Due to the lack of artistry in Norcos time, there are very few sources that can correctly gauge his aesthetic. It is true that he is taller than most men, standing at six-foot-six, but he does not tower over rooftops as is sometimes claimed.
It is difficult to discern whether or not Norco is ugly or not, as his ragged black beard, stained white in places, hangs over his mouth and chin like a chain-mail mask. His eyes are not quite the pure white that is depicted in the tales, they are in fact a very light shade of grey and whilst he does indeed have pupils, his stare is no less forgiving. Cheek bones sit high as his whitened rough skin darkens ever so slightly
in the crevices of his wide, burly nose.

His attire in the books and fables has forever been an example of his barbarism. Scantily clad across his broad chest they like to infer that his skin is armour enough. The truth is that during his time, Norco wore many furs and pelts of animals that he had hunted personally. A bears head sits on his shoulders, halved down the center of its head and turned forward to match his gaze, they act like brutal pauldrons. Cloths and leathers cover his sturdy legs and arms leaving only his hands and head uncovered.


Norco is known as a warrior king and one of the deadliest to ever live, a swing of his axe can cleave multiple men in twain as he carves his way through a battlefield. Whilst he is not the most skilled warrior his disregard for his own safety makes him insurmountable, wounds and injuries have been seen to heal in hours rather than days. A blessing of endurance, no doubt from his father.

Norco is also known to have a particular affinity for the cold. Having been raised in such circumstances it is hardly surprising. The battles that he personally fought in the frozen east have become legendary in their own right, he glides across the ground with an unnatural ease with a close mist that shields him from onlookers. It is said that in the snow-covered east, Norco commands winter as his ally.

Banemaw - The Axe Norco wields is known by this name. Said to be forged in the blood of a great wolf and sharpened upon it's teeth, its blade is said to cause wounds that may never heal, demanding the death of any who feel it's bite.


In the frozen wastelands to the East, the legend of Norco Khan still lives. Tales tell us of a man so huge that he could not feel the pain of arrow tips, that he could crush a mans skull with his bare hands. That his very step could imprint onto rock.
The stories begin with an expedition through a cold mountain pass. The Kulgan, a clan of barbarians that lived near the foot of the mountain, traversed this path each year to reach the bountiful forest on its other side. It was in the thirty-second year of Chieftain Kosk that those foragers returned with more than roots and berries. A boy was found, in the mountain pass, a boy wrapped in grey cloth to protect him from the biting cold. His cries echoed throughout the mountain passes, leading the expedition to him. As the only woman of the group picked him from the only snow-less rock, she noticed his eyes. A pure white. No iris, no pupil. It was like staring into perfect pearls. This child was a gift from the gods, so the group had decided. A boy purposefully placed in their path so as to live a normal life, but he would grow to be anything but normal.

The legend goes that this boy was taken in by the barbarians at the foot of the misty mountain. He grew, and grew quickly. By the time he was fifteen he could easily match any man in the clan for size, the others were in awe of him despite their mundane relation. At times he would achieve feats that left them speechless, stories of him fighting a colossal dire wolf single-handedly gained him the name of Wolf of the Mountain. It wasn't until his early twenties that Norco began to wonder of his origins. He had been told the story of the baby in the mountain pass many times before yet if left questions unanswered. That winter Norco left the clan in search of those answers, he headed for the mountain pass that saw his emergence almost a suicidal pilgrimage in the dead of winter. A year passed and the Kulgan heard nothing of their infamous son. Another winter, the one after that. It took five long years for the Wolf to return to the foot of the mountain, to the people that had raised him as their own. He was different. People gathered at the villages edge to watch the Goliath stride towards their homes. A man unlike any every before seen, a man with pure white eyes. The woman whom had lifted him from that rock nearly two decades ago fell to her knees as she recognized the man she knew as a son. His gaze pierced her with air of pure might, he took a knee himself, shaking the ground under his weight. His face softened for the slightest of moments as he took her hand. The words he spoke in that moment have been heard throughout the land since, "The Wolf returns".

