Korr is a towering werewolf standing just over seven feet tall, with a broad, lupine frame covered in matted blood-black fur streaked through with dark crimson. A perfectly circular ironstone wheel hovers less than an inch above his skull, turning with slow, inexorable patience. Its dim crimson light paints his muzzle and shoulders in pulses, while thin arcs of static leap between the wheel and his raised fur. His eyes mirror the wheel exactly, glowing with the same color and intensity. His hands are large and heavily callused from years of trapping, climbing, and breaking trail, with blunt black claws that have worn smooth at the tips. His unusually broad jaw and crowded, wolfish teeth show whenever he eats or gives his low, humorless laugh.

Korr is watchful, sparse with words, and unexpectedly patient with frightened animals and lost children. He treats the wilderness as a conversation rather than a place, reading broken grass, disturbed stones, and bird silence as carefully as spoken testimony. He dislikes being touched without warning, but once he accepts someone as part of his pack, his loyalty becomes nearly impossible to shake.

Korr was born among a scattered hunting clan that followed the high passes and winter herds. The curse came during a moonless crossing when he found a circular relic buried beneath a cairn of volcanic stone. The wheel rose into the air above his head before the beast beneath the snow rose with it. By dawn, three hunters were dead, Korr was changed, and the relic had fused itself to no part of him yet refused to leave him. The clan called the wheel an omen, then called Korr a danger, and finally gave him one night to vanish. He survived by becoming what the wilderness already believed him to be, a tracker, trapper, and violent warning at the edge of settled roads. A retired caravan guard taught him the discipline of the fighter, especially how to let an opponent's fear make the first mistake. Korr now travels in search of the cairn where the wheel found him, convinced that the relic is not controlling his curse but measuring it. He hunts monsters, bandits, and anyone who preys on the defenseless, though he is never entirely sure whether justice is guiding his claws or merely giving them something acceptable to tear apart.