In the land of Eldertide, where ancient ruins held secrets and lost artifacts waited to be discovered, Harry was a seasoned warrior known far and wide for his relentless pursuit of forgotten treasures. His grizzled appearance and the scars that adorned his body bore witness to the countless adventures he had embarked upon.

One fateful evening, while exploring the Mistwood Ruins, Harry noticed a peculiar occurrence. Every night, the melancholic howls of wolves echoed through the ruins, a haunting melody that beckoned him to investigate. Guided by curiosity and a hint of trepidation, he followed the eerie sounds deeper into the heart of the ruins.

Pushing through thick undergrowth, he stumbled upon a concealed cave, hidden from the world for untold ages. Inside the cave, the remnants of a forgotten campfire flickered faintly in the darkness. Old furniture, tattered clothes, rusted armor, and weapons lay scattered about. Dusty and ancient tomes of magic lined the shelves, as if time itself had forgotten this place.

A strange sensation washed over Harry as he ventured further into the cavern, a whispering voice echoing in his head, urging him to delve deeper. Guided by this mystical call, he maneuvered through narrow cracks in the cave's walls, slashing away vines that obstructed his path.

Finally, he emerged into a cavern with a gaping hole in its ceiling, allowing a slender beam of ethereal light to pierce the darkness. The beam revealed a peculiar object, gleaming in the center. It was a massive gray Royal Greatsword, securely embedded in the cave floor, almost as if it were a part of the very stone itself.

The haunting voice within Harry's mind grew more insistent, compelling him to draw closer and touch the enigmatic sword. As his hand reached out to grasp the hilt, a chilling sensation swept through his body. It was as if the sword recognized him, and in response, silvery gray liquid surged forth, enveloping Harry.

Harry struggled, using all his strength to shake off the strange liquid that encased him. But the more he resisted, the more it clung to him, transforming his very being. His muscles grew firm, and his feet transformed into wolf-like paws. Rubber-like claws took shape on his hands. A rubber mask fashioned like a wolf materialized and attached itself to his face.

In an inexorable dance of transformation, the liquid continued its work. It gradually dried, hardening and adhering to Harry's body, encasing him entirely. Harry's identity began to blur, his name fading away, replaced by a new one - Blaidd.

Blaidd, the Rubber Werewolf, had emerged. He rose to his feet, yanked the Royal Greatsword from the ground, and slowly walked away from the cave. His voice, once Harry's, spoke with gratitude and an eerie sense of purpose, "Thank you, unknown warrior, for gifting me this body. I shall cherish it for all eternity."