Malgonious

Baldur receives word of such establishments, a single tear drops from his helmet as his seeds have finally blossomed. His Kingdom had been revived, and bore fruit for the new generation to upheave. Baldur knew his part had been done, and took up his Claymore as he headed toward the Imperial Blockade.

"All-father guide us forward," a distraught Ser Hakon Ruric would mummer as he returns to his dirt hut in the Dreadlands

(I appreciate the effort put into this post, +1)

Baldur would shudder atop the ramparts of Johannesburg.

A sudden startling rush of citizens flock back into the city, as the Black Legion begin the forced draft, their batons smashing the face in of any peasent that tried to escape. "None leave. All will fight." Baldur remarks.

Baldur would throw a stack of parchment across his study when word reaches him of another group to join the Coalition at their walls. "Traitorous curs, all of them!". Baldur would roar as he kicks open the door of the Bastille Command Center, rallying his legionnaires for a street patrol.

A Black Legion uniform would be placed in the Rothesay's hands upon arrival into Johannesburg. "You would stand hand in hand, sworeand shield with the common folk for the preservation of everyone's life. You are a true man of God," Baldur would rest a hand on the man's shoulder as he guides him towards the Bastille to begin planning the defense.

Upon such darkened hours that have befallen the lamenting distopia that was Johannesburg, Baldur sat lost in thought in his study. The point of his pen pressed firmly against the parchment as he began drafting his log, his mind letting lose the mass of thought that paraded against his conscious like a drum. "The Black Legion, as they are called. My hogwash group of freed prisoners, forced and volunteered draftees, uncut and veteran soldiers... all walks of Imperial life congregate into my banner. All in black, black from the blood we've shed, and had shed unto us. Black from the traitors that left our hearts ravaged in woe. Black in defeat against a power greater than our own. Only the Black Legion stands, the last line of the Emperor's Will. The last shred of humanity died when we came to answer the call, for humanity has been proven weak. We must overcome our humanly forms, and become more." Baldur would hesitate as he continues, reflecting on his previous deeds in name of the defense... "... I cannot say it brings me pleasure to cut fro my humanities. My feeling, my compassion, my love... all of it to cut away. A Commander with such trivial things is no true commander, especially in wake of siege. I bear the lives of the thousands upon my name and hand, I shall do my utmost to ensure this city is held in the name of God, the Emperor, and the glory that is and was Mankind. I lay down my humanity and champion the Black as do all my brothers that stand before me. We stand as one in this dark hour of twilight, our fates sealed and set. We have a duty... and it is to be done." Baldur would slowly bring his point to a close, his eyes closing as he becomes lost in thought once more on a new subject. "I have heard rumors among some of the new blood of mutiny, such was met with harsh and brutal attention from my Taskmasters. I set them loose upon every draftee's tent, and had them seize any potential documentation or plans, I had to get to the center of such madness before it grew out of hand. The more senior legionnaires that have braved many a street patrol and expedition outside the walls are starting to grow more competent by the daily, I hope to set them loose upon the draftee's as well to train some sense into these uncut." The Journal entry would seem abruptly started and stopped in multiple places, showing sign of hurried departure upon inscription of the document. "Rations are running dangerously low it would seem. The siege has yet to fully begin and we dwindle with our skeleton crew. I can hardly feed these men I've drafted, and here I've gone and put a sword in their hand, asking them to die for our city. It's not fair I pluck such weak yolk from their cribs and set them upon the ramparts to be loosed upon by the Hordes of chaos that come to bear ruin to all, however my humanities as a Black Legionnaire have been set aside. All that stand upon their feet in my city shall wield God's righteous fury against these heathens. The Black shall envelope Johannesburg, should those rebel dogs breach our walls, they shall be met with the most grueling of fights to come. Every man woman and child have been armed with some form of weaponry from the Bastille, and all are instructed to fight till the last. This city will be hell on Earth, and I am it's Overseer. So yes, march upon my Black Legion and my city. You shall be walking into the gates of Hell itself, rebel cur. Baldur would wrap up his idle ramblings, close his journal, and head back off to the battlefront. New Missions are available for completion, check the Mission Board daily.

Updated.

Upon entering the soon to be under-seige city of Johannesburg, you come across many soldiers gathered around a heavy set oaken board, all with set tasks to be done. Soldiers can be seen hustling to their tasks after choosing something their skillset would aide best. You may wish to do the same now, should you belong to the defense of Humanity in the dark days ahead. Mission Board Street Patrol - The Johannesburg streets have been infested with a swath of crime and evil-doers. Rally together yourself and two other Legionnaires, and perform a street-sweep of particular avenues assigned to you by a Taskmaster. Reward: 4 Imperial Marks per man caught & or executed during your patrol. Gate Duty - Truly the most drudging of duties, however one that must be kept in times as dire as these. Hold yourself together and guard the gate for a period of time asked by your Taskmaster. Reward: 2 Imperial Marks Rebel Seizure - The countryside has been infested with the hordes of rebellion. We are outnumbered, outmatched, and definitely out-gunned. However, if you do manage to secure a rebel and bring his head or his corpse to a Taskmaster, you shall be rewarded. Reward: 1 Imperial Mark Ration Assistance - The City of Johannesburg has run dangerous low on supplies, one namely being food. Support the effort to provide hearty, healthy servings of food to your fellow brothers in any way possible, deemed fit by a Taskmaster. Reward: 1 Imperial Mark Completed a task? Report to any Taskmaster below to receive your Reward. - Baldur the Black (Malgonious) - Ser Walter Marshall (Taketheshot56) - Ser Mattington Ironsword (Vetren54)

