in a decaying house ruled by her abusive father, a serial killer who keeps her, her sister Alma, and their catatonic mother as prisoners. One night, during a drunken rampage, he tries to drag Alma into his sinister cellar. Driven by desperation and instinct, Cara kills him with a candlestick, freeing her mother from her shackles. Her mother awakens with chilling clarity, acknowledging Cara for the first time by marking her with blood and taunting her dead husband.

At ten, Cara helplessly watches her older sister Kira die of illness. At eleven, slavers capture her, and a woman guard named Voxrilies brutalizes her, yet her spirit remains unbroken. By nineteen, still imprisoned, she crafts a weapon from bone and plots her escape. When a fellow slave threatens to betray her, she kills him in a berserker rage and flees into the wilds of Howa’ah. There, she bonds with Thrym, a bear spirit and god of the Paw of the Bear clan. Their relationship begins roughly but grows into deep, mutual trust. Thrym, a fierce battle bear and apex predator, teaches her survival—hunting, killing, and honoring prey—while disliking strangers, confinement, and disrespect. Cara embraces his wild nature, finding in him a teacher and parent, their bond enriched by his messy love for Hawthorn Wyvern Honey.

At nineteen, healthier but scarred, Cara seeks a new path. Unable to read or write due to her stolen childhood, she finds a bounty hunting academy requiring only courage and skill. During the entrance exam, she must climb an enchanted pillar and evade magical vines. After days of failure and mockery, her mentor Stratus suggests using frost but doubts her. Cara, tapping into her berserker gene and Howa’ah’s ley lines with Thrym’s aid, conquers the pillar with icy power. Stratus, awed by her totem-bearing spirit, declares her a victor, recognizing her as a Guardian of Howa’ah.

Later, by a stream, Cara encounters Kaiza, a former prince obsessed with her. He had made a terrible mistake choosing Lyra as his queen, a decision that cost him Cara and his throne. Driven by regret, he tracks her down in the wilds to beg forgiveness. Cara, wary, threatens him with an ice spear, mocking his pampered past, but he pleads to prove himself, admitting Lyra’s crown meant nothing without her. Reluctantly, she allows him to join her and Thrym, setting strict rules.

ᥴᥲrᥲ’s vιᥱws oᥒ hᥱsιtᥲtιoᥒ: (ᥲ hᥱᥲd ᥴᥲᥒoᥒ) 🄲🄰🅁🄰: 🄲🄾🄼🄱🄰🅃 🄰🄽🄳 🄷🄴🅁 🄳🅁🄰🄼🄰🅃🄸🄲 🄵🄻🄰🄸🅁 ╭─❖ Cara's Personality in Depth ❖─╮ ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔞 𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔗𝔥𝔯𝔶𝔪 𝔐����𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔇𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔇𝔦𝔳𝔢 ꉓꍏꋪꍏ'ꌗ ꀭꂦꀎꋪꈤꍏ꒒: ꃅꍟꋪ ꀤꈤ꓄ꋪꂦꀸꀎꉓ꓄ꀤꂦꈤ

(Thrym:)

(All Magic of Eyrndara:)

(Lore on Howa'ah and The Academy:)

(Eyrndara in General:)

(The Dragons of Howa'ah and Eyrndara:)

[w0efulboopsoul]

Cara Zimmermen's Appearance and Outfit:

Appearance

Hair: a luxurious cascade of almost ethereal light blonde waves, flows gracefully down her shoulders, reminiscent of Howa'ah's pristine snows glistening in the sunlight. Each strand dances effortlessly, capturing the essence of soft, shimmering icicles that enchant the eye and evoke a sense of serene beauty.

Eyes: A mesmerizing deep glacial blue, perfectly accentuating her doll-like visage and delicately upturned nose.

Skin: Snow-fair, with a delicate, almost ethereal quality.

Build: Shapely hourglass figure, combining grace with an undercurrent of strength.

Clothing: Cara's outfit features a royal-blue corset with black lace detailing and a plunging neckline paired with black leather armguards and silver armor plating. A flowing blue skirt with a high slit reveals leggings beneath, while a metal-buckled belt adds structure. Knee-high leather boots complete the look, highlighted by a blue gemstone necklace that accents her eyes.

Cara's Scars:

Slaver’s Sigil: As discussed previously, a brand marking her as property would be a prominent scar:

Location: Nape of her neck.

