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| Author | Wrathbringer Tribals! |
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The sky over the northern horizon once again turned menacingly red. Not for the first time in recent memory. The flames of war in the distant steppes flared up with increasing vigor. The unity of the once great horde was broken, the tribes clashed in furious battle with each other. Many of them had been waiting for this for a long time, others had been desperately wishing for it, but the vast majority of them had no ambition to simply burn in the fire of a senseless brotherly massacre. They were full of wrath, but they wanted to release it for more worthy deeds, as the spirits told them to do. Their wise instructions led the steppe wanderers to the lands of the Empire.
The situation at the border was getting tense. Although the steppe guests mostly did not show excessive aggression, in comparison to orcs at least, everything could easily change at any moment. All it could take is a spark, and the flame of distant but not forgotten enmity could flare up again with unprecedented force. Veterans of past wars kept a watchful eye on the uninvited strangers, but the young soldiers succumbed to a slight tremor every now and then. The index finger of the young crossbowman, standing at his post above the fortress gates, almost trembled when echoes of another barbarian cry were heard from afar. But the touch of the dark elf’s pale hand on his shoulder instantly brought the soldier to his senses. Councilor Kh’Everst - Her Majesty’s confidant. He exuded unshakable confidence, and without a single shadow of doubt he resolutely stepped forward, heading towards the tribal troops.
Lords and Ladies, following difficult negotiations, the Empire is pleased to inform that an agreement has been reached with the steppe wanderers, calling themselves Wrathbringer Tribals, in honor of the fallen Tribe of Wrath and their unruly leader Hothead who showed everyone else the path to forgotten freedom. From now on they have the right to settle on these lands. The Empire grants them the freedom to be themselves, preserving their traditions and customs, in exchange for the respect for its laws and regulations. Any notable commander and general from them, who is ready to accept the noble title will be gifted with a plot of land for a personal castle with all the corresponding privileges and obligations. All Lords and Ladies of the Tribal faction from the 5th combat level can master unique talents of wielding wrathful battle cries in their castle. Class changes are possible without restrictions.
 
Wrathbringer Tribal is an alternative class of the Tribal faction. Distinguishing features:
- Unique talent tree for mastering battlecries.
- Central talent – Absolute rage.
- Changes to the amount of tribal spirit accumulated when using battle cries, depending on the ratio of attack and defense characteristics: each battle cry additionally adds tribal spirit to their units equal to (Lord/Lady’s attack - Lord/Lady’s defense) * [faction skill level] / 10. If the defense parameter is greater than the attack, then the tribal spirit will be subtracted.
- Dampened damage through tribal spirit is equal to (15 + [faction skill level] / 2)%.
- Alternative upgrades to basic units with their own bonuses of Tribal Spirit levels.
Meet the Wrathbringer Tribals!
More details about the secret tribal deal >>> | More than two years ago…
The Great Steppe - wild and unruly. At first glance, it looked the same as always. But its uncontrollable howl was alarming. Tyranny, pain, exhaustion - like the last gasp of a dying freedom. And these lands threaten the Empire with a major war? They need much more help than they are willing to offer in return. But Her Majesty, in her grand generosity, is ready to extend her gracious hand to them. This is exactly how this mission was supposed to look in the eyes of the other side. Before arriving here, councilor Kh’Everst had prepared himself for a skillful bluff in the upcoming negotiations, but now he sincerely believed in what he was going to say.
“Take positions to the left and right of the hut”, the monotonous voice of councilor Feurlis broke through the veil of sensations and thoughts that filled the dark elf’s consciousness, “Two more, keep an eye on the sky from the rock face”, another order from the necromancer was given to the guards accompanying the councilors.
“I think you’re worrying too much”, said Kh’Everst, lightly smiling and looking at this old friend.
“The rest of you, spread out around the perimeter. No one should disturb us or even know about our visit”, the last order was finally given, after which Feurlis turned his empty gaze to his colleague, “Allow me to think about our safety. I have direct orders from Her Majesty. Better think about what you will say when we find ourselves in a cage with an insidious steppe lioness. Two of my agents never returned from their first meeting with her. Another one came back missing an eye and with his face torn by claws.”
“I don’t think she’s scarier than a manticore…” Kh’Everst’s voice was filled with a carefree calm, yet there was a slight hint of wariness behind it.
The door of the steppe hut was already right in front of his nose, but the dark elf felt nothing. The tribal spirits hid the true essence of what lay within. Feurlis was about to step over the threshold, when a pale hand held out in front of the necromancer stopped his impulse, forcing him to look at his colleague once again.
“I’ll go alone”, said Kh’Everst briefly and confidently.
“That is not an option”, the necromancer objected, maintaining his usual composure.
