Age: 21
Starting level: 4
Background: Criminal
"Origin" Feat: Alert
Starting Grace: Sanguine Regeneration
How you rolled: Point Buy

Backstory:
Among the Kravenclaw Clan, cunning was survival. The clan were Shifters who lived like raiders and scavengers along trade roads and ruined cities and outskirt of towns. They ambushed caravans, slipped through forests unseen, and struck like rats from the dark. Every warrior in the clan was taught the same lesson:

"Strength breaks doors.
Cunning opens them."

Thrat Kravenclaw never cared for that method. His father, Varnek Kravenclaw, was one of the clan’s greatest hunters—clever, patient, and feared. Thrat tried to follow in his footsteps, but he lacked the patience for traps or silent hunts. He was loud. Brutal. Reckless. Where others stalked preys. Thrat charged.

The clan called him thick-skulled. Some whispered he would never lead.

Thrat hated that. If he could not outthink them. Then he would outmuscle them.

One night, Thrat disappeared from the clan camps.

He had heard rumors from passing smugglers, stories of strange alchemists and flesh-shapers who could create warriors stronger than any beast. Mad scholars who experimented with blood, mutagens, and monsters. Most people avoided them. Thrat sought them out. The deal was simple:

“Make me stronger.” The alchemists agreed. But they never promised he would remain himself.

They stretched his bones. Injected him with glowing serums. Forced monstrous mutations into his blood. They fused alchemical machinery into his flesh, pumping strange green vapors through his body. Pain drove lesser subjects mad. Thrat got through it. The transformation twisted him into something monstrous. His muscles swelled beyond anything natural, his claws grew like blades, and the feral beast in his blood awakened fully. A living weapon. And for a time, it worked.

They unleashed him on their enemies. Bandits, rival factions, monsters in the wilds. Wherever Thrat went, bodies followed. But they forgot one thing. They had made him stronger. They had not made him fully obedient.

One night, when the mutagens flooded his blood again, Thrat snapped the restraints and tore through the laboratory like a storm of claws and teeth. Steel bent. Walls cracked. When the slaughter ended, Thrat walked away from the burning ruin, grinning.

Most would see his transformation as a curse. Thrat sees it as victory. He wanted strength.

He got it.