A small story with it:In the land of Eldermore, where ancient ruins and hidden treasures beckoned to daring adventurers, a warrior by the name of Harry had carved his legacy through countless expeditions. Harry's quest was simple yet all-consuming: to unearth lost relics, rare weapons, and the secrets of forgotten civilizations. His life was a tapestry woven with stories of ancient artifacts and fabled weapons, but one fateful night, his path would take an eerie and unexpected turn.

Mistwood Ruins, known for its enigmatic aura, had always fascinated Harry. As he ventured deeper into the forest-shrouded labyrinth of crumbling stone and overgrown foliage, the haunting howls of wolves echoed through the still night. Every night, their mournful cries lured Harry deeper into the ruins.

One moonlit evening, guided by the strange sound of wolves, Harry stumbled upon a hidden cave nestled deep within the heart of Mistwood Ruins. As he descended into its depths, he discovered an ancient campfire, frozen in time as if untouched for centuries. Dust-covered furniture, faded clothing, rusted armor, and weapons lay scattered about. The cave seemed like a forgotten haven for a long-lost civilization.

Yet, it was the dusty tomes of magic and the relics of a bygone era that truly caught Harry's attention. Just as he immersed himself in the mysterious artifacts, a voice, alien and haunting, whispered inside his mind, urging him to venture further into the cave. Harry obeyed the strange compulsion, clearing his path through the encroaching vines, uncovering a cave dome with a gaping hole in the ceiling.

Light filtered through the hole, illuminating the cave floor and revealing a peculiar object at its center. It was a massive gray Royal Greatsword, firmly embedded in the cave's rocky ground. The enigmatic voice grew more insistent, urging Harry to approach the sword.

Compelled by an irresistible pull, Harry reached out to grasp the weapon. The moment his hand touched the hilt, a frigid sensation coursed through his veins. The sword seemed to come alive, its blade pulsating with an eerie, silvery liquid. One stream of this mysterious liquid shot out, then another, and another, ensnaring Harry's body in a glistening web of silver.

Panicking, Harry attempted to shake off the relentless grip, but the liquid clung to him more tightly with each passing moment. His muscles grew taut, his feet transformed into wolf-like paws, and his hands morphed into rubbery claws. A rubber mask, resembling a wolf's visage, gradually formed over his face and locked onto him, melding with his skin.

The layers of gray liquid continued to spread, drying and solidifying around Harry's entire body, molding him into a grotesque, rubbery form. His mind wavered as the hypnotic voice repeated one name, one identity: Blaidd. The name Harry faded into obscurity, replaced by the entity known as Blaidd, the rubbery werewolf.

With a newfound sense of self and purpose, Blaidd stood, effortlessly pulling the Royal Greatsword from the cave floor. He spoke to himself, or perhaps to the enigmatic force that had transformed him, "Thank you, unknown warrior, for bestowing upon me this form. I shall cherish it and wield it with honor, for I am Blaidd, the guardian of this cursed realm." And with that, Blaidd walked into the shadows of Mistwood Ruins, forever bound to his destiny as the rubbery werewolf guardian, protecting the secrets hidden within its ancient depths.\