Bestiary

Wooly Borjah - by T.A. Saunders and documented by S.A. Robles ©2015 v1.0

Stats

Description Capable of reaching an astounding 17’ tall whilst standing up on their hind legs and capping out at over 3,500lbs., the Wooly Borjah of Ishaela are magnificent beasts that put their slighter cousins on Imarel to shame. Layered in a shaggy coat of thick and unruly hair, the ram-horned bears have a tolerance for frigid temperatures so profound that some Native Quivynites maintain they could survive even in the inhospitable environs of Xos or Lyth. Wooly Borjah’s shaggy hair is coated a pristine snow white due to migratory patterns keeping them in a snowy environment year-round, and their eyes and mammoth claws are predominately black, but the former can occasionally be spotted a pinkish-red and latter a silvery gray due to albinism. Some accounts by hunters claim to have seen a malicious crimson glint overtake their eyes when severely wounded.

Lore

The “origin” of the Borjah is one shrouded in millennials superstition, and it’s unlikely to ever be fully resolved. One story goes that they were born of collaboration between Zorah and Miron, long before the estrangement between Miron and his younger brother. Another claims that the “first” of them were actual native to Xos, but were brought to Adanum during the War of Eternals as mounts for the forces of Chaos, and ultimately became an invasive yet naturalized species over the course of thousands of years. Whatever the case, the Borjah is the favored animal of Miron and deeply rooted in the culture of humanity for its ferocious tenacity.

The Wooly Borjah, due to its stocky simplicity and lack of evolution for thousands of years, is cited as an example of a mammalian “living fossil” and it is proposed by some scholars that the Borjah on Imarel are an evolutionary spinoff caused by earlier humans introducing them there following their exodus from Ishaela. Whether such is true or not, it is most definitely a fact that the Wooly Borjah has seen no cause to adapt to its environment and is unlikely to find one in the near future. They sit at the pinnacle of Ishaela’s food chain, their territory widespread during Yis but regressing toward the moon’s poles during the warmer half of the year. A Native Quivyni anecdote suggests that their only true weakness is a hot, sunny day; they have a poor sweating capacity and heat threshold, dramatically reducing their vitality in such conditions.

Wooly Borjah fight with the reckless abandon and ferocity of a Berserker, by using their muscle and bulk to overpower prey without opposition. The single swipe of a forearm is enough to snap a willowy human in half, a snap of the jaw can shatter bone, and the sturdiest specimens’ horns are capable of penetrating an inch of wrought steel. When grievously wounded, they succumb to a violent rage which conjures further strength to annihilate whoever wronged them; few are capable of surviving a full-frontal confrontation with them, once given a chance to explode as such.

To the Native Quivynites, Borjah represent the ruthlessness of Mother Earth when incensed and the indomitability of a stirred heart. Many a hunting party of courageous youth has been formed to claim the pelt, fangs, claws, and meat of victory; victorious or otherwise, more often than not some of the braves do not return. Some Shamans see them in the hearts of men and women, as animal spirits that guide and empower them to great feats. To more recent settlers, though, Borjah are an embodiment of nature’s refusal to be subjugated and often interfere with commerce through the wilderness during Yis. During the warmer seasons, Borjah often either hibernate or migrate to the far north or east where the poles are cold year-round – trappers and foragers are oft more than pleased when this migration begins.

Considering their astounding strength, it’s of little surprise that the raw material taken from them is of great value. While of merit as-is, the Native Quivynites often utilize rites to empower their teeth and claws with a variety of blessings and their pelt when made into a mantle is seen as a sign of stature. On rare occasion, a cub is found bereft of a mother; more than one aspiring Ranger or Druid as reared such a bear to adulthood as a Companion or hunting mount… but, this is rarely taken well by more mundane communities.