"My life ends here, upon this island, with nothing but the empty void to avail me in this final act. Gargth has slain my sons, has slain my wife. He has surfaced to translate my sins into palpable tragedy. Enough I say, enough of this nightmare. By this campaign's end, I will finally know peace."
Emperor Rainald XII the Broken
Race: Man of Rhedrinnor
Known Racial Abilities: The Men of Rhedrinnor are a bastard breed of humans, descended from the controversial mix of human and Elven blood. Though whilst Half-Elves often bear the mixed qualities and flaws of their respective parents, the Men of Rhedrinnor have become diluted to the point that they are far more human than they are Elf.
An extended lifespan, enhanced senses and a peculiar grace bless these Men. As such, they are considered superior to the average human, and this is something they flaunt at every given opportunity.
Age: 191
Renowned Skills:- Monster Slayer: The Emperor knows his way around the world's monsters. Indeed, he spent his youth killing them, and building his reputation as a renowned hero. His monster-lore is an invaluable tool when confronting the horrors of the world.
- Broken Mind: This man is beyond fear and temptation. He has but one goal, and no magic or form of persuasion can sway him from his personal crusade. Woe to any that try. He fears neither pain nor death, and no foe, no matter its origin, can stumble his cause.
- Master Swordsman: In his youth the Emperor was a legendary warrior that few could match in toe-to-toe combat. Though he has seen many, many winters since his glory days, he is still an adversary not to be underestimated.
Magic:- A Heroe's Luck or a Villain's Curse: There is something divine about Rainald, though he bows to no God of men. He has a bizarre luck about him, something that seems to be protecting him, preventing him from a simple death on the battlefield from some nameless adversary. Call it Fate, call it Divine Guidance, but it would seem Rainald's life has a predetermined outcome.
Weapons:- Redeeming Edge: A large bastard sword, heavy to wield but devastating on impact. Crafted from Rhedrinnon Steel, it is near-unbreakable, and can stand against its greater cousins. It was made at short notice, by the nearest smith that could forge such a weapon, and the Emperor spared no expense in its construction. Though simple looking, it has been masterfully made.
- Wrath: The Emperor's right hand is encased in a heavy gauntlet made from four-inch thick Rhedrinnon Steel. Though it weighs him down on one side, and impedes his movement, he is able to use it as a literal wrecking ball. A favourite weapon in his younger years, it looks daft on him now, but one would be unwise to belittle an old man caught in the grip of a sorrowful rage.
Armour: Like his sword, and his gauntlet, the Emperor's plated armor is composed of Rhedrinnon steel. Whilst it makes him almost impervious to edged weaponry, it by no means absorbs solid impacts. He is a titan of ragged muscles and steel, but he is not unstoppable - especially if his aged heart can't keep up with him.
Steed: Gilden, a great Swan. White to the point of glowing, Gilden can be described as beautiful, almost heavenly. Such creatures are native to Rhedrinnon, and are vicious things in combat. Able to shoulder great weights, the Swans of Rhedrinnon make some of world's finer aerial mounts.
Bio: In his youth, the Emperor was famed across the realm of Rhedrinnor as the heroic and mighty Crown Prince. His was the very projection of Old World might and splendour; a muscled juggernaut of black steel and fearsome determination, who would march selflessly from one quest to the next, slowly curing his homeland of the evil that periodically assailed it.
From Vampire Lords to Troll Warmasters, the Crown Prince was always mercilessly quick to track down his adversaries, with a troop of his father's Moon Guard at his back, and bring his wicked prey to swift justice and retribution. All Rhedrin menfolk stood in awe as his colossal status grew with each heroic victory, and all of the Rhedrin womenfolk wished their lives away wilfully that he may grant them his favour.
The Emperor's tale of grand deeds and epic sagas of justice was not to last however, and one tragedy befell him - and his House - after another.
His father and mother were first assassinated by Blarg the Great; a dark wurm, spawned from the sin of some bastard necromancer. Blarg fired Rhedrinnor's capital, smoting the mighty metropolis in a single day, and all of the Emperor's men were powerless to stop him... all but one.
Arriving late to the battle, but just in time to see his father's Palace immolated by the wrath of Blarg, the Crown Prince screamed in rage. He surged forwards upon his mighty Swan, though his Moon Guard buckled and abandoned him in his greatest hour of need - and this mighty man thus faced one of the greatest threats that Rhedrinnor had ever known, by himself, and with no man or woman to call kin.
The Battle of the Prince and the Wurm is a song known across the Moonsong Alliance, and it elaborately relates what is perhaps the greatest feat of a traditional warrior going toe-to-toe with something beyond his ken. Though whilst the song is short and beautiful, the reality was far different. Through a mixture of chaos, luck and perhaps something more, the Crown Prince delivered a fatal strike to the wurm's black-beating heart after an hour-long running battle. Horribly burned and in great pain, the Crown Prince raced to the Palace, but found it a smoking ruin that none survived. His brothers, sisters and his parents had all perished.
It is said the Crown Prince's strength failed him at this, and he broke into a sobbing lump of charred flesh and battered armour. Indeed, it took most of his Moon Guard to finally haul him away from the fires that threatened to envelope them all.
In the aftermath of Blarg's demise, Rhedrinnor was in bad shape. Half of her royalty and gentry had been obliterated by Blarg's fire, and the capital - and the seat of Rhedrinnor's power and wealth - lay in blazing ruins. For centuries the country had stood as a bastion of strength, and in a single day, and at the whim of a necromancer, its heart had been torn out; a mortal wound seemingly dealt.
