Javert

THE UNSHARED MERCY Quiet had the day been so far. The Rex sat upon his throne in Fort Ilzruck, staring ahead into the warm pool of water which rested within the center of the room. In times such as these, the Rex’s mind was often brought back to his childhood days. He reminisced upon a time when he and his brothers would visit the warm springs nestled in quiet places among the Ailmere. There they’d relax for hours until their Father, the warlord Grugmak, bade them back to camp. So too did his mind wander to his first hunt and the day he earned his tattoos and warpaint. The day he claimed the pelt of a bear for himself. How he longed to be young again, to be a nomad in the vast snow of the Ailmere… “Mighty Rex!” called the voice of an Orc, startling Torosh from his daydreams. The Frost Uruk blinked himself awake, then turned to the one who had spoken to him. With a gesture of his red hand, he awaited for the Uruk to speak. “A Princess! An Imperial Princess! The daughter of Hadrian the Mad!” The words were sobering. Torosh straightened up in his throne and focused his gaze upon the messenger before speaking for himself. “Where do they have her?” “Urguan, Lord-Rex. The Salvian Shamizir and your son Grommar took her to their capital.” ‘They’ll demand her head,’ he thought. ‘They’ll want her dead if they cannot achieve a ransom or a battle.’ Time was of the essence, and Torosh knew this. “Send for the Targoth. Tell him he is to meet Shamizir at the coast of Ipanema. After you do so, ride to Urguan as quickly as you can. Tell Shamizir and his Warband that they are to bring the Princess back here.” The messenger pumped his fist over his heart before turning and running from the throne room. The Rex rose from his throne whilst clenching then un-clenching his fists repeatedly. A low grumble escaped his throat as he made his way down to the bonfire of Ghorazad in the city center. Many Spirit’s Minutes passed, and the Rex’s jaw continued to clench with each waking moment. Soon enough, a familiar voice broke the silence; “Gate!” Roared the familiar voice of Shamizir the Sanguine, leader of the Salvians. Though Torosh had never come to trust the Salvians again, especially after the Siege of the Rock, he knew their hatred of the Empire was much stronger than any other grudge. The Rex quickly dispatched an Orc to heave the gate open, and in rode a small column of Salvian, Dreadlandic, and Belethian riders. As Shamizir approached the waiting Rex, the Frost Orc could catch a glimpse of the prisoner that was seemingly of such high value to the Alliance. She was no older than 17, Torosh determined, and she appeared a rather gaunt and sickly figure. Something about the girl’s appearance brought a pang of sympathy to the Rex’s chest as he approached Shamizir’s horse. “Your prisoner, Lord-Rex” Said Shamizir with a cackle as he brought the bound Princess down from his horse, setting her upon her feet before the Rex. Torosh, however, did not find himself in a humorful mood even as the cries and jeers of the gathering crowd voiced a different opinion. “Hang her!” “She’s the spawn of Iblees!” came the cries of the Ghorazad townsfolk. Yet, when Torosh looked upon the Princess, he saw not a monster or a combatant, but a young woman who had become a victim to her Father’s war. The Rex shook his head and spoke aloud to the gathering townsfolk. “Make space. Leave her be.” In spite of their own opinions, the commands of the Rex were heeded. Space was quickly made around the Princess, to whom Torosh now gave his full attention. He stepped forth, examining the woman’s face for injuries, only finding a small cut upon her cheek which had begun to close up. Torosh retrieved a small rag from a pocket and quickly removed any lingering blood from her face. “I pray you were treated kindly on the roads?” The Rex offered, briefly checking her for more injuries. When he found none, Torosh straightened up once more. “Well enough,” The Princess replied. “I am Livia Caesonia, Princess of the Empire of Man.” “Torosh’Mak, Rex of the Horde.” The Frost Uruk looked around at the crowd before letting out a sigh and beginning to slowly walk towards the Clan Hall of the Maks. “Come. I will see you fed.” A path was made for the Rex and the bound Princess within the crowd. Upon entry into the Clan Hall, Klog’Akaal quickly posted up outside the door to prevent entry without Torosh’s consent. “I hope you do not mind steak.” The Rex said as he affixed a plate for the Princess. Once it was ready, he placed it in front of Livia and sat across from her. Now did Torosh get a proper look at her - She was no doubt sickly, gaunt, and yet bore the signature features of a Horen. Torosh did not know why, but he felt himself growing concerned for this woman - this innocent, who had not yet reached her twentieth birthday. “I am quite fond of venison” Spoke the Princess as she ate the offered food. Torosh spent another moment observing her before speaking again. “I have a daughter about the same age as you,” he said. “What is her name?” asked the Princess. “Garona’Mak,” replied Torosh. “She is the third of my children, of which I have seven.” A pause lingered before Torosh spoke again. “I do not intend to kill you. That is why I had you brought here, to avoid your needless bloodletting. The Urukhim are not as savage as your Imperials believe us to be.” The Princess stopped eating momentarily to ponder Torosh’s words. She turned to look at him, her expression hard to read. “My Father would not have done the same. He would kill your children if he had captured them.” “I know,” said the Rex. “My second youngest child, Ilza, was captured by your Father’s Knights on the first day of the war. His Knights beat her, bruised her, threatened to cut off her hand or hang her. She was seven years of age at that time.” The words seemed to weigh heavy upon the Princess, though she for a time remained silent. “But you are not Hadrian, and Hadrian is not you. I will not hold a child accountable for the sins of her Father, no matter the crimes the Father has dealt unto my people. I will leave you with this; your Father would not send even a ransom for his daughter, whilst I started a war for mine. You must choose how to go forward from here, for that is why the Creator gave us free will, no?” Torosh rose to his feet, drew his blade, and cut Livia’s binds free in a swift motion. The blade was soon returned to its sheathe as the Rex escorted Livia outside and atop his own War Rhino. “Do not resign yourself as a slave to your society.” With these final words imparted, the Rex brought Livia with a company of Belethians to the border between Beleth and Kurai-Kuni. There, she let the Princess free. Heavy did the decision weigh on his mind, but in his moment of doubt, he thought back to the day when Ilza had been captured. He knew the pain of almost losing a child, and it was one that haunted him frequently. Still, he knew in his heart he had done what he believed to be right, even if he knew his enemy would not do the same. And so the Rex turned his Rhino about and began the long trek back to Ghorazad.