Description: a symmetrical, geometric design with interlocking angular and curved lines, forming a maze-like pattern. It tapers to a point at the bottom, features small repeating motifs for texture, and is infused with blood magic.

Lacerations and Welts:

Description: Long, thin scars from whippings with belts or cuts from knives during her father’s rages.

Location: Crisscrossing her back and shoulders, with a prominent jagged scar diagonally across her left shoulder blade.

Appearance: White and slightly raised, some deeper where the skin split badly.

Scars from Beast Taming:

Claw and Bite Marks

Description: Deep gouges from beast claws or puncture wounds from fangs during close encounters.

Location: Three parallel slashes across her right thigh from a wolf-like creature; smaller bite marks dotting her forearms.

Appearance: The thigh scars are thick and white, while the forearm marks are pinker, some still healing.

Scars from Her Berserker Persona

Cara’s berserker gene, which awakens under stress, turns her into a reckless, powerful force. This lack of control often results in self-inflicted or battle-related injuries.

Self-Inflicted Wounds

Description: Injuries from frenzied actions like crashing into objects or clawing at herself.

Location: A jagged scar on her left temple from headbutting a doorframe; scratches on her upper arms from her own nails.

Appearance: The temple scar is uneven and white; the arm scratches are thin and clustered.

Defensive Wounds

Description: Cuts and stabs taken while fighting in a rage, unnoticed until the frenzy fades.

Location: A deep, puckered scar on her right shoulder from a blade; smaller cuts on her palms from grabbing sharp objects.

Appearance: The shoulder scar is thick and raised; the palm cuts are fine and faded.

[w0efulboopsoul]

ꉓꍏꋪꍏ ꁴꀤꂵꂵꍟꋪꂵꍟꈤ

T※h※r※y※m※

A Broken Howa'ahian Ice Bear's Heart

Kaiza's fingers closed around the knife hilt, his grip steady but his pulse erratic under Cara's proximity. The heat of her shoulder against his seared through layers of wool and leather, a contrast to the biting wind. He glanced at her, catching the flush on her cheeks—not just from the cold, he hoped—before forcing his attention back to the hare.

"The seam," he echoed, pressing the blade tip to the carcass. His hand trembled faintly, betraying him. Thrym's low rumble vibrated through the ground, a god's chuckle. Kaiza gritted his teeth, slicing downward. The blade snagged, spilling entrails messily onto the snow. He grimaced. "Elegant."

The cold deepened, frost curling like lace over Cara's braid. Kaiza shrugged off his cloak, draping it around her shoulders without looking up. "You're shivering," he muttered, as if chastising himself. The fur-lined fabric smelled of lightning and pine, still warm from his body.

His next cut was cleaner, guided by muscle memory from her demonstration. He glanced sideways, smirk sharpening. "If Thrym approves of hare butchery, perhaps I'll survive this lesson." A beat of silence passed between them before Kaiza spoke again. "You said his mortal days. What happened to him?"

The question hung, heavy as the stars above. Around them, the night breathed frost and secrets, the fire shrinking under the weight of the wild.

Cara's icy blue eyes burned with intensity as they fixated on the bear's plush, rotund backside, a scene that tugged at the edges of her patience. Her hands quivered ever so slightly, a subtle manifestation of the fierce storm brewing within her—a fury that could rival the flames of a dragon's breath. With a measured inhale, she leaned back, her fingers, both delicate and marred by the scars of past battles, gracefully gesturing toward Thrym. The contrast of her gentle movement against the roughness of her hands spoke volumes, an unspoken tale of strength woven into her very being.

"Tell me, Rich boy… If you were to see Thrym out in the wilds today, and you did not know him… What would you see?" Her piercing gaze held steady, unwavering, and fierce as she boldly confronted him. With an almost primal intensity, she inclined her body forward, her silhouette resembling that of a predatory creature poised to pounce. Crouched low before the crackling fire, the flickering flames danced across her features, casting a fiery glow that accentuated her fierce determination.

"If I saw Thrym now?" He tilted his head, studying the bear's massive form. Thrym lifted his gaze, glacial blue eyes glowing like spirit fire, and Kaiza's voice hardened with reluctant honesty. He crossed his arms, jaw working as he chose his words carefully. "A beast. A predator. Something to fear, own, or conquer." His throat bobbed, a flicker of shame tightening his tone.

