WAR: Raavana

Being the record of my new passion over at Warhammer: Return of Reckoning server


i. Hunter

The wind brought the scent of the human, but also the delightful scent of burning timber, and the cries of the bewildered. Raavana stood on a hillock, wind wiping her purple cloak into rivulets to stuck close to her armor. She was thrown into a revelry of the past by a chance comment from one of the Warbreakers, “that dark elf has pride.”

It was pride first and foremost her father, Grythnyr, taught her when she yet a battle brat. “Become proud and arrogant like the ravens that rifle flesh from bone in the war yards, Raavana. Be like your namesake for the rest of your long, elven days.”

Chin up, lips locked in a sneer, she did what father told her, always being the first to lure human villagers into the night with her cries for help, and the first to stab them deep in the liver with a curved, black blade.

When father died, she took his sword from his cooling body, his dirk, but gave the armor to her sister, Druzella, the brooding, young Disciple of Khaine. “When you can be as cold as I, you will find that such thrift and economy of means will do you well on the fields of battle,” she said to Druzella.

And that was all of two years ago, two years of constant war, two years of creasing humans open with her father’s bladed, a blade she called by father’s name, Grythnyr.

“The human hunter hides amongst the villagers,” said an angry Chosen, his yellow eyes lighting on her raven black hair.

“He has no honor, being born of a bitch cow in the stockyards of Middenland, or am I no true sister of battle.”

“Even now he flees,” the Chosen remarked, holding up his ax as if in a gesture to stay the prattling presence of the hunter. It was no use of course, for the human fled back to a distant camp to inform of their position more the like.

“Let us back to the war,” Raavana said, “my blade grows cold.”

“I’ll lead, for who knows what waits around yonder belt of cottonwoods.”

“Even so,” she said, “I would like that hunter’s head for my collection.”

“What is shall be,” the Chosen said simply. “There are more heads to take, for look where the raven’s flock beyond the valley: battle, blood, screams.”

“Lead the way,” she said, her husky voice enchanting his ear, forcing his body to act and not question.

Such were the fruits of being a brooding, dark elf Black Guard.



Great server ran by a great bunch of fans. Everyday there has been nerd fun!!!


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