Kolgrek the Preceptor of the Mauls, Imperial High Priest

Skill List

Role

Chapter 8

Control the narrative. That was the mantra that thundered in Kolgrek's mind with his every footfall. Control. The. Narrative.
It was a lesson he had learned well beneath the Lord's sheltering wing, and today the fruits of his labours would show it.
The exiled son did not return to Kiadana as a conqueror, as a foe to be repelled. He did not even return as an exile as such, crawling back to his people a shadow of what he had been.
No. He returned, head high, armor agleam, surrounded on all sides by the united might of the mountain's representatives.
His path was clear of guardsmen, as the fire-ogre captain strode to his left. Instead, it was lined with villagers and workers, miners and masons, hunters and servants.
They watched him pass along with their guildmasters, and they murmured uncertainly. No hostility, but rather a roused curiosity at the return of this long-lost heir.

Kolgrek paused for only a moment before the doors to his father's throne room, long enough to bow his head and offer a prayer. This would be the true test of all he had learned, all he had sought.
The great doors boomed back as they were shoved open, and then he was through. Surrounded by those he had cajoled, bought, and stole, he met Lord Kiadana's gaze for the first time in many years.
"YOU!" Instant rage, akin to the volcano beneath their feet erupting. His father was up out of his seat, axe in hand, veins popping from his neck and forehead.
"You dare to return here, BOY?" Thundering steps brought the Lord forward, that immense axe whirling, yet Kolgrek remained placid as a pond.
"This will be but a moment," he assured his guildmasters, for in this moment he knew he must give them the final missing piece to cement their loyalty.
Strength.

Armageddon came free of the scabbard with a rasp of bared iron, and then the two giants were joined in a dance to the song of war.
A dance lacking in grace, to be sure, with more resemblance to twinned mountains crashing against one another. Yet where the father once held dominance, now the tables had turned.
Kolgrek's grip was stone, wrought in a hundred battles within the Empire he called home. His every glance burrowed into the Lord's mind, spelling doubt and hesitation.
It was over nearly as quickly as it began, the uncertainty at last allowing Kolgrek to strike the axe from his father's fumbling hands, before the pommel sent him stumbling.
With deliberate care the son knelt, lifting the flaming crown from that aged brow and settling it upon his own. This done, he rose and faced his supporters.
"I have much left to do in the world. I will remain a King in Exile, yet I am the King in truth. This pretender shall wear an illusion in my absence."
"All shall appear unchanged, but you and I know the difference. YOU, my council, will rule through this puppet in my stead."
He turned his gaze to the defeated at his feet. "Let the lack of weight upon your head ever be a reminder."

Role

Chapter 7

"That's outrageous," Kolgrek stated flatly, gazing around the long wooden table at each and every glowering face.
It had taken him substantial time to convince the heads of Kiadana's numerous labor guilds to meet him here, coins and hours spent with equal aplomb merely for this moment.
Across from him sat the mining foreman, thick arms and grim face smeared with grit and grime.
Beside the head miner, spreading akin to wings at either flank, each fire giant in attendance was a testament to his profession.
The blacksmith, the cook, the leatherworker and the hunter, these and more, sat uneasily at this unobtrusive slab of wood.
They shifted restlessly, they grumbled incessantly, but they listened. The signet of Kiadana on his finger had ensured as much.

"Instead," Kolgrek raised his voice, trampling down the rising chorus of objections to his statement. "Instead, I am willing to raise wages by fifteen percent across the board."
Blank stares met his crimson eyes as he turned to each shareholder. He sighed. "More gold for each of you and your workers," he clarified.
"Whassa percent," someone murmured, though he could not see who. Across the table, the foreman spoke up. "We asked for a ten gold increase. You offer us this fifteen per?"
A genial smile twitched Kolgrek's lips upward, and as he nodded, he produced a heavy sack of coin from within his suit jacket. It made a VERY satisfying THUNK as he placed before them all.
"Fifteen percent," he repeated. "I am also willing to offer this hefty agreement bonus, and offer future reviews of each guild's operations."
Greedy eyes latched onto the sack and remained there, paying little attention to him now as he allowed the emotion to poison their minds, to make them more... Malleable.

