Pillager - Passive

In the sun-scorched village of Verveil, a young scout named Kaelen was known for his steady hands and a sharper conscience. He had been tracking a small, separated band of pillagers for three days. These weren't the brutal, horn-helmed marauders of storybooks—just three ragged figures: a weary crossbowman, a pockmarked axe-bearer, and an older woman who carried no weapon, only a worn satchel.

The crossbowman tried to stand, winced, and fell back. “Then we die. We have nowhere else.” passive pillager

And so, in the hills and villages beyond, scouts began to ask a new question before reporting: “Are they raiding, or are they running?” In the sun-scorched village of Verveil, a young

Marrow told him. Their band had been forced conscripts of a warlord to the east. When he fell, they fled. They had never wanted to pillage. They had never hurt a villager. They only wanted to cross the pass to the unclaimed marshes, where they could live as trappers and herb-gatherers in peace. But every village saw the crossbows, the axe, the tattoos—and closed its gates. The crossbowman tried to stand, winced, and fell back

Kaelen had his orders. “Passive or not, a pillager is a pillager. Report their location. The captain will send a squad.”

Marrow’s weathered face cracked into a small, tired smile. “I can heal her. I was a bonesetter’s apprentice before the warlord’s men took me.”