Clan Wol was placed in a terrible vantage point from the very beginning. A relatively young clan, they settled in the far Western cliffs, with their native home open on the North, East, and South; meanwhile the West overlooked the deep ravines that provided minimal resources. Though they worked hard to thrive under these difficult conditions, they’d become the target of many opportunist clans aiming to claim their lands and destroy its people. Constantly they faces invasion from the many small clans that neighbored them, with each attack coming after the other - almost never letting the people of Wol rest. For most clans this would eventually spell doom, but for Wol it was a miracle that they survived for so long.
Every attack would whittle their defenses, but with so meager an amount of ore to produce suitable weapons, they couldn’t arm their people enough to pursuit a counter-attack. Month by month they’d face these raids, and the people of Wol could only accept their reality, and survive as best they could. They hadn’t grasped that warrior spirit yet - one that would make their clan known far and wide. For now they could only turtle up, building up their defensive perimeter with basic stone walls. This was how they lived for several years, up until that fateful day when all the patience they held would finally snap.
Huuon Wol was once an ordinary apprentice under a smith, learning the trade when another attack had occurred. Unlike before though, this one had managed to break through enough that its invading warriors had stormed and raged through their village. They were like animals, breaking through homes and killing those that either fought back or ran away. A couple broke into the smith’s hut and attempted to steal the clan’s weaponry; Huuon fought bravely to stop the attackers, but unable to match their ferocity she was beaten and thrown into the intensely hot fires used to fuel the forge. Her arms and legs burned fiercely, the skin turning black and hard as coal before she managed to roll away into safer ground. By then the invaders ran off, stealing what they could from the clan. The people of Wol were devastated, but not more so than Huuon. Staring at her ruined hands and feet, the pain brought upon a feeling that had built up within all of Clan Wol - and would now be unleashed in full force: revenge.
The pain was immense, and at times she could barely stand or hold a hammer, but her want for vengeance subdued the fierce stinging in her flesh. Uttering not a single word, she worked the forge with what ore they still had. For full night and day she worked, and from her efforts came a massive sword. With blade and handle it could stand taller than its creator. The blade was crude and heavy, lacking in quality and sharpness, it made up with pure strength in its weight. To allow herself to handle it, she wrapped her arms and legs in lengths of bandage and cloth. Then, for protection, she grafted pieces of crudely forged metal to form a set of gauntlets and pointed toes. She donned her smithing apron, ruined through the abuse it endured through the long nights at the forge - and furthermore tattered when she ripped pieces off to further dress her burns. Full dressed and armed, she set off after the clan that had inflicted such wounds upon her body and pride - alone, as her clan watched her leave off in the night.
By day her people wondered if she had survived, with many falling to hopelessness that she died in her mission. This proved to not last when the next night rolled over, and she was seen walking towards the village. In each arm she led a cart, covered by tarps while her blade sat on the one hung to her right. When her people undone the tarp of the left cart, they not only found their stolen supply but as well arms and food taken from the enemy clan. Joyous cheers erupted within the village, but Huuon hushed them and asked that they reveal the “other gift”. They obeyed, and to their shock they found the cart filled to the brim with the head of every member of the enemy clan. At the top was the chieftain’s head, and those of the attackers that had personally wronged her. Silence kept for a full minute, but it would soon be followed by ferocious cry of victory. Pleased with their reaction, Huuon bowed to her chief and asked to be rewarded with but two things:
One, that every member be armed and ready to bring the fight back to the clans who had harassed them for so long.
And two, that the village elders be woken so that they may apply the tattoos upon her body. “A notch”, she asked, “for every head I brought back.”
In the decades to follow, Clan Wol would transform from a lowly village at the cliff’s edge and into a fierce community of warriors who would fight back against anyone that dare wage war on them. Huuon Wol would be notched furthermore - every one a head she cleaved off the shoulders of her enemies. So many lines were made that they enveloped around her body, leaving only her arms bare at the latest time. Her people would adopt her weapon and dressage. Men and Women would charge into battle, wearing the same style of aprons she wore in her fights. The areas of cloth covering their thighs would be torn in her honor, with clans far and wide doing the same - as their way to pay tribute to an icon of fierce warfare.
Soon Huuon Wol would venture away from her clan when they were strong enough, finding newfound honor in fighting for other clans too weak to fight back. Her adventures would eventually lead her to being recognized by the Absolute, promoting her to that of the War Goddess of Vengeance and Justice. She join the other war gods, including the likes of Avgnar Baal, where she’d continue fighting for clans across the lands of Aurora. These battles would further spread her name, making her one of the more beloved and honored gods of the Deltan pantheon.
However her time would come to an end on the twilight of the Age of Want. In the battle between the War Gods and the rebellious gods lead by Dorge Rouke. Chronicles written by Clan Maelan say that she was slain in the final hours of the battle, when her blade was outmatched against the God of Battle himself. Many tell that even to her dying breath she fought with a great ferocity, never giving up without putting her all. She would be buried alongside the other war gods.
In modern day Huuon Wol would forever be honored. Deltans in both their native clans and the cities would often tear their leggings to reveal their thighs, and make the same notches upon their skin when they too fell an enemy in battle. Men and Women often pray to Huuon, in the hopes that her spirit will deliver the courage and fury needed to fight back against injustice. The great sword is attributed to her, with wielders of such blades making special tribute to her clan when they train with such a strong, heavy weapon.