Kro’khad the Throatripper Lore: Official Story

‘Saw his tracks first. Big. Clawed. That night it got Urguta. Nothing left of her but blood. It got past the sentries. Right into the middle of us.

Saw him the next day. Watching. Stood on a rock. Unafraid. Taunting. Telling us to get out of his territory. I stared right back. Raised my mace. Roared my vow to kill him.

We sleep again. It claims Raggo and his hound, Goreslick. I was furious.

There he was again, watching us, as we walked through the desert. To find Gharol Bloodmaul. When we camped, I did not sleep. I waited. He came. I struck. He fled. I pursued. I lost him.

But I didn’t give up. I found the trail. I found him. Claws and teeth deep in the neck of a bull elephant. The tusked beast fought, enraged. But it lost. He killed it. Ripped out its throat.

I was impressed. But I still attacked. He should have been tired. If he was, I could not tell. We fought. He was fast. Focused. Slashing. Biting. Each swipe was to distract me so he could tear into my neck. I learned this. Tried to use it against him. Tried to lure him to lunge so I could strike him. I failed many times. He was too fast. He learned what I was doing. Stopped lunging.

He changed his targets. My arms. My legs. My weapon. Trying to be unpredictable. To catch me. Force a mistake. I have broken many hounds. Even Undead and Demon. He was the most powerful I ever saw. But he was still a hound. Blood lust was there. It would lunge at me again. Eventually. But more tired.

I decided he would not die. Too strong. Too worthy. Better packmate. I caught him in another lunge for my throat. Wrapped my arms around his neck. Wrapped my legs around his front paws. Squeezed. Rolled. Wrestled. Rocks in the ground sliced my flesh. My blood flowed. Sweat made my wounds sing. I fought until he tired. Until he stopped. I released him. He licked my wounds. Then slunk off.

He would return. I knew it. He saw me as the greater. I named him, Kro’khad the Throatripper. Named for the desert. Named for how he kills.

Gharol told me he was made in Ireth, not born of the sands. Must have escaped. They created something great. Then imprisoned it. I want them destroyed.

I have seen Kro’khad kill many times. I have never seen him give up. His bites don’t heal. Mace strikes to the head do not stop him. He answers only to me.

For now. One day he will challenge me. He will want to be alpha.’

– Excerpt from the journals of Packmaster Shy’ek