Raider

The Raidiers surge from the bracken at dusk, ragged banners of torn cloth and sharpened bones in hand. In the Mooncrest’s tangled woods and heath, they are the crack in the silent watch, the first echo of alarm in a quiet village. Under Gungkor’s command—stepped in ambition and blood—the Raiders move fast: hit the flanks, burn a cart, snatch supplies, vanish before defenders can muster.   They carry no pride of steel; instead their armour is stitched leather, their weapons crude but vicious. Each raid is both necessity and proclamation: the Goblin Horde states its hunger. Survivors speak of shadows without sound, of packs that vanish into undergrowth with stolen silver and unbroken spirit. Raiders are the storm of chaos the Heathlands fear—and the part of the Horde that holds no shame in living off another’s fear.