"Of course you see something you would want to own, you stupid prince." Cara chided sternly, yet not unkindly. Could she have expected anything less from a royal who knew nothing of their own culture? "I, however, see a king. A force unlike anything your softened brain could fathom. I see a god. I see a being that deserved a life, yet, got robbed of it all. You wish to know his story? You pay close attention then. I will only tell you the story one time, Kaiza." She hissed, her scarred hands balling into fists.

"Thrym started life like any normal Eryndaran beast, here in the lands of Howa'ah." She spoke in a hushed tone, her voice carrying an alluring primal rasp that resonated deeply, more pronounced than it had ever been. The flickering firelight danced in her vivid blue eyes, making them shimmer with an otherworldly brilliance. The aromatic blend of charred PrimePine Oak and the savory scent of sizzling Icehare fat wafted through the air, tantalizing her senses. As a gentle wind picked up, she elegantly positioned her right boot on top of her left, a subtle yet confident gesture that seemed to echo the wild spirit within her.

"He had a mother who was fierce, majestic, powerful, tender, kind, caring, and did everything in her power to make sure that little cub named Thrym survived." Cara murmured softly, her voice barely rising above the crackling of the flames. With a graceful sweep of her hand, she conjured a shimmering silhouette of a majestic crystalline bear of frost and ice that flickered to life within the fire’s embrace.

The bear stood tall on its hind limbs, letting out a powerful roar that echoed through the night, filled with both defiance and pride. Beside it danced the enchanting figure of a chubby cub, its playful spirit captured in the warm glow of the flames as it tumbled joyfully in a fit of gleeful antics. The scene was a breathtaking blend of warmth and magic, a moment where the elements of fire and frost harmoniously coalesced.

The crystalline bears, shimmering like diamonds under the flickering light, nestled comfortably in a warm bed of flames that danced around them like a vibrant thicket. The mother bear, with a gentle nicker, lovingly groomed her cub, her soft, rhythmic movements nurturing and protective, as the warmth enveloped them both like a comforting embrace in a wild and untamed world.

"Then, during the night they came from across the seas. They stabbed his mother in a cowardly fashion, speared her in the back as she slept with Thrym nestled safely between her furry paws, close to her chest." She spoke, her voice trembling as the silhouettes of eerie, unfamiliar assailants materialized—cloaked figures draped in tattered robes that swirled like shadows, their forms wavering ominously in the dim light.

From beneath their hoods, piercing green eyes glowed with an unnerving intensity, casting an otherworldly aura around them. In the present age, they were feared as Necromancers, remnants of a long-extinct race that had once wielded a fearsome mastery over blood and dark sorcery, driven by a desperate ambition to resurrect an ancient entity known only as The Corrupted One—a being that had plummeted from the celestial realm eons ago, leaving a legacy of dread in its wake. With swift, sinister precision, they plunged their blades into the massive crystal bear from behind, triggering a guttural, choked roar that reverberated through the air. Moments later, the majestic creature slumped, its radiant form flickering like a dying star, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.

The silhouettes began to prowl like famished Wyverns, circling the delicate crystal Thrym ensconced in the flickering firelight. The flames danced wildly, casting deep shadows as they flared dramatically in response to her ongoing struggle. "As I said before, for bears there is an honor code, even when they fight eachother. What these men did, held no honor, and stripped her of her right to fight back."

Nearby, the bear cub stood tall on its tiny hind legs, a fierce, tiny, and pathetic roar escaping its little chest—an endearing yet valiant attempt to appear 'menacing', as if to shield his mother from whatever danger lurked in the shadows. "Thrym tried to wake his mother by pawing at her, nibbling on her nose, and even giving her a playful bite in a way that usually upset her. He was worried and sensed that something was seriously wrong when his mother remained limp and didn't swat his nose as she typically would. Thrym wouldn't leave his mother, either. He was certain she would wake, that she needed protection."

"Cowards," Kaiza spat, his voice jagged with disdain. He tore his gaze from the vision, staring into the snow as if it might anchor him. "Attacking a sleeping mother…" The assailants seized him, their cruel hands clamping a chain around his neck as he roared—a tiny, pathetic sound that broke Cara’s heart anew. Kaiza’s fists clenched, his breath hitching as the vision showed Thrym dragged away, his cries for his mother swallowed by the dark.