"I accept on behalf of the Miner's," the foreman growled at last, reaching forward to take the sack.
"No, I ACCEPT on behalf of the Blacksmiths," came directly atop him, the giant to his left unwilling to be outdone as he lashed out to grab the sack. Soon it was one booming voice after another.
A thicket of hands grasped and fought over the sack, and as violence threatened to break out, Kolgrek rose to his feet and straightened his tie and kerchief.
"Gentlemen!" The Priest's bellow silenced them all, and without fanfare, he began pulling yet more sacks from within his inner pockets. "There is an agreement bonus for ALL who sign, not simply the first."
A heartfelt AYE went up as each giant received his gold, and at last, Kolgrek turned for the door. "I will expect your representatives at the river, tomorrow. Noon."
"It is far past time we built something better together. Something entirely... Ours." So saying, he departed, the newfound alliance a weight upon his shoulders.

Role

Chapter 6

Snowflakes did not so much fall as lash down from grim grey clouds, settling in a patina of rime upon armor that while polished, remained heavily dented by war.
The giant's trudging stride released a clang with every step as he climbed higher and higher, undaunted. Undaunted by this trial and yet, no less haggard in truth.
Kolgrek's broad shoulders held to a vague sagging of weariness, the lines of hardship etched even more deeply into his stony countenance.
To any observer who might see him climbing this mountain towards the shining palace above, he appeared exhausted, beaten down, battered. Not defeated, but certainly weathered.

Nearly in a haze from the trek alongside countless weeks and months of battle against the odds, he at last crashed to his knees before the altar of His Lord. It yet remained pristine, untarnished, as it always would.
It did not register to him that he prayed, so much as he bared his soul to the one he worshipped above all. Mourning came forth, of battles lost, of insurmountable situations along with those where he himself, failed.
Responsibility crushed down upon him like a mountain, tangled up with wounded pride and constructed atop the foundation of his flagging body, dealt fatal blows time and again.
No, he did not know he prayed. Yet the emotions flowed forth, in the form of an admission. The path was difficult, but he did not wish to swerve. He did not wish to be forced, by circumstance.

"I can help you," came the unflappable tone of his Lord, and the shadow of wings fell across the giant's towering physique.
"I can help you, to withstand this pain." Kolgrek nodded, stunned by the overpowering presence, as always. "I would accept any blessing You offer, my Lord."
A sharp nod from Rillan was all it took, servants pouring forth with lashes and clubs in hand to fall upon him like a great tree in need of felling. Blow after blow rained down, pitiless, merciless.
Visions of his father came back to him, beatings much the same delivered by that implacable hand. Though as it continued, this episode surpassed even that, his life beginning to ebb from him.
At the cusp of death, a haloed hand floated in his vision. "Take My hand." The command echoed down a long, long tunnel.
Desperate, bleeding, nearly broken, Kolgrek reached forth to take that hand. As Rillan lifted him to his feet, pain melted away, replaced by faith unbreakable.

Blood fell. Wounds tore. He felt it not at all.

Role

Chapter 5

The day a new Emperor was crowned began much like any other for Kolgrek. He awoke to the sounds of Imperial industry, and the bustle of civilization.
There was no fanfare as he roused himself from bed, falling first to his knees before the marble bust of Rillan to offer his morning prayers to the Great Lord.
This done, he slipped on each piece of heavy armor, metal, bone, and stone tightened into place over vulnerable flesh. Then he marched forth to join his comrades.

Though his footfalls were as steady as ever, his resolve as unassailable as the mountain where he was birthed, something wormed and nagged within him. Since coming to the Empire, he had found only pieces of what he sought.
The Great Lord was everything he had imagined and more, true, and His blessing burned as a fire within Kolgrek's breast. But the Lord's teachings were not something he had seen reflected in the Emperor.
The duergar was aloof, remote. Not so much a man of the people as a man apart. It was disconcerting, for the leadership was not that of his father, but equally flawed.
Though he wanted to frown, the giant continued to put on a smile for the citizens he passed, even if many seemed to initially flinch at the broad, brutish expression on his craggy face.
He was not... Satisfied, but even if others did not follow Lord Rillan's example, he would. Your superiors are to be respected and obeyed. Those words, again and again. His litany.

It was not luck, mere hours later, that set his world to rights. It could be nothing else but the Lord's grace made manifest, when the name of Neshamar rang throughout all the lands of the Empire.
"Long live Emperor Neshamar!" Booming from every towertop and every herald, the clarion call of a new ruler to sit the Imperial throne.
The former Dread Lord was everything he had ever hoped to be, devout beyond measure, a paragon of civilization.
A terror to their enemies and yet, an uplifting hand, a bolstering presence among the people of the Empire. He wore the Lord's teachings as his own flesh. That Dark-elf, it could be said, was something of his hero.

