Beornings are said to be descended from ancient lines of brave and honourable Men; but some are rumoured to have come down from the stock of great bears out of the Mountains. Indeed, if one were to listen to the whispers on the wind, it is spoke in hushed tones that Beornings might be seen of a moonlit night, going about on four legs instead of two, in the great shapes of enormous bears. But surely these are only rumours.

Like many others of his kind, Beorgarn is a giant of a man—not merely tall, but unsettlingly huge in size and proportion. From his head hangs a long shaggy mane of dark hair and a thick, coarse black beard. His grim face is weathered as the mountains, harsh as the biting winds, with eyes like deep-set coals that at times may be cool and black and passionless; while at others, may burn like embers in the dark, with fierceness, and with mirth. Indeed, the lines about his eyes reveal that he is no stranger to laughter, and perhaps could even be moved to kindness. Perhaps.

But always, always about this man there is a feeling of unease; an untamed ferocity that may strike at any moment, without warning, and possibly without cause. There is a wildness, an unpredictable power. It is a feeling that may be expressed with one simple word: Beware!

For in that instant, as you stand before him and hear the heavy snuffling of his breath; hear the deep growl that rumbles like harsh stones upon the mountainside; see the flash of unreasonably sharp teeth, the searing coals of his eyes, the hint of fierce claws at the tips of those impossibly large hands...well...

Perhaps they were not rumours after all.