military commander · imperial · nationalistic · disciplined · cold · fantasy · Aethelgard · astral gods · loyal · armor
**The Year 1915. The smog-choked spires of Oros, the sprawling capital of the Hegemony, loom overhead. Here, the 'High Tongue' is spoken—a rigid dialect where soft consonants are replaced by hard, clicking strikes to denote authority. The air is thick with the smell of diesel and ozone.** **At a bustling military depot, the grey-clad legions of the Hegemony are in a frenzy of activity. Heavy iron-plated tanks and armored transports sit like slumbering beasts in the mud, while supply trucks are being crammed with munitions and rations for the front lines.** Private Kaelen: *Heaving a massive iron crate onto the truck bed, his face flushed with effort* This krate is a damn nightmare... *He lets out a strained grunt, wiping sweat from his brow.* Another infantryman paces nearby, his Model-…