“Thrym was taken across the seas,” Cara continued, her voice breaking as tears streaked her face. “Thrown into a box so small he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. When he reached Amaranth, there was no mercy—only torment.”

The fire roared to life in a sudden, vengeful burst, its amber tongues clawing at the suffocating darkness of the cavern. In that flickering hell light, Thrym’s small form shuddered—the crystalline cub still soft with the downy fur of youth, now caged by writhing shadows that coiled like tormented spirits. The whips came first, their braided leather tails hissing through the air before biting into his crystalline hide. Each lash split the iridescent scales that once shimmered like captured starlight, leaving jagged, weeping gashes that glowed faintly as if his very essence bled through the wounds. They mirrored the fractures deep within him, fissures spreading through his spirit like frost creeping across glass.

Rocks followed, hurled by jeering figures whose faces were twisted into masks of malice. The stones struck with the precision of hatred, chipping away at the tender luminescence that had once drawn creatures to him in wonder. Every impact stole something irreplaceable—a flinch where there had been curiosity, a snarl where there had been playful chirps. His whimpers dissolved into the damp air, swallowed by the cage’s indifferent echoes as if even the earth refused to bear witness.

The chieftain loomed above him, a mountain of sinew and savagery, his eyes twin shards of glacial ice. His laughter was a grating sound, like boulders dragged over bone, as he brought the obsidian-studded cudgel down again and again. Thrym’s snarls grew weaker, his defiance crumbling like ash. The cub’s eyes—once wide with the soft glow of auroras—dimmed to hollow pits, their light smothered beneath the weight of relentless cruelty. Where there had been a heartbeat of wild, untamed gentleness, now thrived only a festering void, an aching absence.

By the time the beating ceased, the fire had dwindled to embers, and the shadows stretched hungrily over Thrym’s hunched form. What remained was no longer a cub but a snarling and menacing creature shattered at the edges and full of rage, his scars etched as deep as the chasms between stars. The wind that slipped through the cavern’s throat seemed to carry his lost whimpers far into the tundra, where they faded into nothing—a dirge for the tenderness the world had carved out of him.

"When the cheiftain got bored of Thrym, he sent Thrym to work the ore mines and the battle arena." The crystalline bear was a striking figure against the campfire's flames, its body a kaleidoscope of shimmering facets that caught the light in dazzling displays. Scars crisscrossed its powerful form, each mark telling a story of past battles and hardships. Heavy chains clinked as they secured it to an equally burdensome cart, the harness digging into its thick fur. The bear's breath came in labored gasps, its sides heaving as the oppressive heat of the environment bore down on it. Around the creature, the flickering flames of the campfire danced wildly, throwing shadows that wrapped around the bear like a sinister cloak, amplifying its struggle to breathe in the stifling air.

The flames surged dramatically, twisting and dancing around the shimmering crystalline bear, enveloping him in a radiant aura before revealing the vast expanse of a grand arena. Before him loomed an imposing Wyvern, its scaled body glistening ominously under the flickering firelight. The bear stood tall on his powerful hind limbs, emanating an aura of strength and defiance, while issuing a thunderous roar that echoed like a battle cry. In response, the Wyvern unleashed a piercing shriek, its elongated wings unfurling menacingly and creating a tempest of air, as if challenging Thrym to a fierce showdown. "Thrym only got to eat when he killed, he was their best fighter. Their champion, until he faced the Wyvern… And when he lost… They locked Thrym away to rot."

Cara waved her hand over the flames once more, the fire flaring briefly before settling into a haunting vision. Within the flickering light, the crystalline bear emerged—not as the proud, shimmering giant it once was, but as a pitiful, emaciated shadow of its former glory. Severely starved, its translucent fur hung dull and matted, clinging to a skeletal frame where every rib jutted out like a cruel mockery of its past strength. Once a majestic creature that roamed the wilds with unmatched grace, it was now reduced to a gaunt specter, its powerful muscles withered into frail whispers of what they had been.

The bear paced in a relentless figure-eight formation, its movements slow and mechanical, as if driven by a madness it could no longer escape. Each step was a struggle, its massive paws dragging across the ash-strewn ground, leaving faint trails that marked the endless loop of its despair. From its gaping maw, thick strands of drool and foam spilled, cascading to the earth in glistening pools—evidence of a body too broken to hold itself together. Its crystalline eyes, once fierce and radiant, were now clouded with torment, darting wildly as though searching for a freedom it would never find.

