They call them Ravagers, and the name is not disputed. Unlike others in Leonoria, this is not a title forced upon them that they reject or reinterpret. It is a truth they recognize—if not in word, then in action. Among themselves, they still remember fragments of an older name: Arthmar. But that name belongs to something that no longer exists. What remains is stronger. What remains is worse.
Long before they became what they are now, the Ravagers were the Arthmar—northern clans of Common Folk who lived at the edge of the Great Dark forests. They were already formidable: tall, broad, and hardened by unforgiving lands, they valued strength, endurance, and loyalty to clan above all else. They hunted the deep forests, built their strongholds from timber and bone, and waged brutal wars among themselves. But they were still human. Then the Great Death spread its shadow across Leonoria. Unlike others who fled or hid, the Arthmar stood their ground—some out of pride, some out of ignorance, some because they believed nothing could break them. They were wrong. The southern reaches of the northern forests became saturated with unstable, negative currents of Materium. Not the wild balance of nature, but something heavier, something hungry. It did not destroy them. It changed them.
Transformation and Nature
The transformation was neither clean nor merciful. The Arthmar grew larger—much larger. Muscles thickened beyond natural limits, bones reinforced, frames expanding until they towered over all other races of Leonoria. What was once imposing became monstrous. Their skin darkened, weathered, and hardened like old leather left too long in storm and smoke. Their hair grew thick, wild, and unkempt—often dark, coarse, and heavy like a beast's mane. Beards tangled into something closer to fur than grooming. Their faces shifted—not into beasts, but toward them. Heavier brows, broader jaws, eyes that burned not with calm thought but with a constant edge of restrained violence. They became something between man and predator. And deep within them, something else took root—a restless pull toward conflict, toward dominance, toward the act of breaking another to prove one's own existence.
Ravager society is brutally simple: strength is truth. Not just physical strength, but the strength to endure pain, to command fear, to take and hold power. Weakness is not pitied—it is removed. Even within their own clans. Children who cannot keep up are left behind. Warriors who falter lose standing—or their lives. Leaders hold power only as long as they can defend it. This does not make them chaotic—it makes them focused. Each clan is tightly bound, structured around dominance hierarchies enforced through challenge and combat. Loyalty exists, but it is earned through strength, not given through blood alone.
Beliefs and Combat
The Ravagers are not without spirituality. Their beliefs are primal, shamanistic, and deeply tied to the darker aspects of Materium. They do not worship distant gods but revere forces—spirits of hunt, blood, shadow, and the unseen currents that shaped them. Rituals are visceral: bloodletting, sacrifice, and in some cases cannibalism are practiced not as cruelty for its own sake, but as communion—an act of taking strength, memory, or essence into oneself. To consume a fallen enemy is to deny their weakness and claim their power. Shamans hold a unique place in this world, both feared and respected, able to touch the deeper layers of Materium—especially its darker, more volatile aspects. Blood magic comes naturally to them. They bend it not with finesse, but with raw will.
The Ravagers dwell in the Great Dark—vast conifer forests where light struggles to reach the ground and predators grow large and bold. Their settlements reflect their nature: wooden strongholds, thick with sharpened palisades, built atop hills, cliffs, or natural chokepoints. Inside, life is harsh but ordered. Training, hunting, sparring, and ritual fill their days. Nights are often loud—fires roaring, voices raised, challenges issued. Violence is common, but rarely meaningless. Every strike, every contest, reinforces the structure of the clan.
On the battlefield, Ravagers are devastating. They favor massive two-handed weapons—axes, clubs, crude but brutally effective blades. Shields are scorned—to hide behind protection is to admit fear. They do not form delicate formations; they break them. A single Ravager can cleave through lines of lesser soldiers. A group of them becomes an avalanche—unstoppable once in motion. They absorb blows that would fell others, pushing forward through pain with relentless aggression. They are not elegant fighters. They are overwhelming ones.
Playing a Wildman Ravager
- Strengths: Immense physical strength, high durability, natural intimidation, blood magic affinity
- Weaknesses: Low intelligence, poor impulse control, weak to subtlety and diplomacy
- Key Traits: You are physically dominant—larger, stronger, and harder to kill than most. You favor direct confrontation and overwhelming offense. You respect strength above all else in yourself and others. Your temper is real—control is something you learn, not something you start with. Magic, if present, is primal and dangerous—not refined.
- Class Affinities: Reaver Ironguard Bloodsinger Rotforged