So it was that with doubts quashed and pride rekindled, the King in Exile fell to his knees before his new Liege, bowing his head and raising his voice.
"What is your will, my Emperor," the priest rumbled, reverent and at last, pleased.

Role

Chapter 4

Frosted winds whipped all about him, tossing the thick lengths of his coppery braids about and setting the adorning trinkets to jangling. Each servant who passed him spared him not a glance, not a word.
They had become used to him here, kneeling in patient repose before the altar of the Lord. Above him loomed the palace itself, astounding in its opulence, and around him sprawled the manicured grounds.
Kolgrek's crimson eyes traced once more over the tenets set down in glimmering gold upon the stone. So elegant, so simple, one into the next until the culmination.
The unbroken chain of logic struck a cord within him, a burning ember within that had kept him warm even in the unforgiving climes.

Yet it could do nothing for the chill which stole up his spine, which clasped a clammy hand about the nape of his neck, as a shadow fell over him at last.
Darkness swept a tenebrous shroud across shining gold, lending an ominous cast and picturesque contrast in equal measures, and a command without voice lifted his chin.
The Lord was magnificent, more than he had ever anticipated. A glory of the midnight sky, a predator's grace married to the poised hauteur of a king of kings.
"Why have you come to me?" The question was clear, precise. Though the words were gentle, underneath lurked steel and surety. That voice was the purety of music, the clarion of command, the comfort of an extended hand all in one.
Words spilled from Kolgrek's lips akin to an onrushing tide, all the odd twists and turns of his life laid bare before that darkest star. At last, he admitted what he wished. He spoke of a father, and of a crown.

His failures were plain to himself, and to the god before him. He had seen the path, but lacked the tools to walk it. Yet the will, yes, the will, he had in spades.
"Kneel," commanded the Lord Rillan, reaching out a single talon to rest upon Kolgrek's forehead. There was pain, oh yes, agony, but what else had he known?
As the god's gaze held his own, awareness expanded within his mind and soul, glimmering threads stretching out across the surroundings. Each found a servant, a gardener, a butler, the silvery threads of their wills thrumming to his mental gaze.
Potential hummed along those filaments, and with a shaking hand, he found he could reach out and twist them. Tweak them. BREAK them.
The giant bowed low, humbled once more before his god. "I go forth in Your name, my Lord. We will break them."
Bodies had always broken before his strength. Now minds and wills would, too.

Role

Chapter 3

Kolgrek sat back, rubbing his eyes vigorously with finger and thumb.
It felt as if he had spent a decade here, hunched over these too-small tables, crammed into these too-small chairs, within the library of Hamsah Mu'tazz.
Of course it had only been a few weeks, but his body and indeed his mind ached.
Yet in defiant opposition, or perhaps in spite of such, his soul soared, light as a feather, buoyant with certainty and newfound knowledge. He was not alone.

Before him lay a single great map, the edges held down with pile upon pile of books. Across the paper, bold crimson marks spanned every continent, every road, every city and village and town.
The date of the parchment was old, and indeed the map also included in a lighter shade of ink the current territories of the same organization, much reduced and yet still dwarfing his father's kingdom by far.
The historical tomes heaped all about him told the missing piece of the story. They spoke of Emperor's mighty and cruel, proud and powerful, thoughtful and wise. Indeed, these and all things inbetween.
There were periods of weakness, true, when rebellion reared an ugly head, but they were few and far between. Each time they were met with a coup, swift and true.

Running through each and every record was a current, lurking just beneath the surface and just beyond his reach. Something fundamental that spelled years of progress unhindered by disruption.
Countless Emperors walked all manner of different paths to ascend the throne, and under many of them, the Empire continued to roll onward like a well-oiled construct, inevitable and implacable.
The why of it all continued to evade him, slipping through his mental fingers like a greased egg, slippery and just as delicate.
Here lay the key to rulership. Here lay those who knew more of the secret he had uncovered. If he was to take the crown successfully from his father, his journey began there.
Heavy steps carried him north, to swear service to yet another crown. Yet in time, the king in exile knew, he would have his own.