"Oh." Said Rhaegar Roa, who was spending time with his siblings when he got the word to muster. "Off I go, i guess."

"Huh?" Torosh'Mak raised a brow as he felt a disturbance in the metaforce. "I sense...a quipper..." The Rex then shook his head, opting to give the disturbance in the force no further mind "Must've been da wind. I need my koffee."

"WOOOOOOO I AM THE GHOST OF BELETH AND I SHALL LIVE WITHIN THY MIND ETERNALLY!" Said a madman peasant who had found himself outside the Demon's lair. He was more than likely going to die for antagonizing this Demon, but the madman had no sense of self-preservation. "RENT FREEEEEEE!"

The Rex of the Horde signed off on the document. Upon its finalization, he pat the shoulders of his counterparts, Grand King Ulfar and Diarch Indivisum Peter. "Dis Wagh iz far frum ovah. We will free da oppressed ov dis kontinent, or die trying."

Torosh'Mak calls the banners in the immediate aftermath of the Hordeklamor

TO CORSWAIN OF RITTENSBERG @M1919 HONORABLE CORSWAIN, Thou may not know me, but the tale of thy honour, bravery, and valour has ceaselessly made itself abed in ev’ry hearth and home of humanity, even those belonging to mine own realm of origin. I am Rhaegar of the House of Roa, Squire to His Royal Majesty, Peter I. Much like thyself, I too seek to carve my name in legend amongst the Knights of Yore. Though I bear no personal quarrel with thy personage, our respective realms indeed bear ill-will to one another, and in you I see an opponent worthy of challenge in service to my Liege-Lord. And so I challenge thee, Squire ‘pon Squire, to a contest of arms. The terms I propose to thee art as such; Weaponry of Steel or Daemonsteel alone to provide naught an unfair advantage, armor of Steel or Daemonsteel, honourable combat until surrender with nay trickery or backstabbery, and the promise of free passage to the defeated should they have surrendered without death. Should thy heart prove brave as tale has told, make public thy acceptance of this challenge and agree to meet me ‘pon the bridge betwixt the realms of Beleth and Kurai-Kuni in four Saint’s Days from now. [OOC: Monday the 29th. Lmk what time works for you] Signed, Rhaegar of Perduran, Son of the House of Roa, Squire of Beleth

