Varl the Destroyer

Renowned for their ferocity, the Orc clans that roam the fringes of Durham Forest have long established themselves as a menace to those who encounter them. They prey on travelers as brigands, or fight as mercenaries for those who can afford their services. Among the bandit companies was that of a vicious Orc called Varl. Leading an alliance of Orcs and Skinwalkers, his infamy grew with every village he put to the torch and every merchant convoy he destroyed with his burning blades. For many years, Varl's authority over his company seemed unshakable, until a chance meeting with an enigmatic Dark Elf mage. Seducing Varl with gold and information on trade caravans moving between Kaerok and Aravia, the Dark Elf gained the Orc chieftain's trust – and then shattered it. He charmed the Skinwalkers under Varl's command so that they would obey his will and become his slaves, and ordered them to mutiny. In a fit of bestial rage, they abandoned their posts and darted deep into Durham Forest with him. Enraged by this deception, Varl ordered the remains of his band to hunt them all down. They plunged deep into the twisted woods, hellbent on cutting down the Elf and the traitors. Varl followed the trail like a ravenous wolf. It was as if a red mist had descended upon him as he tore through thickets and brambles. But his rage was tempered by his intelligence, his desire to kill the one who betrayed him matched by his keen tactical mind. As his band gained ground on the traitors, Varl had them diverge from the trail, to overtake them and their puppet-master while out of sight. They surrounded their quarry at what seemed to be an abandoned Dark Elf briar-den. Surrounded and desperate, the Elven mage chanted a dark blessing, and imbued his mesmerized Skinwalkers with unnatural speed, strength, and ferocity. An exhausting and bloody battle ensued – with their new, supernatural boons, the Skinwalkers ripped apart their former allies, and the Elf wove spell after spell to regenerate any wounds the Orcs inflicted upon them in turn. Varl realized that if he did not act soon, his remaining warriors would be destroyed. Raising his blazing weapons aloft, Varl torched the surrounding trees, hoping the spreading fire would claim his enemies. The flames tore through the forest, adding greatly to the chaos. In the frantic melee, which quickly descended into a vicious panic, Varl hacked down a pair of frothing Skinwalkers in quick succession before charging the Dark Elf, his rage taking over his mind as the growing inferno swirled around him. His ferocity and muscled bulk made him no match for the mage, who he swiftly beheaded. The severed head rolled into the flames, and its pale skin was soon charred. Varl recovered it, and held the Elf's charred head aloft, letting out a great battle cry before ordering his remaining – and heavily wounded – warriors to retreat. The blaze’s results went far beyond what Varl had intended. Though the briar-den had appeared abandoned, many Dark Elves lived in the trees above. When the flames erupted, the Elves fled their burning homes, enraged by the destruction and the invasion of their territory. As Varl and his band fled, the Dark Elves fell upon them, bows nocked with venom-tipped arrows and bearing long, wicked blades. They slew dozens of exhausted and completely surprised Orcs in minutes. Knowing victory was impossible, Varl ran, not slowing until he left the forest and reached the plains he and his band once roamed. Only then did he look back, as blood flowed from his many wounds. Only a handful of limping Orcs and Skinwalkers emerged from the trees, and he saw several struck down with black-fletched arrows just as they thought they had reached some kind of safety. As plumes of smoke billowed into the darkening sky, Varl watched the battered remnants of his company scatter. He was too exhausted, and too ashamed, to call after them. It was only after that Varl earned his epithet of ‘the Destroyer’ – for bringing destruction not only to a swathe of Durham Forest, but to the band he had led.