Role

Chapter 2

When Kolgrek awoke, it was to sweat-soaked sheets and a pervasive ache across his entire body.
Opening his eyes was the greatest effort. He was in his chambers, sprawled upon his own bed, yet it all felt disjointed and unreal.
Numbness warred with spasms of pain at his extremities, a cold and feverish sweat poured from him in rivulets to slick all and sundry in foulness.
At last, like a leviathan surfacing, his last memory came back to him, and as if in reply, the poison yet lingering within him seemed to flare with newfound vigor.
It was not the pain or the possibility of his still looming death which held his attention, however. It was the sight of a pair of war-torn, battle-hardened, unstoppable hands. Shaking.

There was plenty of time to think over the next several weeks as his body did battle with the invader. For the first several days he could hardly move, and after only in short bursts.
So while his body could not, his mind wandered far and wide. The path always began at those shaking hands. His father's end had been but one drink away.
Where so many had failed and failed badly, a single woman with a cup had nearly succeeded. It baffled him. His father had culled rebellion for years and years.
Rebellion had not stopped, the coups had not stopped. If anything, they had become more dangerous, refined by repetition and the lessons of their predecessors.
No, he suspected his father's efforts had been misplaced, addressing the symptom where he assumed he had been addressing the problem. What his father had accomplished was little more than slowly, inexorably, digging his own grave.

The enormity of Lord Kiadana's failure loomed in his mind ceaselessly now, the once impenetrable bulwark he had assumed his parent to be now a crumbling, cracking facade. Should he share his concerns?
Would his father listen, if he did? A single phrase floated at the edge of it all, and it was that phrase which held his tongue. "Come here, boy."
No, he would not share this precious realization. It was his, now. It was a spark to be fanned.
Wheezing with every labored breath under an all-concealing cloak, a month after his near fatality, he slipped from the mountain he had called home.
Intense eyes turned towards a distant shore, and in search of a place to nurture and grow his realization, he set off towards Hamsah Mu'tazz.

Role

Chapter 1

Assassination, to the mind of Kolgrek Kiadana-Rah, was inconvenient in the extreme. Not unexpected, truth be known, but inconvenient all the same.
Since he was but a boy, attempted coups had come and gone like clockwork. Miners with sharpened tools in their hands, disenchanted with their working conditions deep below.
Fungus harvesters with clippers raised, furious at how little of the food they collected they actually saw. Hunters, spears braced and still bloody from the game they had felled, but would never have.
Yes, his people were as fiery as their birthright, yet one and all these attempts ended just as they began. In blood.

If the coups were clockwork, Lord Kiadana-Rah was the inevitable pendulum swing. Each uprising was not only stopped, but crushed, eradicated, erased. His people had ever valued strength, and his father had a seemingly unconquerable amount.
Entire families fell before the reaping of his father's wrath, the brute force savagery of the retaliation enough to quell such thoughts, for a time. Until they rose anew.
Thus, the inconvenience. A decline in ore produced meant less coin to the coffers. Less food gathered meant smaller portions and lean years ahead, particularly for the youngest of the Rah line.
He hated those years, he truly did, though they seemed merely a product of life, an unavoidable sequence stuck on repeat.
Until that night, he had never considered that someday, one of those coups would come very close to succeeding.

Smoke and the rumble of voices lay heavy upon the dining hall deep within Kiadana, the Lord and his most trusted holding court over platters of roasted meat and tankards of ale.
Tonight was of particular import, the dark-elf emissary sitting at his father's left hand looking as out of place as one could. As yet another tankard was placed before him, Kolgrek's father turned to her once again.
"Learned a bit a bout you dark-elf folk," Lord Kiadana boomed, clasping his cup. "See how well I learned, eh?"
The emissary smiled, though the expression did not reach her eyes. "Of course, gracious Lord," she murmured. "I shall offer corrections and answers as I am able."
"Come here boy." Lord Kiadana's arm snapped out, pointing directly at Kolgrek. He was up in an instant, one did not deny his father when commanded lest one suffer the lash, or worse.
His father reached out, placing his own cup within Kolgrek's uncertain grasp. "Drink," came the order. Blinking, he did drink, a full draught of cool, refreshing ale.
A mere moment passed before the agony began, a virulent, seething terror rushing through his every vein. Foam bubbled at his lips, and as a final spasm took him down into blackness, he could do naught but watch.
"Learned enough," his father growled, and yet one final detail registered before unconsciousness came. His strong, scarred hands, were shaking.

Immortal Comments

Immortal Comments

PK Gank-O-Meter

PK Statistics

Title History

PK Wins

PK Wins

PK Wins

PK Wins

PK Deaths

Leveling History

Timeline

Mob Deaths

Edges

Flaws

Racial Edges

Class Edges

Edges