Since that day it has been said that to travel to the east, to the frozen mountains is to walk into the jaws of a wolf. Norco Khan became one of the most legendary warriors as he single handedly dragged the small village of barbarians that he once knew to the heights of a world power. They spread throughout the east in startling fashion, crushing anything that stood in their way. With Norco as their leader, the Kulgan were an invincible people. Word spread of a warrior so mighty that to kill him would only affirm your own end spread throughout the world. A warrior so imposing that he could shun death itself.
Sadly everything must come to an end, and try as he might Norco could not defeat the adversary of time. His hair grew white, his face wrinkled. Deaths Bane, as he would come to be known in the stories, was laid to rest in the very place he began his journey, the mountain pass above his village. Some say his tomb is still there, a pile of stone sealed together, immovable as if to match his own legend. Alas it has never been found.

Many years later the bards of more civilized nations would sing of his journey into the mountain, the five long years spent in the numbed pass the Kulgan still travel. It was rumored that atop that mountain, Norco questioned the very gods. Bellowing his frustration towards the heavens a single bolt of lightning struck the ground meters from him. A dire wolf, larger than any living beast approached Norco from that point. It did not bear it's teeth, it did not advance with aggression. It simply sat, in front of the knelt Khan. He did not know it, but that beast was a god. The father or Norco Khan had come to stare his descendant in the eye. His survival in the mountain had proved his worth and he was accepted by his parent. Looking to the skies Norco was confronted by a strange alignment of stars, in the shape of Ansus a cloud drifted across it, a cloud in the shape of a wolfs head. Norco Khan, the King of the Frozen east, was to become the mightiest warrior the world had ever seen. It was a title that he undeniably lived up to.

The Kulgan, under new leadership managed to continue their reign for a few years. However without the Wolf of the Mountain, they could not resist the many empires that rose in defiance to their rule. Year after year the Kulgan lands shrank, retreating back the cold, bitter wastelands of the east. Today there is still a town at the foot of the misty mountain. They no longer call themselves Kulgan, but their blood is linked. They all await for the White-eyed Wolf to descend the mountain once more, to lead once more.

M Y T H O L O G Y

Altim was born roughly 2,000 years ago in Cynderia, one of the fragmented states of the West, into the family of a merchant class father and a lower class mother, who worked and married to achieve a higher status and escape the cycle of poverty in the ghettos of Cynderia. In the capital city of Cynderia, Altim received his education, and although he performed excellently in scholarly pursuits, he felt alienated by the traditional society of his homeland and called to the adventure in the world. So compelled was he to escape the life, which his parents had intended for him from the very beginning, that he ran into the forest to find a journey of his own. By the 8th day, Altim was starving and thirsting on the brink of death, and he had no food or water. The adventure he had so painstakingly sought eluded him; all he found in the great woods was isolation and emptiness. As he lay to sleep that night beneath the boughs of the trees, Altim realized his folly and wept tears of shame. He cried for the worry of his elders, and he pitied himself for naivety and ignorance. In one act of kindness, he freed a bird whose legs were caught under a stone, and he drew his final breath.

This selfless act and tragic epiphany did not go unnoticed in the shade. In the morning, he woke in the waters of the holy fountain in the forest temple, under the care of the High Priest. The High Priest of the temple told Altim of Faerthus, the God of Wisdom, whose countenance rewarded the virtues of man with intelligence and knowledge. In the night, Faerthus had blessed Altim with new life and new wisdom, and in the day, the High Priest sent Altim home with food and drink. The prodigal son returned a prudent sage, and his family welcomed him with love, song, and joy. From that day forward, he thanked his family for what they had done for him, and they allotted him more freedom, even against his rejection of traditional Cynderian views. Altim became a devoted follower of Faerthus, whom Altim prayed to regularly for guidance and faith.

