Builder of Empire
ganonso
Compulsive Quest Starter
- Location
- PACA France
Builder of Empire
He had been many things. He remembered them all.
He had been a barbarian once and laughed at the concept. Wild blond hair flowed on his steely muscles and the fires of his forge had tanned his skin copper. The halls of his father were of wood and even after eternities some part of him longed for the smell of meat burning in this heart. His gods were the gods of mankind, not the refined idols once worshipped by the Nehekharan. To them he offered bloody entrails and blood smoking on altars. He fed wolves in honor of Ulric and to him prayed for strength. He obtained him and became a strong man with wild eyes and strong hand. Orc and beasts learned to fear him as he hunted them from the lands of his tribe He had run with deers and caught fishes with bare hands. He had gained the friendship of the Dwarves in battle, breaking the greenskins who laid hands on their kings. For that the Hammer had come to his hands and so long it rested there the Dwarves renounced their claim. Never did they do that before, and never did they do that after until the world ended.
He had been an emperor once, surveying a young realm. The Hammer in hand he united the tribes and from them he drew a nation. He had learned to wield men as weapons, always respecting their sacrifice but never shirking from it. He had passed the crucible of war and the crucible of leadership and his crown shone bright. Crowds came to him and received visions of what they could be. Villages became towns and towns became cities. Laws were etched in stone and flame brought to the darkness. Ar-Ulric high priest of the wolf god set a royal crown on his head and a scepter was placed in his hand. Monsters he purged from the land and for fifty years he ruled.
The Empire of Man, so named because there was no other save the great realm of Cathay on the other side of the world, was his legacy. It endured the darkness, sometimes broken, sometimes decadent, but always a bulwark against the dark until it broke open and no place in the world stood face. Always, even in the darkest night, even in the brightest day of their hopes did its inhabitants forget: Their lord, their god, their father, had broken the skull of Morkar first of the dreaded Everchosen. He had slain for a time Nagash the Necromancer, first of his kind and lord of darkness to contend with the Ruinous Power. The Hammer shuddered in his hand. It too remembered when wielded by Emperors chosen among their peers it had tasted the blood of chieftains and champions, of captains and monsters, of madmen and prophets. Its image had seared the mind of vampires and made daemons turn back. Its lesser brethren, imitations in the hands of the priests, had served as torches against wildness and heresy.
Sigmar had been many things but from the many masks of his being one had emerged combining many elements. Young he appeared in the prime of health with a beardless chin and long wild hair the color of the summer sun. Yet his eyes were ancient beyond belief, immobile sapphire shining with the wisdom of empires. The Hammer was with him always, lightning and tamed storm rolling and forming. Weapon of war and instrument of making in once. The god sat on a golden throne in a magnificent palace torn from a dying world. Around him life bustled and a nation was managed. For what is an emperor without subjects? What is a symbol of hope without people to be inspired by it? Sigmar was and remained the uniter and the leader.
Which is what he softly laughed as they arrived on chariots of lightning and thunder. His companions in the eternal storm came to him in friendship. Red-maned and laughing hammerers rubbed shoulders with high minded bearded lords with scepters of gold and eagles on their shoulders. Many of them were kings on their own right, kings of gods, crowned in the glory of battle. Pride was their master even after their shameful exile and many boasted of deeds who made the First Emperor humble. Yet in the end they all failed.
Still he hosted their gathering and listened to them and talked to them, filling the universe with whisperers for they were the Crowned and the birth of kingdoms and empires and nations was their business, even in Azyr where strange colored stars shine on desert world and the music of the spheres is filled with the screeches of the zodiac.
He had been many things. He remembered them all.
He had been a barbarian once and laughed at the concept. Wild blond hair flowed on his steely muscles and the fires of his forge had tanned his skin copper. The halls of his father were of wood and even after eternities some part of him longed for the smell of meat burning in this heart. His gods were the gods of mankind, not the refined idols once worshipped by the Nehekharan. To them he offered bloody entrails and blood smoking on altars. He fed wolves in honor of Ulric and to him prayed for strength. He obtained him and became a strong man with wild eyes and strong hand. Orc and beasts learned to fear him as he hunted them from the lands of his tribe He had run with deers and caught fishes with bare hands. He had gained the friendship of the Dwarves in battle, breaking the greenskins who laid hands on their kings. For that the Hammer had come to his hands and so long it rested there the Dwarves renounced their claim. Never did they do that before, and never did they do that after until the world ended.
He had been an emperor once, surveying a young realm. The Hammer in hand he united the tribes and from them he drew a nation. He had learned to wield men as weapons, always respecting their sacrifice but never shirking from it. He had passed the crucible of war and the crucible of leadership and his crown shone bright. Crowds came to him and received visions of what they could be. Villages became towns and towns became cities. Laws were etched in stone and flame brought to the darkness. Ar-Ulric high priest of the wolf god set a royal crown on his head and a scepter was placed in his hand. Monsters he purged from the land and for fifty years he ruled.
The Empire of Man, so named because there was no other save the great realm of Cathay on the other side of the world, was his legacy. It endured the darkness, sometimes broken, sometimes decadent, but always a bulwark against the dark until it broke open and no place in the world stood face. Always, even in the darkest night, even in the brightest day of their hopes did its inhabitants forget: Their lord, their god, their father, had broken the skull of Morkar first of the dreaded Everchosen. He had slain for a time Nagash the Necromancer, first of his kind and lord of darkness to contend with the Ruinous Power. The Hammer shuddered in his hand. It too remembered when wielded by Emperors chosen among their peers it had tasted the blood of chieftains and champions, of captains and monsters, of madmen and prophets. Its image had seared the mind of vampires and made daemons turn back. Its lesser brethren, imitations in the hands of the priests, had served as torches against wildness and heresy.
Sigmar had been many things but from the many masks of his being one had emerged combining many elements. Young he appeared in the prime of health with a beardless chin and long wild hair the color of the summer sun. Yet his eyes were ancient beyond belief, immobile sapphire shining with the wisdom of empires. The Hammer was with him always, lightning and tamed storm rolling and forming. Weapon of war and instrument of making in once. The god sat on a golden throne in a magnificent palace torn from a dying world. Around him life bustled and a nation was managed. For what is an emperor without subjects? What is a symbol of hope without people to be inspired by it? Sigmar was and remained the uniter and the leader.
Which is what he softly laughed as they arrived on chariots of lightning and thunder. His companions in the eternal storm came to him in friendship. Red-maned and laughing hammerers rubbed shoulders with high minded bearded lords with scepters of gold and eagles on their shoulders. Many of them were kings on their own right, kings of gods, crowned in the glory of battle. Pride was their master even after their shameful exile and many boasted of deeds who made the First Emperor humble. Yet in the end they all failed.
Still he hosted their gathering and listened to them and talked to them, filling the universe with whisperers for they were the Crowned and the birth of kingdoms and empires and nations was their business, even in Azyr where strange colored stars shine on desert world and the music of the spheres is filled with the screeches of the zodiac.
