To name Wolfthora is to summon the image of a storm—raw, defiant, and unforgettable. She does not enter places so much as claim them, presence like a thunderclap, eyes alight with some ancient fire. She is a warrior of Zamorak, but no one's pawn; her loyalty is to fury, to freedom, and to the unyielding will to live unbroken. Where Nyssarra is quiet contemplation, Wolfthora is wild motion—untamed, unapologetic, and utterly alive.
Origins in Ash and Iron
Born in the shadow of war and raised among the shattered remains of a borderland village near the Wilderness, Wolfthora's early years were defined by loss and survival. Her people were scattered, their banners long forgotten—mercenaries, deserters, zealots, and outcasts drawn together by necessity. Her childhood was spent in the company of blades and broken things, where the rules of nobler cities held no sway. No temples, no tutors, no tender lullabies. Only the scream of steel and the sob of winter wind through ruined stone.
Her name was not always Wolfthora. She took it for herself as a rite—after slaying a dire wolf with her bare hands at fifteen, when her blade snapped mid-hunt and instinct alone carried her through. The villagers said the wolf spirit entered her then, and never left. Whether myth or truth, she let the name stand. A name earned, not given.
The Flame of Zamorak
Though she bears the mark of Zamorak across her shoulder—a jagged crimson sigil inked in blood and fire—Wolfthora is no blind zealot. She does not kneel. Her worship is not ritual, but rebellion. She honors Zamorak not with prayer, but with resistance: resistance to tyranny, to stagnation, to silence. In his chaotic doctrine, she found something that mirrored her spirit—not destruction for its own sake, but the belief that strength must be earned, and that order without challenge is a cage.
Yet even among Zamorakians, she is an anomaly. She refuses the chain of command unless it suits her, distrusts warbands, and walks her own path. Some call her a heretic, others a prophet. She has fought both Saradominist and Zamorakian forces when they overstepped their claims. She is flame, not torch—dangerous, consuming, and independent.
Warrior, Wanderer, Woundbearer
Wolfthora is no stranger to battle. Her combat style is brutal yet beautiful—a dance of power and instinct. She wields a heavy cleaver-like greatsword known as Vireskar, forged from salvaged metals taken from the wreckage of ancient battlefield sites. The blade is not elegant, but neither is she. Hers is the poetry of scars and grit, each swing a declaration.
Her body tells the story of her survival. Scars crisscross her back, some from punishment, others from the reckless cost of victory. Her hands are calloused, her knuckles often bloodied. She wears little armor, favoring agility over protection, and dares her enemies to strike first.
And yet beneath the ferocity lies something else—something few see and fewer understand. There is a stillness that sometimes overtakes her in the aftermath of violence, a quiet grief for lives taken, even when justified. She does not speak of this openly, but Nyssarra has seen it in her—the way her gaze lingers too long on fallen foes, or how she sharpens her blade in the dead of night, not with pride, but necessity.
Wolfthora bleeds, and she remembers every drop.
Connection with Nyssarra
The bond between Wolfthora and Nyssarra is not a simple one. It is not friendship in the traditional sense, nor is it love—though something unspoken simmers beneath their silences. It is understanding. It is recognition.
They are, in many ways, opposites. Nyssarra seeks balance and harmony, follows Seren’s teachings with quiet devotion, and listens to the rhythms of the natural world. Wolfthora defies balance, seeks challenge, and blazes through the wild like a firestorm. And yet, there is something in Nyssarra that calls to her—something steady, something real.
They met in the depths of the Wilderness, not as allies, but as wary travelers forced to share a temporary truce. That encounter led to others—shared campsites, joint battles, terse conversations that slowly unfolded into mutual respect. Nyssarra never tried to tame her. Wolfthora never tried to test her. They simply... were. And that was rare.
To Wolfthora, Nyssarra is a question that cannot be answered by force. A puzzle with a pulse. She respects that. And perhaps, in some distant way, envies it.
Code and Contradiction
Beneath the fury, Wolfthora possesses a code—one she will not speak aloud, but that she follows with unwavering certainty. She does not harm children. She despises slavers and has been known to free captives even when it costs her profit. She will fight to the death for those who earn her trust, though she gives that trust with glacial caution.
