Imperium's End

[Lefty 1696]

 

Deep within the bowels of the dwarven capital of Kal’Omith, the Grand King, Bastion of Clan Ireheart stood before an amassing of his most loyal subjects. Many had returned home from war, injured, bloodied and broken as they flocked back to their mountain home, amidst the chill of a cold winter’s wind. As he beckoned for quiet among the crowd, all fell silent while the young ruler prepared himself to speak.

 

“Brothers born from rock and hearth,

 

I make this address to you, not without some sense of remorse for what ills we have let transpire in what bitter lives we have led. From the heroes lost in the field of battle, to the families torn asunder, never again to be reunited with their fallen brothers, chaos has engulfed us all. For what this war has proven is that when we allow tyranny to thrive, all manner of ills can be permitted to befall us. Evils, beyond what we deemed imaginable, even in our darkest hours. And so, let these words be heard to all corners of these islands, from the highest peaks of Tahn and the gentle forests of Ceru, to the desert flatlands of Asul.

 

The Empire of Oren is defeated, its last remnants driven to the edges of the known world, its delusion of conquest resigned to the annals of history. In place of what was once a thriving heart of humanity’s potential, ashen wastes lay bare the sins of an Emperor’s dream, doomed to the inferno of his own creation. A fitting casket for a man of most impious intent. Albeit be warned, its semblance may uphold but the remnants of this infernal empire will long seek to slink its way out of every crevice and nook it can still wield stature.

 

Mankind must not repeat the same mistakes of its former empire. In the wake of its fall, arrives the dawn of a new age for us all – An age in which no descendent may stand idle as tyranny is permitted to thrive. Let not the fruits of our endeavours bear futile ends; sew the seed of goodness into the hearts of men and forever remember what became of its nefarious deeds. That when all was lost, the Emperor himself could not face judgement before the gods’ righteous fury.

 

Sons of Urguan, you have acted in the name of our All-father creator, and restored equity to these sacred lands. Yemekar’s will is served, and in his righteousness, we must follow the path he has laid out for us. Return to your mountain homes, bathe your wounds and rest for the long days ahead, knowing that you have served your people well. Lay to rest your fallen kin, consecrate their tombs and pray that Dungrimm grants their souls safe passage into the halls of the afterlife.

 

For now, we slumber. The world’s ills are not ours to undo by divine right, for the gods’ will often works in strange and mysterious ways. Unprecedented heroism is often found in the most unlikely of places, while evil may shroud itself before our very eyes. Alas, to our mountain homes we must retreat until the time is right to emerge once more. Here we stand, ready and waiting for what the future may pose; whether unto that fray we march or may the light of dawn’s new day be better than the last, let us pray that peace may endure.

 

For the toils of Urguan’s sons, and in the memories of your fallen ancestors, long live the Grand Kingdom and to the tide of the apocalypse, may it reign!”

 

[Soggy365 162]

Aldal Ireheart silently nods along to the King's wise words, before turning to some of his nearby kin.

"Deh worm at deh core o' deh rotten apple o' Oren 'as been destroyed. Yemekar smoiles on 'is people this day."

[mmat 7460]

Draken Lancefeld, having not arrived in time for his empire, simply sits in a Dwarven tavern and ceaselessly drinks himself into melancholic stupors, his eyes red with sadness..

 

He had left behind the legacy of his family, his home, his friends. Everything was gone.

[Ogdan 158]

Ogdan, upon hearing the speech, would think back to when the armor-clad men returning from battle boasted in victory. It took only a single moon for the dwed to realize that precious life had been taken from us at the cruel gripes of war. They grieved for their brothers, friends, and family. Some grieved for even those that they put down on the battlefield, who were blinded by their duty and oaths. Drowning themselves in ale to rid themselves of scenes on the battlefield.

 

"We mus' put an end t' this bloodshed. I cannae fill these tankards t' drown sorrows aneh longer. I wan' t' be able t' rejoice 'n raise our tankards. Enjoy t' loife we 'ave and hold so dear t' us, put an end to this taintin' uv' our souls an' minds. This bloodshed mus' stop. Fer I cannae grieve over the loss of another un' uv me brothers." he says to some of his fellow Frostbeards before trotting back to his workshop. Inspired by the kings words, Ogdan begins drafting flyers.

 

 

[Daisy 9735]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.