Goliath Blood Mage - Raktavin

myminifactory

[Medium Sized Model - 25mm Base] [Presupported in 32mm and 75mm scale]   A Sanguine Blood Mage who had lived in hermitude in the Sekatan mountains for a century. He preyed upon small groups of Wastewalkers or Watchers to sate his unceasing thirst for power. Rangers in the Watchers called him the “Snowbound Vampire,” while the Colossal Wastewalkers called him the “Blood Bandit.” On a peculiar occasion, Raktavin’s ambush failed, and when he awoke after being mortally wounded, he found himself trapped in the labyrinth of Khandara.  Sanguine Colossals usually live within the societies of other Colossals, or in their own small clans. Occasionally, however, some will succumb to their thirst for power, opting to seclude themselves in absolute hermitude where they will be undisturbed. Raktavin is one of these hermits, preying upon groups of rangers from the Watchers, or small parties of Wastewalkers. Often he would lure them in, under the gesture of providing sanctuary from Oldavor’s numerous hazards, only to gleefully slay them as they slept next to the warmth of his hearth. All their blood would be harvested, used to further his talents as a hemomancer, and extend his life. Tales and fables grew of Raktavin, with the Watchers believing a Vampire Lord lived within the snow, and would lure rangers to his doorstep with illusions and charms. The Colossals who were local to Oldavor knew better however, and branded him the Blood Bandit, a title that upset him greatly whenever he heard it, feeling it demeaned his prowess as a hemomancer. Yet it was these tales and exaggerated stories that saw Raktavin’s ultimate ruination, as a group of Hex Hunters grew immediately suspicious of the elderly Colossal offering them a hearth and warm bed. One of them saw into the mind and intent of Raktavin, and the group turned on him. Though he managed to fell two, the rest ultimately bested him, driving their blades into his belly before leaving him to bleed out in the bitter frozen wastes. As the snow beneath him turned crimson, darkness took him. When he awoke, his wounds were healed, yet large scars still remained. His body ached, but he was alive, yet where he could not tell. He thought it to be a hell made specifically for him, an icy dungeon thronged with lost, mindless souls. Quickly he surmised he would become one of them, so in desperation he began slaughtering as many as he could to stave off the encroaching madness, bolstering his mind with whatever blood magic that could be conjured. But alas, it was in vain. A century later and Raktavin’s mind has truly fallen, yet he is as deadly now as he was before his imprisonment in Khandara, and with a fallen mind, even more unpredictable.