Taking his Imperial Crown, Rainald wasted no time in launching the Necromantic Inquisition. What followed was a brief dark age, and the start of the Emperor's bloodiest chapters. Thousands of citizens from across the Rhedrinnor Empire were imprisoned and tortured to death on the merest suspicion that they harboured dealings with the necromantic arts. The Inquisiton would go on for some years, until Rainald finally relented in his fruitless search for the bastard that had summoned Blarg, and brought death to both his kingdom and his House.
With the bodies of his Inquisition's victims still warm, the Emperor was forced to confront a sudden and destructive Orcish revolt from Rhedrinnor's southern-most provinces. Enraged that his subjects would attempt to gain leverage whilst their country was reeling from Blarg's assault, the Emperor immediately rallied his armies and marched to meet the rebels.
Though out numbered six to one by the Orcish hordes, Rainald triumphed in a string of crushing victories, that saw the rebel forces collapse. Outraged at their hubris and their disrespect, Rainald made it illegal for Orcs to live in Rhedrinnor, and given that they could not simply move to another nation, he was effectively giving his nobles, commanders and other leaders of men all the permission they needed to move in and exterminate their Orc subjects - and take their lands for themselves.
And as Rainald's genocide raged in the south, the northern provinces succumbed to yet another Troll invasion from the Arcan Mountains. Gathering his battered army, the Emperor travelled north, and gave battle at Arcton City. He was again victorious, and his increased bloodlust led him to mount a horrific campaign in the Troll's home territories. The Arcan Mountains wailed for months with the screams of Troll children and women.
Horrified by Rainald's increasing brutality, something that had never been endorsed by his forefathers, the nobles of the Empire, and the Senators and the Prefects all mounted their own rebellion. Rainald came forth from the Mountains ahead of an army that had come to worship him, who saw him as something more than just a man; he was something terrible and divine, but also something mighty that had to be followed unto death.
The civil war wrecked the Empire's central heartlands, and lasted decades, until finally Rainald was able to fire the last rebel city - 50,000 men, women and children trapped and burned alive. He emerged from the rebellion mad, and broken. He had killed so many of his own countrymen, that he did not recognise himself anymore.
It was on the road back to the capital, that Rainald took his horse aside, drew his mighty bastard sword, and cast it into a ditch. Looking at his questioning men, he simply stated "no more can I do this butcher's work; let a stronger fool embark on this folly."
What followed was a time of peace and progress. The Emperor reformed the Senate, and gave it powers that equalled his own. He invested the Empire's dwindling coffers on civil projects, creating sewers and hospitals in the surviving population hubs, and then embarked upon a quest of great social and land reform.
Serfs were freed, and given land; slavery outright abolished. Minor revolts followed this, but this time Rainald dispatched his own commanders to handle the situation, with orders to be as gentle as possible. Many still died however, as is the way of things. Regardless, the Emperor's reforms brought more happiness than misery, and many were starting to forget the sins of his past.
Having courted and married Sereni, the Elf Maiden of House Crysglarde and perhaps the most beautiful woman the world over, Rainald was blessed with twin sons. Entwined with more Elven blood than their father, these boys would grow into fine young men with bright futures. The Emperor rested then, for his Empire was on the way to being rebuilt, he had a Queen he loved and adored, and two sons that would carry his name beyond the span of mortal years.
Unfortunately, Rainald's happy ending was not to be. Word reached him that the island nation of Everstrine had come under siege from a powerful wizard, a certain Gargth the Fallen. The reports stated that Gargth had accessed the fabled Shadow Realm, and had become mighty as a result. At a whim, this fallen wizard could create a legion of fearsome creatures with souls blacker than the night.
The Emperor saw something in Gargth's sudden appearance... something that reminded him of a marble city encased in flame, of a tumbling Palace and a great big black terror hounding the skies above.
With the leaders of the Moonsong Alliance calling for a general muster, Rainald decided that he was perhaps too old and too rusty to lead the charge, and that his sons, greater warriors both, should take his place. They were both honoured by his decision, and left immediately. Queen Sereni had begged them not to go however; had begged the Emperor to recall his order. The Emperor ignored what he saw as "womanly rantings", and bid his sons farewell, and saw them off as they joined a great host of the Alliance's mightiest warriors.
"You will not see them again, my Lord," Sereni had said, her face awash with tears and grief.
And she was right. They fell in the first Armarda, torn from their ship by a great wave - a wave sent forth by the all encompassing power that had become Gargth the Fallen. Rainald refused to believe the news at first, but eventually, as the days passed, he had to accept that the impossible had happened. Fifty thousand soldiers, wizards, clerics, sorcerers - the whole lot - overcome and slain by a single man.
Sereni, racked with inconsolable grief, threw herself from a balcony and died shortly thereafter; and as Rainald cradled her bloodied lifeless form in his arms, he wept. He screamed. He roared. The world had taken from him everything, and given him only bitter memories and a fractured conscience.
An hour after the Queen had been laid to rest, Rainald was donning his armor - not worn in decades - and calling for a sword. His advisors and generals urged against his folly, but Rainald paid them no heed. He dispatched summons to the leaders of the Alliance, and convened the second Council, whereby he convinced them to amass a second - yet smaller expedition.
Successful in convincing the Council on organising the expedition, Rainald made preparations for the Empire's rule in his stead - should he not return - gathered his regiment of Moon Guards, and sailed forth to find what peace he could.