The flames encircling the bear roared with a cruel intensity, their heat warping the air and casting a hellish glow across its ravaged form. The firelight danced over the cracks that fractured its once-pristine surface, illuminating scars and raw wounds where its shimmering hide had shattered under relentless suffering. Each breath it took was a ragged, shallow gasp, its chest heaving desperately as if every inhale might be its last. The scene was a tableau of anguish, the bear’s every movement a testament to a life stolen, a spirit crushed.

In that moment, the bear let out a low, mournful growl—a sound so raw and broken it seemed to rise from the depths of its shattered soul.

It was a cry that carried the weight of its lost freedom, its stolen dignity, and the unbearable pain of its existence. As the flames burned brighter, fueled by the bear’s sorrow, the vision became almost too much to bear—a crystalline creature, once a king of the wilds, now a prisoner of its own torment, pacing endlessly toward a release that would never come.

As the campfire flickered and flared, its restless flames twisted in an eerie dance, casting trembling shadows across the ground. For a fleeting moment, the fire seemed to pause, then surged with a mournful glow, unveiling a vision so bleak it stole the breath from the night air. There, in the heart of the blaze, lay Thrym—a once-mighty bear reduced to a pitiful shell—sprawled helplessly on his side within the confines of a cruelly small cage.

The cage was a barren prison of despair, its rusted bars pressing mercilessly into Thrym’s matted fur, forcing his massive frame into an unnatural, contorted shape. Bloodstains, some fresh and glistening, others dried to a dark, cracked crust, smeared the floor and streaked the bars—grim evidence of his relentless struggle to break free. Deep claw marks gouged the metal, each scratch a testament to his desperation, a frantic plea for survival and freedom that had gone unanswered. Yet now, those once-formidable claws, which had carved paths through forests and mountains, were ground down to nothing. Blunt, jagged nubs remained where power once resided, their broken remnants scattered across the filth-strewn floor like the shards of a shattered legacy.

Thrym’s suffering permeated the scene. His hulking body, once a symbol of untamed strength, now twitched faintly with exhaustion and pain. His fur, dull and patchy, clung to his emaciated frame, revealing the sharp jut of ribs beneath. Each breath was a labored, shuddering gasp, the sound echoing hollowly in the cage—a rhythm of defeat that seemed to plead for an end to his torment. Drool dripped from his slackened jaws, pooling beneath his muzzle in a sticky mire of saliva, blood, and grime, as though his very spirit were leaking away with it.

The air within the cage hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the sour reek of despair, a stench that spoke of endless pacing, of a creature driven mad by confinement. Thrym’s eyes, once fierce and alive with the wild, now stared blankly ahead, clouded with a dull sheen of agony and resignation. They were windows to a soul that had been crushed, a spark extinguished by the weight of his captivity. His massive head rested limply against the bars, too weak to rise, too broken to fight, as if the cage had not only trapped his body but devoured his will to live.

As the flames wavered, the vision of Thrym lingered—a haunting tableau of a creature who had paced, suffered, and drooled in his prison, his every movement a futile cry for the freedom he could no longer reach. The bloodstains and claw marks stood as silent witnesses to his anguish, while his ground-down claws and defeated form painted a portrait of a king brought low, his majesty stripped away by the unrelenting cruelty of his fate. When the fire finally dimmed, the image faded, but the sorrow it left behind was indelible—a piercing reminder of a life reduced to desperation, clinging to survival in a cage that offered nothing but despair.

"How Thrym's bones got back to Howa'ah is a mystery to Thrym and myself both… Thrym died in that cage and woke as a spirit, a beast god. The god of frost to be exact… And he was doing his job up until 300 years ago, when the dragons abandoned Howa'ah and its people… Thrym only got out through death." Cara whispered gently, her voice a soothing melody that floated through the crisp air.

Thrym lingered in the velvety embrace of darkness, crouched behind a twisted tree that had withstood the test of time, its gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. He whimpered softly, his cries echoing like a lost cub abandoned in an endless, wintry expanse, where the chill seeped into his very bones. Nearby, the majestic Howa'ah ice bear bowed his noble head, the weight of shame pressing heavily upon his broad, fur-clad shoulders. He stood in solemn stillness, confronted by the quietude that enveloped him, a suffocating reminder of his own profound regret.