She believes in freedom above all. Freedom from fate, from the gods, from the expectations of others. But that freedom comes at a cost, and Wolfthora has paid it more times than she can count. Friends lost. Homes burned. Battles fought that left her soul aching. She wears her choices like armor, and never asks for forgiveness.
Voice and Presence
Wolfthora’s voice is low, roughened by years of shouting commands and breathing cold mountain air. She speaks plainly, often with sharp wit or brutal honesty, and has little patience for political niceties. When she laughs, it’s sudden and full—like thunder cracking over a cliffside. When she’s silent, it’s deliberate. She watches. Waits. Judges.
She wears her black hair in braids tied with bone beads and crimson cloth. Her eyes are a deep, unsettling amber—like forge-embers beneath a veil of ash. She bears a scent of smoke, steel, and something wild. She smells like battle.
And yet, there are moments—rare, precious moments—when that fire dims, and something gentler emerges. When she traces the edge of her sword in thought, or watches Nyssarra speak with the druids from afar, or stands alone on a cliff at dawn, whispering the names of the dead into the wind.
Legacy Still Unwritten
Wolfthora does not seek legend. She does not want her name carved into monuments or sung in mead halls. What she seeks cannot be given by others—it must be taken, earned, lived. She moves through Gielinor like a storm through dry grass, setting things ablaze, forcing change, demanding reckoning.
But for all her fire, she is not without direction. She is not lost. She is becoming. And somewhere between fury and stillness, blade and breath, Nyssarra knows: Wolfthora is not a villain. She is not a hero. She is a force.
And the world will remember her not because she asked it to—but because it could not ignore her.
A Dungeons and Dragons Character
Barbarian - Warlock Hybrid Class
Race: Tiefling (or Custom Lineage with Infernal/Fiendish traits)
Class: Barbarian (Path of the Zealot) / Warlock (Fiend Patron)
Background: Outlander or Haunted One
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Patron: Zamorak, the Chaos Flame
Pact: Pact of the Blade
Strength: 16 (+3)
Dexterity: 14 (+2)
Constitution: 16 (+3)
Intelligence: 8 (-1)
Wisdom: 10 (+0)
Charisma: 16 (+3)
Barbarian 5 – Path of the Zealot
Rage (3/day): +2 damage, resistance to B/P/S damage
Divine Fury: While raging, first target you hit each turn takes extra radiant or necrotic damage (d6 + half Barbarian level)
Unarmored Defense: AC = 10 + Dex + Con
Extra Attack: Attack twice when you take the Attack action
Danger Sense: Advantage on Dexterity saves vs. effects you can see
Reckless Attack: Gain advantage on melee attacks, enemies gain advantage on you
Warlock 5 – The Fiend (Zamorak)
Expanded Spell List: Burning Hands, Scorching Ray, Fireball, Wall of Fire
Dark One’s Blessing: Gain temporary HP equal to Charisma mod + Warlock level when you reduce a creature to 0 HP
Eldritch Invocations: (Choose 2)
Agonizing Blast (Add Cha to Eldritch Blast)
Thirsting Blade (Extra attack with Pact weapon)
Fiendish Vigor (Cast False Life at-will)
Pact of the Blade: Create a melee weapon bound to your soul—flaming axe, chaotic blade, etc.
Spells
Cantrips: Eldritch Blast, Minor Illusion, Thaumaturgy
1st-3rd Level Spells Known: (6 known total, 2 slots per short rest)
Hex
Armor of Agathys
Scorching Ray
Counterspell
Fireball
Wall of Fire
Pact Weapon (a brutal axe, wreathed in dark fire)
Trophies from beasts she has slain
Trinket from a past warband (burned insignia)
Tattered journal, with pages scorched or blood-stained
Hide armor (optional for stealth, but usually goes unarmored)
Personality: Fierce, untamed, driven by fury and faith. Loyal to few, but bound by passion.
Motivation: To channel the raw chaos of Zamorak through her rage—order is a cage, power is freedom.
Quirks: Talks to her weapon in quiet moments, sometimes hears whispers back. Finds joy in storms and combat.