Grashua's Ravagers
Over 1,500 years ago, on the bloody banks of the River of Tears, an Ork chieftain, whose name has been lost to the curses of time, led an war party of nearly 500 against a paltry Soulmeliti force of less than a dozen. Clearly the chieftain had angered Grashua in some fundamental way, for that day, what should have been an easy victory for the Tribes , turned into a bloodbath and in the end, the army routed, proved the founding moment of the dreaded Kirsh’shaluush. Worse, the Soulmeliti order, with its precise strikes, graceful dodges, and fluid mobility, plague Orkish Raiders for generations.
It was unbearable. A handful of Kirsh'shaluush could defend against dozens of Orks. Plunder from raiding the northern forests dropped precipitously. Many weaker warriors opted for a different path, learning a trade or worse – to farm. While this may have ultimately advanced the ability for the Orkish tribes to make war, it was shameful. Both chieftains and Grashua’s chosen pondered the problem. Eventually, a lone warrior, stranded behind enemy lines on that same ridge, stumbled upon the solution.
Starving, this warrior knew that he could not defeat the score of Soulmeliti warriors on the ridge below with his stomach rumbling. Indeed, even with substance, he know that his attack would lead to his own death, but better to die in battle that to be captured and slaughtered like livestock in a New Solarin spectacle. Unfortunately, the only thing he could find were iridescent mushrooms. Vermillion – like the blood of his enemies – these mushrooms were unlike any he had eaten before in the stews of his village. Still, they would have to do. A half an hour later, with his stomach full, he found his vision clearer, his muscles stronger, and his rage at the enemy greater. And so, he charged.
He sprinted with greater speed. He swung his axe with keen accuracy, severing limbs and skulls with ease. With preternatural sense he blocked blows coming from behind. And, in the end, all of the Soulmeliti were dead. Exhausted, he stumbled northward to find his tribe.
Around the fire that evening, he regaled his comrades with his deeds. Amazed, his chief asked if he could be shown these magic fungi. After several days, enough was collected for a small war party. All ingested them before battle, but most simply wretched, feeling no effect. A handful, however, felt the same power and thirst for battle.
After eliminating their foes, the chief consulted with Grashuan’s chosen who consulted with the immortal warrior. It was then that they learned their prayers had been answered. The mushrooms had been given to the Orks in order to give them the power to combat the Kirsh’shaluush. Power would defeat grace. Rage would destroy training. But only those that held the Great Chieftain’s ideals of mercilessness, righteous power, and trial by combat could embrace its power. Grashua’s Ravager’s were born.