Stories of the Generals (2025)

All texts are taken from the game

General Lord Horatio

General Toril

General Alyssa

General Leo the Hunter

General Sasaki

Enemy generals

Akechi, The Iron shogun

“Warrior’s path winds,
Beneath cherry blossoms’ shade,
Honor’s face is masked.”

From the heart of the Sunrise Kingdoms, where cherry blossoms dance in the wind and the warrior code of Bushido is law, emerges a formidable figure: Akechi, the Iron Shogun.
A man of sharp contrast, he appreciates the tranquility of bonsai trees and the artful expression of kabuki theater. Akechi appears refined, his words are elegant and subtly cruel, insults and mockery carefully veiled behind the veneer of politeness. Yet, behind this façade of cultured sophistication, resides an ambitious warlord whose understanding of Bushido has been twisted by a lust for power. To Akechi, the path of the warrior is one of ceaseless battle and conquest. His distorted beliefs have spurred on brutal Samurai invasions of neighbouring realms, justified by a deluded sense of honor and duty.

Akechi’s presence is formidable, his tall frame radiating a potent mix of strength and speed. His strikes, like his words, are swift and powerful, the calculated precision of a man who claims to be honorable. Yet, when threatened, he is known to cast aside his principles, unafraid to resort to dishonorable acts if they serve his agenda or preserve his life.
His rivalry with the moderate General Takemura has been long-standing, a game of strategic maneuvering and power plays for the future and soul of the Sunrise Kingdoms. Less well-known but just as fierce are his games of Hanafuda with the honorable Oba-san. Despite all strategy and cunning, Akechi has yet to best the elder matriarch in this battle of wits and will.
Yet, it is Sasaki, the Ronin Warrior, who poses the greatest affront to him. Her decision to abandon the Sunrise Kingdoms in defiance of his rule is a wound to his pride that has yet to heal. Her victory over him in combat is a scar on his honor that stings with every remembered blow. Akechi is prepared to repay Sasaki tenfold. Harakiri will be too easy a death for the honorless traitor.
His aggression has not gone unanswered. His clashes with Toril and Horatio of the Great Empire were fierce, and his attempts to invade the Storm Islands were thwarted by the tenacious Alyssa. Despite his setbacks, Akechi is relentless, fueled by a grudge that runs deep and a determination that’s frighteningly resilient.

Behind the curtain of politeness, in the silence of his bonsai garden, Akechi plots his next move. For him, the world is a stage, and he is both the actor and the director. Those who cross him best beware, for the Shogun’s revenge is a play written in the ink of blood and tears. For Sasaki, his former protégé, he dreams of a fittingly tragic finale. For himself, he dreams that his name becomes a whisper of dread that lingers long after his armies have retreated.

“An autumn leaf falls,
In the silence, steel whispers,
Betrayal’s cost paid.”

Baba Varjúka, The Dread Matriarch

“Fair turns foul, and foul turns fair / the foolish remain unaware / Soon, our nemesis despair / our rule they shan’t forbear!”

Amidst the nobility of the Empire, a corrupt cabal casts a long, dark shadow. This is the sinister world of the Bloodcrows, led by the Twisted Matriarch, Baba Varjúka. A distorted reflection of the Empire’s nobility, she is a perverse parody of the grandeur and honor they embody, replacing these virtues with deceit and treachery.
Baba Varjúka may hold the appearance of a noblewoman, but the cruel glint in her eyes and the venom in her words reveal a nature far from honorable. She moves among her enemies with the grace of a highborn lady, her words dripping with veiled threats and hollow courtesies.She embodies deceit where others bear honor, treachery where others engage in noble combat. Every utterance from her lips carries the potential for betrayal, every seemingly innocent gesture a precursor to a lethal strike from the dagger hidden behind her back.
Her followers, the Bloodcrows, are the shadows within the Empire’s nobility, a grim specter of its corruption and decadence. They are cunning predators lurking in the darkest forests and untamed mountains, emerging from the shadows whenever weakness is detected. They draw power from forbidden rituals and dark magic, twisting the essence of life itself to extend their influence and reach. The Bloodcrows are the bloodied talons that clutch at the Empire’s heart, drawing strength from its lifeforce.
The rumors whisper of Baba Varjúka’s blood magic, providing her with a semblance of eternal youth, though her countenance betrays the terrible cost of such sorcery. In battle, she is a cunning predator, preferring to flank her enemies, lay traps, and employ deceit over face-to-face combat. Only a foolish general would underestimate the cunning crow and her fanatical followers.
Old tales suggest that Baba Varjúka once had a hand in the upbringing of the young prince who would become the Emperor. Yet, Horatio, ever the protector even as a young squire, managed to sway the prince from her toxic influence and banished her from court. Since that day, Baba Varjúka has harbored a deep enmity for Horatio. Her animosity also extends to Leo, who has persistently hunted her followers through forests and mountains, and to Valenta, a priestess of the sun order who has led the charge against the spreading influence of the Bloodcrows.
Despite the terror she instills, and the dark power she wields, Baba Varjúka serves as a grim reminder. She symbolizes the price of unchecked ambition and the cost of dark desires. Her twisted visage, despite her claims of eternal youth, bears the scars of her vile magic. Yet she remains, a dark specter in the Empire’s core, a reminder that even in the heart of civilization, the siren song of ambition can lead to darkness.

Grimbert of House Ursidae

“Let the strength of Ursidae surge through the veins of Berimond!”

