As the pale skeletal looking girl hunkered down in the hole she had dug in the ground, she appeared to be a farrel creature.
Her nails cracked and bloodied, her skin torn and rough, she was a survivour. One of the last remaining members of her clan, the rest buried six feet under. She is out for revenge.
They came in the night while everyone was sleeping peacefully after the solstice festival. Warm beer filled their bellies, and happy dreams filled their heads.
At least it was quick, she thought to herself. When night finally falls, she too will commit the same act as the enemy.
Not even one shall be spared, and she will have avenged her brethren. Now, the sun sets, as the guards begin to grow tired. It will soon be time to strike.
She laid in wait just in the forest entrance completely hidden from these horrible people. Finally it was time, and nothing was left but limbs.
When other tribes came across this tragic scene they feared a army was near by, but found no evidence of such a thing.
Years later there grew a legend of a lone woman, a queen of an old forgotten tribe sitting on a throne of bones ruling over the deep woods.
Elders warned their children's children to never wander in there alone, as the few brave adventurers who have, never were to return.