The tale, for Altim, did not end after his life-changing revelation; many years later, when Altim reached the tender age of 18, the neighboring empire of Bytheron declared war on Cynderia. The siege on the nation seemed endless, and the people grew restless and discontented by the losses experienced under their king. Altim fled the capital city for the safety of the temple of Faerthis and for the aid of the god in peaceful Cynderia's time of need. There the High Priest of Faerthis prophesied the fate of Altim's homeland and gave Altim an ultimatum: save Cynderia and bring greatness to the land, or suffer the consequences of failure and watch the land burn to the ground. Altim did not find adventure, adventure found him. From that temple, Altim took food, water, a horse, and a magical violin from the Priest, who in turn blessed the youth with power.

He rode from the temple into neighboring kingdoms to warn of the Bytheronian threat to the east and to temper his magical abilities in order to rise up and fight the Bytheronian Empire. The surrounding kingdoms united under Altim's warning, and Altim himself conquered dissenters to raise a powerful army. The army quickly retook Cynderia, and Altim used his powers in the final battle of the arcane between him and the King of Bytheron. Joyous celebration followed, and Altim was declared a hero of the Republic of Cynderia, the new nation that rose from the united sovereignties, a great uniter of the lands who called a storm and struck the King of Bytheron with a mighty bolt of lightning. Altim refused to become the leader of the new nation that rose from the ashes of the old Cynderia. Instead, he retired to become a scholar and died in the arms of the man he loved.

Beyond the grave, numerous tales were spun about Altim's greatness, and songs were sung from generation to generation, each one praising the wisdom of Faerthis and the journey Altim took to attain the artifacts and abilities that allowed Cynderia to win the war. As time passed, many of the older, truer depictions of Altim faded and disappeared, and newer versions of Altim's legend survived. His love for beautiful men, his studious nature, his divinely-gifted precepts, all of these things were erased by the passage of time and the ignorance of mankind, but no man would ever forget the great nation which owed its existence to Altim and Altim's impact on the world.

A P P E A R A N C E

The last-surviving testament to Altim incorrectly depicted the youth with short, light blond hair and a flute. He had neither, and he was never as tall, sinewy, or wealthy as the tale portrayed him. In fact, his physical appearance is very different from what his flawed description may lead people to believe about him. In reality, Altim in his prime appears 18 years old. He has medium-length, dark brown hair that he parts to the left, close-trimmed facial hair that if left unattended grows into a full beard. His stature is a little shorter than average at about 5 feet and 7 inches (or 170 centimeters), and he weighs only 150 pounds. Now, despite his meager weight and height, Altim himself is fairly strong for his age, and his strength, though nothing like the exaggerated brute he was depicted as, shows in his broad shoulders and lean, muscular frame. His fingers are long like a musician's, his arms thick like a blacksmith's, but in general, Altim is of a lithe, statuesque build. The books show Altim in rich outerwear, regal capes and crowns, but he has never worn either of those things and in fact opts for simpler clothing. He is typically caught in loose, canvas pants and tunics, covered by chainmail, belts, and hood. He puts his feet every morning into tight, knee-high black leather boots and his arms into strapped-down, brown leather gauntlets.

A B I L I T I E S / E Q U I P M E N T

The many stories woven about Altim speak often about a mighty warrior who smote everything in his path with sword and shield, but the truth about Altim is a history of a person who won his battles with cunning, wisdom, and high magic. The violin, which he was given by the High Priest of Faerthis those 2,000 years ago, is by far and by large the most important weapon he wielded in his lifetime. With it in his arms, he easily honed the capacity for magic that he was given by Faerthis. Although after some time he had tempered his magical powers enough to use a diverse range of skills without the help of the violin, the songs he learned were still nonetheless incredibly practical in their applications. That violin enabled Altim to play songs of healing and anthems of tempestuous destruction, to sway men and women to emotional hymns, to cry for the aid of the gods and goddesses in their hallowed temples. Aside from the violin, Altim recruited the aid of other ancient artifacts, a staff that dramatically increased the accuracy of his power, a sword that could purge souls, and a bow that could pierce dimensions and deliver an empowered shot. Of course, after the revival of the heroes of old, the other curios disappeared from his possession, but his magical violin and spellcasting voice maintain their powers at his enchanted fingertips.