A sealed envelope, bearing the last Order of Jarl Baldur before his departure to Johannesburg would read as follows; "The People of the entirety of Norland held their vote. The Citizens of Ostermark, while being majority, took it upon themselves to elect a leader whom they'd deem most fit. The fact of the matter is the Rurikid have never held popular opinion with their ilk, and that is due to the fact they've become too displaced from their common man into their royalties that they've shown complete disregard for even the most common of pleasantness when faced with one of their own serfs. The Houses Ashtyr, Reyurnt, and Grimlee, all who rule under an Thegn Council, have rejected the Rurikid plea to enslave. I take with me all the imperialistic dogma to Johannesburg, completely declaring the Province of Ostermark a neutral state under the Thegn Reyurnt's regency. My flock are returned to the command of the Thegn Council, and only they may decide if a Rurikid has place in Svenheld, at a time of a Moot's 2/3 Policing." Signed, Jarl Baldur

dang.

Baldur the Black Baldur would be seen standing in-front of mass of peasents, wounded soldiers, and finally a good few soldiers left... most seem quite worried of the battles lost. Some seem resolute. The overall atmosphere is tense as the Blackened figure roars his speech, seemingly directing the attention towards him. “Duty is your binding, each and every one of you swore an oath. To uphold your Lords... To uphold your Kings, and finally, to protect your Emperor. Such should be utmost paramount in the End Times declared, and from such you are all called to serve in my Black Legion, the bulwark against the crow from the yolk of humanity. What say you, distant coz of the Empire in his name? Hark ho, let your enemies know you stand defiant against their rampage, and shall stop at nothing less than your life’s dying breath to see their rape of our Glorious Empire halted. Sally forth to Johannesburg, this is no order, nay, this is a lament of humanity brothers! All are called to stand united, under the black armour of the End TImes.” Baldur would turn, smashing his blade into the road, much to the displeasure of the impoverished mason watching close by. “Stand tall, or hide craven brothers. The End Times have come.” -All remaining orenian soldiers, displaced or unified are encouraged to join my Black Legion, a final united force to garrison and defend Johannesburg.- Uniform: http://imgur.com/a/wQvBY

Baldur would raise his axe in recognition of the Knights words, sallying fro the last remnants of his banners to garrison Johannesburg.

"I refuse to be a victim of these malicious capitalist marketing schemes." A dirty norlandic would rebuttle. "I didnt vote for you." another dirty serf would echo from across the fair hills of Svenheld

"Artyom... the HOODLUM!"

The Saffron Crusade ⚔ ⚔ ⚔ Jarl Baldur would slowly approach his gathered fellowship post the Great Moot held by their Rurikid coz, whom’s host can be seen sallying fro towards Lorraine, a somber and distraught Baldur would slowly clear his throat as he speaks up to his ilk. “The bastards… they’ve set out with the All-father’s sacred icons…. Thomas the Rat Rurik, and his offspring Artyom.. the Hoodlum..! They have made off with the Circlet and Hammer, both bound to our Chief my flock. You have chosen me to be your guide in this dark hour, and it is unfortunate we must be cursed with such ill-boding from our Rurik counterpart. The Rurikid refuse the vote that you all set out, they refuse the lament of the common yolk, such has been the case for the generations under the Thoromir line.” Baldur would grunt, spitting towards the East as he sets his axe upon the rough cobbles, it’s flaming head gleaming in the sun of Ostermark. “It is unfortunate.. But I must do what is best for our people. The hunt for the Sacred Icons has commenced... the Saffron Crusade my host as we shall be known henceforth, shall not be undone until the rightful King chosen has the icons to rule his yolk. Spread it across the realm, the return of the Sacred Icons is paramount, sieze any Rurik and Rurikid hostier in the name of Norland brothers!” "HARK HO!" The Norlandic Hosts would be seen roaring from Ostermark, their crusade had begun. No Rurik shall stand alive until they cede the Sacred Icons, such would be made known.

