The Reavers

Introduction

"The world ended. I didn't."

— Vex the Red

Warlords. Thugs. Raiders. Mercenaries

Call them what you will; just say it to their face.

Reavers are not born. They are tempered, like steel dragged through bone and fire. Their childhoods were stolen by the Cataclysm, their innocence traded for blood and smoke. In the thirty years since the fall of civilization, it wasn’t dreamers or thinkers who kept the last fires burning. It was the blade. The fist. The willingness to do what others wouldn’t.

That is the Reaver’s legacy.

Where others cling to memories of peace, Reavers carved out something else entirely: a truth that fits the world they have, not the one they lost. In the ruins of old nations and shattered dreams, they stand as proof that survival does not care for morality, only momentum. A Reaver does not bend the knee to Immortals or cling to the ruins of society.

They bend the world instead, or die trying.

Who are the reavers?

To meet a Reaver is to encounter something utterly human and deeply monstrous at once. They are rage that learned restraint. Pain given shape. The kind of people who don’t flinch when a gun is pulled, because they’ve already made peace with death. What drives them is rarely bloodlust. It’s colder than that.

It's necessity.

Their tempers are quick, but their grudges are eternal. Stubborn to the last breath, Reavers do not yield. They may trust only those who’ve bled beside them, but for those rare few, that trust is ironclad. Beneath the fury there is a code written in scars. Stand with them, and they will fight beside you until the bitter end. Betray them, and you’ll never live long enough to regret it.

They are not known for beauty or subtlety. Violence is mapped on their bodies; scarred, armored, draped in the remnants of those they’ve defeated. Some carry tokens of the old world: wedding rings, child’s shoes, dog tags. Others wear masks, bone fetishes, war paint; symbols of what they’ve become. But all of them learn to don survival like a second skin.

Theme Soundrack

‣ ARCHETYPE: Reaver

‣ ROLE: Warlords, mercenaries, raiders.

‣ FUNCTION IN SOCIETY: Enforcers of raw power. In a world where strength speaks louder than ideals, Reavers shape territory lines, keep monsters at bay, and break the bones of those who forget the stakes.

‣ TEMPERAMENT: Short-fused. Fiercely independent. Brutally honest. Loyal to those who prove themselves in blood.

‣ COMBAT STYLE: Blunt, fast, direct. They fight like wolves; overwhelming, coordinated in chaos, never holding back. Some lead warbands, others roam alone, but all speak the language of dominance.

‣ OPINION ON OTHERS

• Hollowed: “Chained to ghosts and shadows. They think pacts make them powerful, but real power doesn't need permission.”
• Scavengers: “Quick, clever, sometimes even brave. Not built for a fight, but good at finding what we need.”
• Relic Hunters: “They still think we can rebuild. Dreamers. Idealists. We broke the world because of people like them.”
• Revenants: “They serve monsters, but at least they fight. Some of them are still human under all that.”
• Immortals: “They bleed like the rest. Takes more effort, that’s all.”
• Mages: “Could’ve been warriors. Instead, they hide behind riddles and fear their own power.”

‣ MARKS OF A REAVER: Scarred knuckles, scavenged armor, weapons made from scrap. Tattoos that mean nothing to the old world, but everything in the new. Eyes that don’t blink when the world burns.

Why become a Reaver?

"I will not be defeated by fear. I will conquer it and use it as a weapon."

— Sawyer "No Peace" Varn

No one wakes up and decides to be a Reaver.

Most arrive at it the way a body arrives at the bottom of a pit: hard, broken, and with nothing left to lose.

They are the survivors who understand that kindness won’t keep them warm any more than justice will keep them alive. Something in them knows that peace died thirty years ago and everything since has been a lie or a trap. Reavers are the sharpened edge of a dull world. The hammer waiting for a cause. Or maybe not even that. Maybe they are just trying to survive the only way left: by making damn sure the world fears them more than they fear it.

In this age of ash and blood, Reavers are the necessary evil that settlements whisper about in fear and secretly rely on. When diplomacy fails, they are sent. When they raid, they are cursed. When the Immortals press their heel to a town’s throat, Reavers are often the only thing standing between defiance and extinction.

They do not build.

They do not inspire.

But their presence stabilizes chaos by being more dangerous than the storm itself. They are the price of order in a lawless world. Some call them saviors. Some call them butchers. The truth probably lies somewhere in between.

What the world thinks

1. Hollowed: "They still think they matter. Flesh and bone will never beat the truths we’ve seen."
2. Scavengers: "They’re brutes, but if they’re on your side, you’ll sleep easier. Just don’t owe them anything."
3. Relic Hunters: "We’re trying to preserve what was lost. They’re trying to rule what's left; like thugs."
4. Revenants: "They fight like something already dead. That kind of rage either saves you or consumes you."
5. Immortals: "Useful. Dangerous. Predictable. We can work with that."
6. Mages: "They could’ve been champions. Instead they play at being warlords, same as everyone else."

Notable Reavers

Not all Reavers live long. But those who do become legends.

They are not heroes.

They are not monsters.

They are what’s left when everything else has failed.

Sawyer “No Peace” Varn

A soldier before the Fall, something far worse after. Known for taking the scalps of those he’s killed, his creed is simple: no surrender, no mercy. Only the kill.

Last known location: Zone-17, old Berlin

Rada Ironjaw

War-mother. United three rival reaver settlements by beating their leaders to death before their followers. Her jaw is wired shut after a Wyld Surge tried to tear her apart.

Last known location: British Countryside

The Gun Saint

They wander from outpost to outpost, never asking for anything. They speak rarely and only fight when needed. Some say they once shot an Immortal Patriarch clean through the skull. Others say they were never real at all.

Last known location: Unidentified

Vex the Red

She wears a smile carved by fire and a reputation earned in blood. Half her face melted after a battle with a mage, the other half grins through every slaughter. Her rebellion has no flag; only a trail of ash and a vow never to kneel.

Last known location: Ruins of Boston

No Peace

Reavers don’t dream of peace. They bury it. They’re the bullet when words fail, the blade when laws break, the monster you send to kill worse monsters. They don’t build the future. Instead they survive what’s left of it.

They are the world’s scab: ugly, painful, and absolutely essential. Without them, settlements fall and horrors rule.

With them, there is at least a chance. A violent, blood-soaked chance.

When all is finally lost, you won’t be asking who they are.

You’ll be asking if they’re coming for you.

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