The saga of theBearwolftriceratigerBearwolftriceratiger

In the Year of the Blizzard, a great storm rolled in from the far country of the Name-Keepers. It was the coldest storm the pack had ever seen, and it had only one purpose: to judge names.

The storm came upon the banner of Werewolf Orgasmahowl, flapping proudly over the battlegrounds, and it stopped. It read the name once. It read it again, slower. Then it froze the name solid, snapped it off the banner and flung it into the Storm Sea.

That name is too wild to be spoken.

The Blizzard

And the pack stood on the shore with a bare pole and no name at all.

Historian’s noteHistorians record that in 2010 the guild was made to change its name to satisfy Blizzard’s naming rules. The storm-singers prefer this version.

A nameless pack does what any pack does. They threw back their heads and gave the cry of their Saint, Hornatius Orgasmahowl: HAROOOO!

But the air was so cold that the cry froze the moment it left their throats. It hung there, shining, and then it fell onto the ice and shattered into four pieces. Each piece woke up as a beast.

The first piece was the low growl at the start of the cry. It became the Bear, who is strong and stubborn and will sit on a base until the end of time.

The second was the long howl in the middle. It became the Wolf, who is the heart of the old name and never runs without its pack.

The third was the bellow underneath. It became the Triceratops, who has three horns because it has always been taught to grab three.

The fourth was the roar at the very end. It became the Tiger, fastest of the four, striped black for the storm and yellow for the lightning, born to carry the flag home.

The four beasts circled each other on the breaking ice. The Bear wanted to defend. The Wolf wanted to regroup. The Triceratops wanted to push the Stables. The Tiger had already left with the flag.

Then the sky cracked open. A single bolt of lightning struck the ice where they stood, the Storm Sea boiled, and the four were hurled together into the deep.

What came out of the waves was one beast. It wore a crown of three horns. It had the claws of the Bear, the jaws of the Wolf, the frill of the Triceratops and the hide of the Tiger. It raised its head into the storm and roared, and the roar was the old HAROOOO come back again, only much, much bigger.

HAROOOARRR!

The Bearwolftriceratiger, its first word

The pack on the shore did not need to be told. They had their name back. It was simply longer now.

The Blizzard had taken everything else, so the pack made its new banner from the only two things the storm left behind.

Black for the storm that took the old name

Bright yellow for the lightning, and the Tiger’s eye

Black, for the storm that took the old name. Bright yellow, for the lightning that gave them a new one, and for the Tiger’s eye that never closes.

It is said that the stripes on the Beast’s hide cannot be counted. Every time someone gets close, a new one appears.

The storm-singers keep many reports of the Beast in battle. These three are told most often.

Some say the Bearwolftriceratiger is the mount of Saint Hornatius Orgasmahowl himself. Others say it is the Saint’s own HAROOOO, given claws and set loose on the world.

The oldest storm-singers tell it another way. On the night of the Blizzard, they say, a lone orc was seen far out on the ice with his arms raised to the lightning. And when the Beast rose from the sea, the very first thing it did was kneel.

Whatever the truth, nobody disputes that the Beast always grabs three. Somebody taught it that.