Irgech the Holy of Faith, Ravager

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Role

Chapter 4

For those who hated society, they sure talked a lot. That was Irgech's conclusion, as the voice of yet another tree person filled his ear.
What was the name, outsider... Out... Outlander. Yes, that was the word. He snorted, and the breath stirred the ash in which he sat.
Nothing but talk talk talk. Nature is strong. Cities are weak. Burn the cities, protect the trees. Join us.
All these words and more rolled over him, turned around in his mind with slow, methodical consideration. He could not understand it. What was so special about trees, really?
They were weaker than most, if anything. Couldn't fight back at all. Well, without help. That animated tree had been a bit of a fighter, but not for long.

Still, it was their insistence that they were just like him that irked him the most. They thought because they burned for a goal, they were, what. Kin? Comrades?
Rage sparked alight within him, the sudden will to destroy, and with it came the heavy pressure of the Lady's cloak upon his broad shoulders. Desolation. His one true companion.

He despised the Outlanders for their clouded vision. They treated the world as if there were some invisible line, that which should burn and that which should not.
The weakness of it gnawed at him like a rat in his gut. They had told him they were different, and so he had listened. But no. They were akin to every other place he visited.
They were weak. They were soft like sheep. They were... Limited, but they thought themselves otherwise. That was the true crux of his hate.

Irgech lifted his eyes, gazing around the still-smouldering scar he had made across this once pristine forest. The fire had no limits. The fire accepted no lines. He would show them.
So it was that when a lizard baring pearly fangs and calling himself the Chancelor stepped from the swirling ash and asked him which enemy he hated most, the answer was simple.
He hated the lot. But he hated those who swore they were like him the most.

Role

Chapter 3

Irgech stood knee-deep within the flowing magma river, gazing about himself with a sense of grim satisfaction.
He had made it here, at last, to the heart of the Conflagration's realm. He had heard much talk of the ashes of no where, but to his mind, this was foolish.
It was obvious to him that the ashes were some where, and that where was here. Though he rejoiced, he did not allow himself a smile. It was not his way.

He had followed the face in the fires here, and it was that face which seemed to stare out at him wheresoever he looked. Eyes like embers, a mouth like a furnace.
Overlapping the face, other images, his people, standing guard in the passageways of Kiadana. Those who had braved this land with him, dying like animals.
Gutted like fish.
He could feel the One Law withering, like a physical thing within his breast. That singular directive that had defined him, his people, the world. Withering away. Softening.
In desperation, in rage, he cast his booming voice into the hellish surrounds, not a plea, but a cry of devotion and challenge, of defiance and supplication.

The enormous humanoid that answered his call was not what Irgech had expected, but it spoke with the voice of the Goddess nevertheless. The pact made with the Cherufe was simple.
The power to burn the world, to sunder and break and rend was his, to bring the very world to ash. In exchange, he made his vow.
All that he surveyed, all that he was, all that he would destroy and make, would be tribute to Her. He would revive the One Law, the strong would rise above the ash, but in time they too would fall.
This unending crucible would be his offering to Her, and within it he would succeed where his people had failed.
As he walked from that place, desolation cloaked him in a shroud of ruin. It was time to begin.

