Harold of Oakfort

The only Red Panda who can walk and talk, Harold has visions of an expansive garden filled with people like him. It is his quest to find this place.

## Key Dates

### Born

5 ATG

Harold of Oakfort is a sentient Red Panda Bard, having originated in Brag Forest. Granted intelligence in a dream from Themistrea, Harold set about cultivating his home forest, before his dreams sent him on a quest out into the wider Northwyld. He now travels with Roland Gryphawk, Ivar Bjornson, Gikan Smallshell, Edmooth Mastodoran and Styx the Goblin.

## History

### Brag Forest

Harold grew up much the same as any regular Red Panda. Foraging for food in Brag Forest, resting in the sun and lazily dancing between tree branches. He was raised in his parents' tree, and lived there for fifteen peaceful years, growing and learning in bliss. This bliss would not last however, as Harold would soon learn. After an exhausting day foraging, Harold returned to his tree branch den and began to sleep. But his sleep was restless. Dreams the likes of which he had never had before began to enter his mind. He saw the sprawling gardens of Themis, the sun shining down on an endless forest with leaves like sparkling jade. And he saw, nestled amongst the branches, more of his own kind than he had ever seen before. He saw them caring for the forest, living in harmony with it. Soon this feeling of harmony, this feeling of warmth, spread throughout his small body and he was overcome with purpose. With love.

He knew he had to join his kin. Making his way through the forest, he yearned to join them. To be one amongst many. And yet, the closer he came, the slower he seemed to move. Time was grinding to a halt as he found himself frozen in place, his claws a hair's breadth from the nearest tree. As he stood there, frozen, a single drop of warmth dashed across his forehead. He felt the coarseness of the forest's bark, and its smoothness. He felt the dryness of the trees' leaves, and their moisture. He felt it all. And then, a flash of light and a sensation of falling. Falling into nothingness.

Harold looked around him and saw nothing but darkness. A great expanse of shadows. A void. And from that void, a presence called to him. Turning to look for it, Harold saw a book descending towards him. Opening its covers, the pages flashed before Harold's eyes. Too quick to see, and Harold had no concept of language, of reading or writing. And yet. The written scripture, the language it contained, seemed to flash within his mind. As this knowledge swirled within his animal brain, Harold looked around. He saw hundreds of books, all revealing their secrets to him. Magic. Rituals. Incantations. All swirling around him and through him, almost too much to bare. As his mind reached its threshold, Harold's eyes snapped open. Groggily blinking away his drowsiness, he found himself back home. Back in his tree. Harold groggily rose to his feet, and looked for his family. He had to tell them about the dream, about the knowledge. Eventually he found them and rushed towards them, calling out in the language of the forest.

His parents looked at him horrified. Confused. Harold called out to them again, and for the first time heard his own voice. Heard the strange tongue in which he was speaking. And he felt fear. Turning to his parents for aid, he could only watch as they gazed upon him with horror. Tears flowing from his eyes, Harold pleaded with them to hear him, but this only seemed to scare them further. In a rage Harold’s father charged towards him, fangs bared. Grabbing Harold with tooth and claw, and tears of regret, the old Red Panda knew what he must do. Dragging his son to the edge of the tree, of their home, the old man took one last look at his boy then threw him out into the air. And Harold understood. Understood their fear. Crying out in this foreign tongue as he plummeted towards the earth Harold understood what language he was speaking. What language could scare his parents so.

The language of hunters, of poachers. The language of men.

### One of A Kind

Harold woke some time later, wet and cold in a snowdrift. Pulling himself free, Harold saw that his parents were gone. Fearing their son was a monster, they had fled. But Harold was no monster, that much he knew. And he would prove it. He gave himself to caring for the forest. For his family tree. It became his purpose, his obsession.  He felt that by caring and nurturing the one connection to family he had left, he would keep that bond with his family alive. Over time the tree became something special. Something wholly unique. Harold had learned to weave many plants into one. His tree grew fruit and berries, flowers and leaves. The forest had never seen it's like. It was one of a kind. Just like Harold.

Harold himself had developed a strong passion for the oak nuts that grew at the very pinnacle of the tree. Unseen from the earth, they were isolated and alone at the top of the world. Harold became somewhat obsessed with them. He would collect the many fallen nuts, but soon had too many to carry. He couldn’t leave them in the tree, for fear of forest thieves, so he did the next best thing. From somewhere deep in his mind Harold found the knowledge to weave. To create. And he stitched and sewed and threaded many pouches and pockets. All to protect his precious nuts. Soon Harold put more of this hidden knowledge to use. It felt natural. If this was the thing that caused him to be alone, then he would make the best of it.

Time passed, five years in fact, before destiny chose to throw another wrench in Harold's life.

Harold was out, one cold winter's night, foraging for food. His gathering was cut short, however, when he stumbled upon a human chasing a small bear cub. He knew what would happen. He had seen it many times before. The cub was as good as dead once that monster got its hand on it.

Harold wanted to help the cub, but feared putting his beloved tree at risk. What could he even do? He was no bigger than the cub he wished to save. As he turned to leave, images flashed through his mind. His father, snarling through tears. His mother, turning her back on him. And the vast forests he sometimes dreamed about but could never quite remember. All at once, he knew what he had to do. Setting off after the hunter, Harold was like a red blur charging through the forest. He eventually drew abreast of the hunter, unsure of what to do next. Looking at the cub, instinct took over. Harold reached into one of his pouches and withdrew an acorn. Putting everything he could into the throw, Harold tossed the acorn and the hunter.

And watched it fall short with a soft thud.

Growling in frustration he grabbed another, and threw once again. This time Harold put all his pain, all his suffering into this one throw. The acorn sparkled as it left his hand. Corkscrewing through the air, it crashed into the hunter and exploded into a cloud of sparkling mist. Shocked and confused, the hunter stopped his pursuit. The cub continued on, spearing away into the darkness. Perched high above, Harold watched in infusion as the hunter fell to his knees, clutching his face. Screaming out that he couldn’t see. The hunter groggily stumbled away, bumping into trees as the cloud of sparkling dust followed him. Confused, Harold took out another acorn. And realization dawned on him. It was the acorns. They were magical. His tree was magical.

Harold returned to his tree, plans formulating in his mind. He could use his tree, use the acorns. Use them for good. He spent the next few years working tirelessly to grow, cultivate and harvest more acorns. Soon he had thousands. With more acorns growing he found the tree itself had magical properties. He fashioned for himself an armored chest piece, grown around his very body by a still living branch. Using his acorns, Harold became a protector of the forest. Peace reigned in his woods, and he was content, for a time. But the dreams of the vast green ocean of trees gnawed at him, until one day, he knew. Knew he had to do more. Making the difficult decision to leave the forest, leave his tree, Harold sets off into the wider world. Intent on bringing peace and spreading the tranquility he found in his dream, Harold is now for the first time, in an entirely new world.

### Journey West

Harold began the long journey around the River Baptiste and began to head for Fort Shuck. During his travels, Harold learned to trust his “green dreams” as he calls them. These Green Dreams have slowly guided him towards Fort Shuck, so that is where he chose to journey. On the way, Harold passed through Bear Mountain, encountering multiple wandering Ursine patrols. He was also nearly attacked by a winged horror, though he managed to hide in a destroyed caravan. In this same caravan Harold found a small, ornate golden chest, lost in the snow. Knowing it to be important, Harold took it with him.