She sat alone, eating a sparse meal by her fire, her white wolf pelt providing both warmth and a visual symbol of her status. Leadership was lonely but her determination was unwavering as she stared across the field at the many fires of her men. She frowned at that thought - "her men", that didn't feel right. These were her clan but her men were gone. Vark, her strong and handsome son - the pride of her life, slain at the hands of the southern scum. Her husband, Ulfrr, was driven mad by the loss of Vark and had gone on a mindless slaughter of his own people. Even in her grief, Svava had raised a band of loyal men to put down the rabid dog her husband had become. Now months later here she was, Chieftess and war leader. She had used her anguish, twisted it into a sense of purpose to sway her allies into joining her and to raise this army.

She had so many with her now. The countless greenskins who were so useful as the shock troops. They bred like rabbits anyway so the loss of their numbers to soften her enemies would mean less than nothing in the long run. Svava had skillfully used her own loss to form a "connection" with their leader. The Hobgoblin had lost her son to the same foe. It was easy to pretend to commiserate with the creature in order to manipulate her into bringing the numbers Svava needed.

There were also the filthy mages. As much as she distrusted magic and gagged at it's stench, these too would be useful in ways her own people would not. They seemed slightly smarter and more disciplined than the green skins, but she cared not if their numbers were decimated. They were means to her end goal. Their leader however, that strange being.....she shivered remembering the brief encounter.

Then there was the snooty southern woman. Such a stickler with her contracts and words. In the end, the loss of her son to the very same enemy as Svava and the Green Skin had convinced the woman to hire out the thugs of an entire town to join the venture. Their daggers in the dark would be quite useful.

Svava was even glad for the presence of that crazy woman they came across on the road, wailing and crying about her baby boy. Svava had given her a solid meal and brought her along. Her pain was so prevalent, Svava knew that the wailing idiot had been a gift directly from her Goddess -and one never ignores a blessing even if the fool made her army uneasy.

Svava tossed the bones of her meal into the woods where two powerful bears began wrestling and snarling over them. She kicked dirt over her fire and climbed into her bedroll. She fell asleep with a smile on her face. Soon, very soon her sorrow would be assuaged by the blood of those who had taken her boy. 


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