Baldur Ashtyr and Vykr Ashtyr receive letters, distributing them to their ilk.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIGHCoVzqtk 15th of the Sun’s Smile, 1593 “Yer beautiful, yeh know,” Four words had been spoken by a leader of the dwarves before, almost seventy years past, and it was those four words which had haunted the upper echelon of the Grand Kingdom of Urguan ever since. Gauldrim Irongut had lifted the lid on the true nature of Urguan, and for that crime he had been banished, forever to be called ‘the Clanless’ by his own people. Pederastic, depraved, and deeply abusive of the trust given to them, the dwarven elite perverted the course of nature in their dealings, laying with women, men, beasts and children. It was Hogarth Irongut, the High Prophet, the bedrock of the dwarven faith, who was the first of these deviants. When Gauldrim Irongut found an elven boy warming the High Prophet’s bed, he disseminated reports of it wherever he may. At first, Irongut wasn’t believed, but when the truth gained traction, he was shunned for it. After a disastrous attempt to seize power back for his rightful king and kinsman, who had come to the throne on the basis of being an outsider and a reformer, Gauldrim of Clan Irongut was banished. But exactly sixty-four years after, Gauldrim the Clanless, whose whereabouts and status were known to none, would receive a sort of poetic revenge against the people who had cast him out for his unwavering sense of morality. Those four words would be spoken again by the sexually perverted Grand King of Urguan, Algoda Frostbeard, in an attempt to seduce a maiden of the Ostmark. But instead of the liaison he expected, the Grand King received a meeting of a far different kind. Indeed, he was caught in fragrante delicto by Imperial soldiers, summoned there by the Jarl of that province, Baldur, son of Bjorn, of the Clan Ashtyr, a loyal vassal of His Imperial Majesty. Needless to say, instead of spending the night in the arms of a pliable human woman, the Grand King of Urguan spent the night in a Johannesburg prison. And it would be his last night. For the day afterwards, he would be sentenced to death for his crimes against the human and elven peoples. In a caricature of the universal symbol of dwarven complacency and hedonism, he would be beaten on his stomach until he was dead. It was a fitting end for a monarch so reviled, whose ostensible goal was the exterminate the human people and their independence as the preeminent power of the world. As he slapped his belly during his pronouncements, Algoda Frostbeard would speak of ‘freedom’ and ‘liberation’ for the human people, coded words for their subjugation as a series of fractured states. Divide and conquer was the chief policy of the Grand Kingdom under his reign and the reign of the pharisees of hatred who had preceded him. Behind closed doors, the ruler of the Urguanites would speak to his advisors about how these splinters would be easy prey for the dwarven predators who, in bed with orcish beasts, had forsworn their treaty with the realm of man to invade and dominate. Truth be told, there was no tyranny in the Holy Orenian Empire but that which the nonhuman coalition sought to impose, by their sponsoring of drug-addled rebels and treacherous bandits in an attempt to undo the legitimate government of the Empire, the sole guarantor of order, culture and law in the world. The Imperial people were free, and they would always be free. But criminals, bandits and traitors would always be punished through the force of the law for their endeavours to destroy the dream of utopia which the Empire sought to bring to its citizens. For too long these misshapen creatures, in their refusal to concede any sort of agreement or understanding with the Empire, have withstood as an annoyance to the advancement of humanity. Indeed, a creature such as the dwarf, a stunted beast that calls itself better than the ilk of men, surely finds solace in the companionship of its own race? Quite to the contrary, for the Grand King himself, supposedly a paragon of virtue amongst dwarvenkind, would rather occupy his interests in a time of war with that of a human girl. This species, this country occupied with the gall to withstand an Empire only pursuing the interests of all good creatures, would once again clash swords and bring the scent of death to the fields in the day, yet dally with human maidens in the night. Perhaps the enemies of mankind, the twisted and malformed insurrectionists, quislings, collaborators and racial traitors would rally behind the shaky promise that the Grand King’s execution ‘changed nothing’. Perhaps it did not, but perhaps it did. Either way, a paragon of hatred, chaos and tyranny now laid dead and buried. His body had been burnt to ash, danced on by the burghers of Johannesburg in a merry festival, and shot out of catapult in the direction of Urguan, where the winds would scatter it in all four cardinal directions. And the Holy Orenian Emperor and his people rejoiced, for they knew this would not be the last victory against the foreign invaders who sought to destroy their way of life.

Jarl Baldur stood tall amid the chaos that ensued as he sallied the Dwarven King into the courtyard of Svenheld, exposing the Norlandic ***** and Grand King for their pervish atrocities against their ilk. "Sally forth, loyal men of the Empire. We march to Johannesburg to give humanity the Justice it yearns for!" Baldur would bark from atop the cliffside of his Great Hall, marching the Grand King to the Capital of Humanity. As the proceeding went henceforth, Baldur stood face to face with his Imperial Majesty. "...Your Imperial Majesty, I ask no reward, for I bear the fruit of Ostermark to good people of Johannesburg. The half-pup stands dead, and his ilk shall likely bear the brunt of such heinous crimes of their previous King. Trechery, snakery, heresy, and interbreeding, all can be character traits of the boy king that lies dead at our feet, if the King of such mountain yolk acted in such mannerisms, such can be said for the entirety of the stonemen. My duty to humanity is nae done, your Imperial Majesty. My host is being mobilized as we speak, the Rebel Cur shall feel the weight of Baldur and the yolk who would follow me to battle! Hark ho, noble coz of the Empire! Baldur's Host marches for the most vile of our ilk, the Courland rebellion will be brought to heel your imperial majesty, this I swear." Baldur's Host would begin to sally, combining many pre-existing forces into an organized unit of Imperial wrath, led by Baldur himself.

shocking