“In the flesh all wisdom begins. Beware the thing that has no flesh. Beware the gods, beware the idea, beware the devil.”

Wolves who strayed too close to the mountain oft did not return; those that did brought back tales of three sisters—and in the years that followed these cryptids of Mount Sikaram earned notoriety as powerful monsters to be appeased in any form possible. The eldest was not a sister, but a mother; already beyond her prime, the mountain was left to her twin daughters. Bold wolves seeking their own fame and glory came questing for the blood of the beasts, felling one, wounding the other; it was Maharet who survived through it all and slew those that craved war. The mountain was cleansed of the blood of her enemies—and she, left horribly alone.

The sacred mountain was thus abandoned. Nothing could root the forlorn creature there any longer; the memories of her mother, her sister, were carried with her. The wolves of the valley below felt her wrath first: she came to them nightly and bested their most skilled, tore apart their hunters next, separated families. Eventually all that was left were the elders who carried the knowledge of the mountain and the pure loathing she embodied: these, she left untouched. Maharet was to return to her mountain thereafter but the taste of wolf blood was too compelling—soon she sought more, roaming further from the familiar desolation of one region to seek out satisfaction elsewhere.

Thus the creature finds herself entering the Teekon Wilds, having kept herself contained and her rage quelled, but truthfully anything could set it off again.