“I also have direct orders from Her Majesty”, declared the dark elf, knowing full well that this was the only argument that Feurlis was capable of listening to without dispute.
The necromancer’s fleshless face, frozen in a grimace of eternal indifference, expressed nothing, however Kh’Everst felt that agreement was but a moment away. Ultimately, the spy master reluctantly stepped back, allowing his colleague to disappear unhindered into the shadows of the steppe spirits’ abode.
The atmosphere inside was completely different. The spirits were troubled, whispering restlessly. Stepping carefully between tables with various ritual paraphernalia, the imperial councilor was periodically stopping trying to listen. Even so, the ghostly whisper would immediately die down, returning again only when the mysterious guest took another step. A sharp and rich aroma of many herbs hit the nose, coming in shades of both the bitterness of medicinal meadow herbs and the sweetness of swamp herbs full of deadly poison. The scent was carried by ephemeral wisps of light smoke that nonchalantly rose from a lit candle on a distant table. It was slightly intoxicating, but not enough to paralyze the thoughts of one who understood with complete clarity the nature of such subtle influence.
“You are not a spider…” an enigmatic female voice rang out, giving off a distinct savage accent, “Was he afraid that I would tear off his legs, as I promised his spiderlings?”
Kh’Everst’s gaze finally caught the glowing of two predatory glints in the dark corner of the room. Having looked closely, the dark elf made out the barely noticeable outline of a strange shadow, reminiscent of the silhouette of a horned lioness.
“I bring Her will”, the imperial councilor said calmly, without taking his eyes off the dark silhouette.
“The one who devours everyone, giving shelter in her insatiable belly?” there was a clear sense of open hostility in her voice, “The spirits see you. A shrewd serpent. Child of the wise dragon”, notes of curiosity began to creep into her words, “Speak. But choose your words carefully. The spirits are listening to you.”
“Her Majesty offers a mutually beneficial deal”, began the dark elf, “The Empire wants to prevent the coming war between our people. As do you, wise shaman.”
“Your words drip with poison, snake”, came the sharp reply, “Not the one that poisons the body, but that which lulls the mind. Why should the spirits believe you? The Empire lives by war!”
“Once upon a time it did”, Kh’Everst corrected her, “Times have changed. This war will do more harm than good. And when the Empire persists and recovers from it over time, then I fear the fate of your fellow tribesmen will no longer be so enviable. They will proudly die for nothing. In a foreign land. For the empty ambitions of a madman on the tribal throne. It would be better for everyone if someone else took his place. Someone… wiser.”
“No way, you sly snake!” the reply was even more harsh and categorical, although something more was still lurking behind it.
The shadow suddenly flinched, as if preparing to pounce, but a moment later it took a cautious step forward, appearing before the intruder in the dim candlelight. Savage rags, ritual paint, a beast’s skull on her head from under which disheveled strands of hair were peaking through, and a gleam of sharp fangs - her entire appearance was filled with the barbarity of a beastman. Yet, deep in the orcish eyes, a glimmer of the shrouded wisdom of their ancestors could be seen.
“You didn’t grab your weapon”, she said in surprise, tilting her head slightly to the side, “Like those spiderlings… Either you are naive and foolish… Or the spirits want me to believe you. But what is the price of her deal?” the savage’s fingers smoothly fell on the handle of the dagger hanging on her belt.
“Peace without war, is already a worthy price”, Kh’Everst confidently replied, immediately causing the savage to feel distrust of his words, which began to dissipate rather quickly with each subsequent moment of silent exchanges of intent glances.
“Fine”, finally agreed the shaman, removing her hand from the weapon, “But I have two conditions”, she added next, in response to which the dark elf nodded in agreement, “We’ll do it my way. According to tribal traditions.”
“That is acceptable”, the imperial councilor briefly concurred.
“When the Great Steppe is engulfed in the flames of rebellion, not everyone will want to shed the blood of their brothers. The spirits will guide them away - and I will want her to give them shelter. Like for all those who left after the old war.”
“I think Her Majesty will not object”, the councilor ensured, avoiding a direct answer, knowing the Empress’s answer in advance.
“This will help strengthen the bond between our people. And then it will be much more difficult for any future khan to convince the rest to go to war against the Empire again.”
“If he listens to the wise instructions of the spirits, and not to the lying whispers of the shadows”, Kh’Everst answered unexpectedly, causing another wave of surprise in the shaman, which she tried to meticulously hide.
“Go, wise serpent”, the savage woman smiled through her bestial grin, “And tell the spider that I forgive its spiderlings for their tactlessness.”
The dark elf grinned in response, and slightly bowing his head in farewell, headed towards the exit. |
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