ASSEMBLE THE NAVY TO ALL CITIZENS OF THE HORDE, With war against the Holy Empire of Man and their subsequent vassals and allies ongoing, the time has come to take more measures to defend ourselves and our lands from encroaching Imperial threats. The following orders shall be adhered to by all citizens of the realm as follows; All vassals, tributaries, and other dependencies of the Horde of Many Tribes shall contribute their ships to the amassing of a war fleet. This war fleet shall be assembled directly off the coast of the Belethian city of Perduran. A deadline of seven spirit days (ooc: 7 days) shall be given for each dependency of the Horde to send their ships to join this fleet. All ships are to be outfitted with cannons and other necessities for the soldiery and sailors onboard, including food, arrows, javelines, and crossbow bolts. This war fleet shall be under the direct command of Torosh’Mak, Rex of the Horde until a suitable Admiral is determined. Torosh’Mak, Rex of the Horde, High Chieftain of the Frost Urukhim, Chieftain of Clan Mak, Warlord of Lurakhan, Makh-Morok and Ghorazad, the Demonslayer, the Fire-walker

"One hundred? Insulting. He'z worth klosur tu five-hundred." Remarked the Rex of the Horde as he went about his business for the rest of the day. He did make sure to save this in his Imperial Missive Collection, as he once more found the format pretty. Maybe he just likes Imperial literature?

"Da Sons of Krug stand alone." Declared the Rex of the Horde as the missive was given to him by a faithful goblin of his Clan. He pondered the new developments for a long while before setting the missive aside (He still collects them, as he finds the format beautiful) and sitting on his throne with a loud hum. After a time, he finally spoke; "...So be it."

"Who kould have seen dis koming" Queried the Rex of the Horde sarcastically from within the comfort of his private war hall. "I wondah where all da refugee Beastfolk will go...oh wait." After that, he pinned the missive to the wall, as he thought the format was beautiful despite being an enemy missive, and proceeded to pull out a smoking pipe. "I should probablee summon Chiangbi agh Flaaowni." Mused the Rex in his solitary room.

MOBILIZE, MOBILIZE, MOBILIZE TO ALL CITIZENS OF THE HORDE, I have been made aware of grievous news. Today, when many Urukhim and other races that have become citizens were carrying out their duties to the Horde, a raiding party of 2,200 Imperial Knights fell upon the capital, Ghorazad. The slaughter was great - Unarmed citizens were butchered where they stood, others bound and captured. My daughter, Ilza’Mak, a girl of 6, was taken into Imperial custody. She was beaten, blindfolded, and forced to endure the jeerings of Imperial lapdogs. Then, she and her fellow Kub companion were forced to walk on their own two feet the entire path back to the Horde. These atrocities, perpetrated by the self-righteous Empire, have shown them for what they are - bloodthirsty egomaniacs. I will not accept such a crime against my people, Urukhim or otherwise, lying down. I issue the following commands to all citizens and tribes beneath the banners of the Horde: Equip every able-bodied warrior aged 18+ with war-gear, including Daemonsteel and Iron. Mobilize your levies and adhere to the commands of the sitting Targoth, Klog’Akaal. Kill any Imperial soldier, knight, or otherwise armed Imperial which enters Horde lands. Reinforce existing fortifications. Such shall be reviewed by Targoth Klog’Akaal and other defense specialists. Defend every inch of Horde territory & resist Imperial armies with all due ferocity. Redirect unarmed Imperials away from Horde lands should they enter. Do not slay the innocent or the unarmed. This shall be a time for all of the Horde to band together. We shall protect our sovereignty, our home, and our people from any further incursions. As for you Imperials who read this missive - You have attacked us unprepared, but we will not idle. Stay out of the Badlands or we will make you pay for every inch of land you take with an equivalent litre of blood. Torosh’Mak, Rex of the Horde, Chieftain of Clan Mak, Warlord of Lurakhan and Makh-Morok, the Demonslayer, the Fire-walker