Rytayadash'thim of House Denasi: Female Wood Elf Wardancer


Taya is fairly unremarkable looking wood elf while at rest. Her long dirty blonde hair is always braided, her forest green eyes alert in a typical elfish face. Her tall, lithe body is usually clad in brown leathers. She carries two longswords strapped across her back and very little else in the way of gear. She tends to stay silent when around people she doesn’t know, but she always gives the appearance of catching every word.


You want to know about me? There isn’t much to tell. I kill things. Preferably beastmen, but anything icky will do. Especially if they are attacking innocents. I weave my swords in a dance of death, and if you get in my way, I won’t mourn you.

No, I don’t want to tell you about my family. That’s because I haven’t got any. Or none that count, anyway. My parents were killed when I was very young. Beastmen attacked our village, coming out of the dark with no warning. I have vivid if flashing memories of that night. My father died trying to give my mother and me a chance to flee. Over my mother’s shoulder, I saw him fall beneath a gor’s axe, his body nearly halved. My screams could not prevent the next one from catching us, nor give my mother any more speed. I watched helplessly, screaming, as it impaled her from behind, spitting her like a deer on a pike. She fell over me, concealing me beneath her body. Her murderer did not stop to kill me; perhaps it didn’t see me; perhaps I wasn’t worth the kill. I felt her heart slow to a stop, heard her last breath rattle out of her chest, even above the chaos raging around us.

I don’t know how long it was before they were eventually beaten back, and someone came to find me. I know the elf that freed me from trapped beneath my mother’s corpse was not my adolescent brother. He spent the attack and several of the following hours hiding in the village well. I had already been washed, had my myriad scrapes treated, and settled in with the village healer by the time he hauled himself up from his hole. I haven’t spoken more than a handful of words to him at a sitting since then. I prefer to avoid him entirely. I have no patience with cowards.

My parents were not warriors; in fact, it had been generations since the House of Denasi had produced a full-time warrior. We have served as sentries and hunters the same as all elves, but for the most part, we are scholars, like Phelathin, my father, or healers, like Herynda, my mother, or even priests, like Alantai, my yellow-livered brother. From the moment I came out of my shock after the attack, I have had one and only one interest: learning to kill. I took up the sword, and did so well that they gave me another one. I grudgingly served my time on the borders, but every other waking moment, I practiced. And practiced. And practiced. I don’t play games. I don’t study history or the arts. I learned to read so I could study the written texts of the ancient masters, but I don’t read for recreation. I don’t flirt, or socialize, or brawl, or partake of substances that might dilute my focus. I kill things. That is what I do.

Only I haven’t had much opportunity to do it recently. Since the day of my parents’ death, there have been no other major incursions by the beastmen into my people’s territory. A skirmish here or there, but I find them little challenge. To be honest, I am bored. And my brother is driving me crazy. Somehow, no one else sees what a coward he is, they all think he’s their golden-haired child. He has even weaseled his way into a seat on the village council, claiming our father’s seat. In the last two years, he has decided that I am a disgrace to our family. I should look for a mate, he says, settle down, have children, leave off with my training and give up my revenge. The last time I saw him, was forced to listen to his tirade, I lost control and hit him. Hard. With my empty hand, and not my sword, but still… He hit the dirt of the yard outside the village hall, in front of most of the council and half of the rest of the village.

So, I have decided it’s time to strike out on my own. My teachers have little left to teach me. What I have left to learn, I must learn from experience. Let beastmen and molesters of innocents be ware – I am coming to kill you.


COGS WFRP3e naruttan