Gurptuk Moss-Beard

Durham Forest is a vast sprawl of woodland harboring more than just deep, creeping darkness. A traveler foolish enough to wander into its depths might be enslaved or murdered by the cutthroat Dark Elves, or preyed upon by any number of vicious monstrosities, from writhing nests of carno-grubs to the packs of snap-jaw forest wolves, or flocks of blood-sucking blackwing bats that make their nests in the dense canopy. Nor can the forest’s flora be ignored, for there is little in Durham that isn’t inimical to life, be it razor-leaf flowers or strangling vines. Durham is a dark and deadly place, so it is with great surprise to a small number of travelers that they have stumbled across a space in the forest that, on first glance, is neither of those things. According to the few who have made it out alive, there is a clearing somewhere within Durham where the light of the sun dares make its presence known, shining down upon a humble hut of timber and moss thatch. Its quiet, peaceful nature seems utterly out of step with the nightmares of the eves surrounding it. The occupant of the hut is just as expectation-defying. He is an Ogryn, connected by his magical abilities to the roots of the woods, who wears a great beard woven with moss and carries a twisted staff of living briarbracken wood that burns forever with the spirit-flame of the forest. His name is Gurptuk Moss-Beard, and none pass through his particular patch of Durham without his knowledge or permission. How an Ogryn with expertise in the ways of the wood came to settle in an unusually peaceful part of Durham is a riddle many have sought to unravel. Some say that as a child Gurptuk wandered into the forest after being abandoned on its edge by his tribe, who were distrustful of the innate magical connection he held with woodlands. Others believe he was a Dark Elf slave who escaped and then tamed the forest around him. There are many theories besides. Regardless, it seems that, driven by sheer bloody—mindedness, Gurptuk carved out the clearing himself, and simply annihilated any and every beast or Dark Elf that tried to claim him. Among the latter was a Dark Elf sorcerer who Gurptuk turned into gnarled wood, and whose face he now bears on his back as a trophy. Certainly all agree that Gurptuk is a druid with a great affinity for the trees among which he makes his home, for he is one of the few beings who does not seem to have to adapt to the dark and deadly spirit of Durham, but can make it bend to his will instead. Gurptuk’s own spirit is highly mercurial. Those who have encountered him are just as likely to declare that he turned their traveling companions into mushrooms for his brews as they are to claim that his nettle soup healed their grandmother’s gout. Gurptuk might render those who enter his clearing down into his latest ingredients, or he might get them drunk on fungus beer and tall tales before sending them on their wandering way, to be snapped up by the nearest bristlebark beast. A few he might even guide to safety. It seems as though he does not hold to common ideals of morality but is as unpredictable as the forest around him. When a visitor attracts his ire, however, his wrath is terrifying to behold. Such trespassers at best Gurptuk will pulverize with his biotic staff, or at worst find themselves prisoners trapped within his root cages, waiting to become part of the next brew that requires fresh elements. Of late, parts of the forest Gurptuk relies on are growing bare and fallow. Some say there is a malignant force at work within the woodland, some scheme set by Siroth or his minions. More and more, the Ogryn druid scavenges outside his domain, even beyond the edge of Durham, seeking out strange ingredients for a special elixir that will stop the rot and revitalize the woodland. Any allies he makes along the way have good cause to remain on their guard, for said concoction might need more than a few of their body parts.