Strika – Ranger of the Frozen Wastes


A Wastewalker Ranger who was a renowned scout and hunter for the Boundless Wind Clan of Eastern Oldavor. Strika was said to have single-handedly slain a Nix Centipede, and earned her place among her clan as a fearsome hunter since. During a mundane Mammoth Giant hunt, Strika was ensnared by a trap in a craggy, narrow valley. She hung upside down for hours, helpless. When weariness finally took her, she slept a long, dark sleep. She awoke in Khandara soon after, and has vied to escape ever since, though any semblance of time has eluded her, and she knows not if weeks, months or years have passed since her arrival.

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The full story

Strika – Ranger of the Frozen Wastes

The Boundless Wind Clan are a prolific tribe of Wastewalker Colossals that prowl the eastern reaches of Oldavor. They connect the various coastal towns and cities isolated from the central settlements of the icy wastes. They are known for being swift and quick trackers, usually operating in clusters of smaller groups which act independently of the greater Clan Caravan. Strika is a Ranger who leads one of these clusters, one that specialises in transporting food goods, a dangerous occupation for Wastewalkers; food attracts the most ravenous creatures of the wastes.

When her party was accosted by a contingent of Mammoth Giants which sought their food supplies, Strika was able to swiftly act and dispatch several with her poison-tipped greatbow, routing the rest as they watched their kin succumb to deadly seizures from the poison. For her swiftness, Strika became a well-recognised hero among her people and the towns they served, called “Strika Giantsbane” by many. Though a deep-seated resentment festered in the Mammoth Giants, who had begun to scheme to avenge their fallen kin. Strika was easily baited into a trap after a small group of Mammoth Giants antagonised their convoy and retreated.

Strika, spurred on by pride, pursued the giants through a snowy canyon. Though she fell into their trap, ensnared by a rope hung from a crag on an overhead cliff, lifted into the air and left dangling upside down. Yet her kin and the giants were engaged elsewhere in battle, and heard naught of her cries that echoed through the narrow pass. Hours passed as she swayed in an icy breeze. Nausea set in, and then darkness as her consciousness dwindled. In her final moments she cried out to any gods that might hear her, and a direful whisper borne by the wind answered her desperate prayers.

So the whispers brought her sanctuary, and she awoke in the fetid, forsaken citadel of Khandara. There in its icy depths she was now trapped, a miasmatic odour of rotting flesh and excrement wafted through the dungeons. Though she was not alone, many denizens like her were trapped in the citadel, in varying forms of madness. There were few that had managed to retain their sanity to a degree, yet quickly she watched as their minds eroded. She knew soon she would join them.

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