Orlok Flavor Text

There is no questioning Paxxia's claim to Her Most Divine Throne. Though young, she exudes the strength of her father, and thought not all of her subjects may worship her as a living god, every one of them accepts the rule of her scaled fist. But she is still inexperienced. What wars has she fought? What great crises has she shepherded her people through, beyond the aftermath of her divine father's untimely end? Has she truly faced a danger that would unseat her?

The Mountains of Autumn stir. The air reverberates with the sounds of steel being sharpened and plates being beaten into shape. Garrisons report more attacks despite doubling the raids into Uruk lairs. The more remote trails and ruins are closed off due to danger, and soon enough, even the royal roads have to be guarded at all times by strong contingents of regular infantry. The harsh cackling of goblins fills the darkness of the ruins of Yonder. A drakonid general wisely requests the men and materiel from the homeland to take care of this new Horde upswell before it gets out of control. He is too late.

Thousands of them emerge, spit dribbling from massive, bestial maws, arms like tree-trunks swinging weapons and brandishing armor no one has ever seen on an Uruk before. Still crude, of course, but better designed than the usual patchwork shirts of leather and scrap mail Uruks of the past have donned. Rows of heavy spearmen march to the front. They are not disciplined and can never be - but they are uniform in equipment and disposition, which is something the Dragon gunners have never seen before.

Many die before reaching the barricade, musket balls turning heads into gore, puncturing hearts. But they get through eventually. Orcs and ogres red with their own blood smash through palisades while flanking goblins climb atop debris, chucking spears on nimble feet. The garrison commander catches a glimpse of one Uruk at the back of their warband as he gives the order to retreat.

He is an ogre, and a big one, clad in heavy iron adorned by bones of the great beasts that lurk within the ruins. His eyes glow with the cursed sight that reveals the words of the world. His too-thick brows are strained, by concentration, or perhaps by madness, implying an intellect that shouldn't exist in that monstrous boulder for a skull. But then the ogre's gauntleted hands suddenly cup pyromantic flames that appear out of thin air. That's when the commander realizes, that the enemy has changed.

The garrison commander would burn to his death, not knowing that his would be the first of many outposts to fall on that fateful day. He shrieked and screamed with all the hopeless agony of a man being burned alive as he rolled and thrashed on ancient Yonder flagstones. The pain made it difficult to think, but one word pierced through fog of his dying mind. The Uruk were chanting a name. Orlok.

Orlok the Archfiend of the Mountains of Autumn. Self-styled Sorcerer-General of the Horde of that place. He would do the impossible and try to uplift the Uruk, to give them souls. Even now he steers their primitive but brutal instincts with a calculated malice, and the the largest Horde on Doria grows not just larger, but more cunning under his oversight. He doesn't lead them, though, and he cannot really. But perhaps, if he can just understand the words he sees underneath the skin of all things, and learn to speak them, he can forge these beasts into a warrior race the likes of which the world has never seen. And he would be their Messiah.

If Paxxia has any plans on invading the Empire through its exposed rear, Orlok would give her second thoughts. His Horde is a clear and present threat to their one colony across the Gulf, and defeating him would be a matter of prestige, national pride, and further proof of her right to rule.

With [Vedi] and [Patientia], Orlok is a supporting character for you guys. If you manage to help him complete his quest to make intelligent Super Uruks, you will have a powerful army to face Charlotte and her Ecumene with. The cost, of course, is alienating every single other race on the planet.