Role

Chapter 2

With a roar like mountains falling, like a conflagration burgeoning, Irgech, Ograk, and Orcag leapt forward, an unstoppable avalanche of plated iron and sharpened weaponry aimed at the village's gate.
It was a stout piece of construction to be sure, numerous logs criss-crossed to form a sturdy bulwark. Irgech expected it to take several blows to fell, even from he and his companions. He was surprised therefor as the gates swung open.
The portal opening at their rampaging approach was shocking, but not so shocking as to penetrate the battle lust of Ugrak and Orcag. Their strides lengthened, and they plunged through the gates a step or two before Irgech himself.
These villagers were no fighters, true, but what they were was whalers. As Ugrak and Orcag made their entrance, great nets fell atop them like the hand of some outraged god, the weighted strands flooring them in an instant.
A flood of humanity poured between the buildings now, these pitiful, small creatures brandishing vicious harpoons and pronged spears. They fell upon the pinned giants, whaling impliments ringing off armor as often as they dug into flesh.
Irgech halted, aghast. As quickly as that their raid, the work of weeks was made into nothing. As quickly as that, the strength of the fire giants was little more than dogmeat.
It was an embarrassment, and bitter bile rose in his throat. He would not allow it. Irgech's massive hands settled upon the gate, and with a wrenching heave of his mighty shoulders, he dragged the barrier closed.
The wood ignited beneath his grasp, the rage felt throughout his frame spilling forth from his flesh. Malice and chagrin twisted his features as embers fell from where he held, tongues of incandescent flame leaping outward to catch the walls.
Irgech tipped his face back to the sky, and he roared aloud his denial, his fury at the failure of his comrades, the manifest failure of his people to be the strength they so espoused.
Did they simply hold Kiadana because if they were to leave, they would end up as Ugrak and Orcag? The very thought sickened him.
Answering his roar was a keening bellow all its own, the unquenchable avarice of flame set loose. Great gouts of flame seethed all about the village now, the wall turned from protection to enclosure by his will alone, or perhaps...
Through gritted teeth, through eyes gone slitted with hate and fury, Irgech met the gaze of a face seemingly composed entirely of the calamity he had wrought. The face smiled, a smile that promised ruin unending.
-----
When Irgech entered the village, it was to the soft crunch of ash beneath his boots, and the low crackling of fire not yet gone out. That face seemed to move with him now, a visage at the edge of his vision.
"There is only one law. There is only one proof. Let us make ash of it all, so that only the strong are left. In time they, I, shall be ash as well." He spoke this last to the face in the flames. "All shall be ash, even me. But today, I AM NOT."

Role

Chapter 1

The thrill of the fight to come raged unchecked through Irgech's veins. At his left and right, the low growls of Ograk and Orcag filled the air, the twin brothers acting as his comrades working themselves into the berserker's rage.
With deliberate motions, Irgech reached to his waist, the slow, metallic hiss of his blade coming free of the sheath allowed to punctuate the preparations. No fancy piece of iron, this. A guardsman's blade, for that is what he had been.
It had all seemed so exciting nearly two weeks ago now, when they had planned it. A raid at last, no more defending the tunnels of Kiadana, no more being satisfied with an intrusion pushed back or a temporary battle one.
No, these brothers were not his friends, for Irgech hardly knew the meaning of the word, but they were likeminded, and that was enough.
It was simple enough to plan once it began. All three guardsmen were assigned to the night patrol, it was a small matter to gather in out of the way tunnels and make their preparations.
The hardest ask had been a boat of any size, though once they had departed Mount Kiadana, a fisherman along the Arkham docks seemed more than willing to lend them his craft. After they removed his head, that was.
So they sailed west. Insubordination, certainly, but they would return not only with heaps of supplies, but also girded in the blood of slaughter. They would be welcomed back, of course they would.
The sea journey was not so simple as they had predicted. None of the three were any kind of sailor, and evidently it was not so straightforward as pointing the boat in a direction and rowing.
Once they were adrift in the boundless blue realm of the storm giants, every direction tended to look the same. For nearly two weeks they argued and fought, and most of all, they rowed. It was a relief to them all when land appeared ahead.
Things got marginally easier after that as they trekked along the coastline. This land was unfamiliar, but it was land nevertheless. Yet they found no people, no caches of riches, no stockpiles of food. Nothing.
Irgech had been the one to spot it, a thin trail of smoke wisping towards the night sky. They followed the plume to a low hill overlooking a large village, surrounded on all sides by a stout wooden wall.
Plans were made, weapons were sharpened, and they dined on the last of the meat they had caught here in this new land, some deer-like creature that had not been quite fast enough.
Through it all, jubilation bubbled in them. This was it. This was their purpose at last. Not to guard tunnels, but to rage unchecked.
For there was only one law, one commandment, one virtue. Strength. They would show the weaklings what that meant.

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