Ravagers

The Ravagers are Chaos in its most elemental form: vast, ever-moving storm-hordes that sweep from realm to realm, gathering strength as they go the way an avalanche gathers stone. They do not hold ground or build fortresses; they roll, and everything in their path is crushed, consumed, or swept up to add its weight to the next descent. A host that begins as one warband may, within a season of unbroken victories, become an army that blots out the horizon.

This is the swiftest of all roads to glory, and the cruellest. A Ravager warlord who wins rises faster than any Cabalist or Despoiler, showered with gifts by gods who love momentum above all — but the same current that lifts him drowns him the instant he falters. A horde built on the promise of endless victory follows only the champion who keeps winning; let him lose but once, and the warriors who cheered him will tear him down and crown whoever stands nearest. So the Ravagers churn on, warlords rising and falling like waves, the horde immortal even as its leaders are ground through and discarded. It cannot stop, for stillness is death to it. To stand before the Ravagers is to stand before weather — and weather does not negotiate with the roofs it takes.