Amid the strife and chaos of Berimond, a warrior of raw power and unparalleled vigor stands against the tides of war – Grimbert of House Ursidae. The sigil of the bear, rendered in striking blue, encapsulates his indomitable strength and the daring nobility he earned through blood and valor. Grimbert, with his burly form, flaming red hair and rough features, is often mistaken as a mere brute, yet beneath this facade lies a cunning mind capable of surprising the most adept of tacticians.

Renowned for his direct and relentless approach to warfare, Grimbert believes in a show of power to crush his enemy’s will. His thundering charge on the battlefield is likened to a bear’s ferocious attack, eliciting both dread and respect from allies and adversaries alike. Grimbert’s war doctrine resonates across the battlefields of Berimond, “In the heart of a bear, strength and valor make their home. We do not wait – we act. Our roar resounds and our strength is undeniable.”

His rivalry with Leopold III of House Gerbrandt is legendary. Grimbert perceives Leopold as a snobbish and over-refined aristocrat, whose claim of rulership only stems from the name of his ancestors instead of his own deeds. Berimond needs direct and decisive rulership, not flowery words and empty pomp! Tales of their clashes resonate across the realm, their bitter disputes often unfolding in the most unexpected of places – from the heart of Berimond’s battlefield to the green meadows of the Great Empire, and even to the cobbled streets of the imperial capital itself! Yet whispers also speak of rare nights where the two kings, battered and bruised, share a drink in the dim light of a secluded tavern like old comrades. One might wonder to what degree our rivalries inspire us … Of course, both kings proclaim these rumors as nothing more than vile slander.

Unbound by the chains of tradition, Grimbert carries an unyielding belief in the potential of Berimond. He envisions a kingdom reborn in the glory of the present, discarding the shackles of the past.

The Bear of Berimond charges ahead, unyielding, and when the moment is right, he seizes victory with a might akin to his namesake.

P.S.: “Perhaps if Leopold spent less time grooming his mane and more on the battlefield, he might pose a real challenge!”

Leopold III of House Gerbrandt

“Let the roar of House Gerbrandt echo through the heart of Berimond!”

In the war-torn realm of Berimond, a figure of regal bearing and unyielding resolve stands firm – Leopold III of House Gerbrandt. The sigil of the lion, etched in vibrant red, speaks of his fierce courage and the royal lineage he fervently claims to uphold. Whispers among his men speak of a savage lion’s attack, its mark on Leopold’s face a constant reminder of his battle-hardened past. His feline features and regal bearing mask a mind of both calculating ambition and finely controlled rage.

Masterful in his approach to warfare, Leopold exercises a lion’s patience, preferring strategic maneuvers to brute force. Yet, when stirred to anger, he strikes with the ferocity of his house’s sigil, leaving foes quivering in the wake of his wrath. The battlefield reverberates with Leopold’s maxim, “In the heart of a lion, patience fuels the fire. We bide our time, yet when we strike, our roar echoes and our power is felt.”

Leopold’s disdain for his rival, Grimbert of Ursidae, runs as deep as the history of Berimond itself. He views Grimbert as nothing more than an uncouth upstart, a blemish on the noble face of Berimond, as well as a personal annoyance. Citizens and nobles alike report having seen the rivals brawl and duel, even in the streets of the imperial capital. Yet rumors persist of the two kings occasionally being spotted together at a tavern’s most hidden table, covered in bruises yet sharing a drink like old comrades. One might wonder to what degree our rivalries inspire us … Of course, both kings proclaim these rumors as mere vile slander.

Yet, Leopold’s commitment to tradition and his unyielding belief in his birthright fuels his fiery resolve to preserve Berimond’s past glory against Grimbert’s ambition for change. Leopold III stands as a beacon of the old world, a staunch defender of his kingdom’s proud lineage. The Lion of Berimond waits, watches, and when the moment comes, he strikes with the full fury of his namesake.

P.S.: “If Grimbert put as much time and effort into ruling as he does to seeing the bottom of a beer barrel, perhaps Berimond wouldn’t be in such disarray!”

Nukh’raia, the Otherworldly Marauder

“From a dimension far removed from our comprehension, a formless shadow emerges beyond the veil of reality. Bathed in a pulsating purple light, a manifestation of an otherworldly threat materializes. These are the Strangers, mirror images of us, yet corrupted and disquieting. Their existence is a paradox. Leading these entities from a realm beyond the reach of our understanding is Nukh’raia, the Otherworldly Marauder.

Nukh’raia is a grotesque inversion of a general, a chilling corruption of the human form that disturbs as much as it frightens. Their presence causes the bravest of hearts to quiver, as though reality itself buckles and shivers under their cold, calculating gaze. The barbed weapon they swing, a warped echo of earthly arms, slices the air with a precision that’s bone-chillingly mechanical. Each swing is a harbinger of terror and despair. Survivors of encounters with Nukh’raia whisper tales of a being as cold as the deepest winter and as merciless as the decay of time. No sound escapes from the Stranger’s General, no emotion betrays their mask-like face. Silent and impassive, they command their swarm with an unspoken will that’s as absolute as it is terrifying.

Cold, efficient, relentless – the Strangers under Nukh’raia’s command know no reason or negotiation. Their attacks on the Empire are executed with ruthless precision that’s soullessly mechanical. Borders of kingdoms, pleas of diplomats – all are meaningless in their icy gaze that sees only opportunities to dominate and to spread the insidious taint of the Otherworld. Their castles, suffused with an ominous purple light, stand not as testaments to grandeur, but as harbingers of a dread that taints the land. Every tower, every wall, is a macabre echo of human architecture, radiating an unnerving blend of familiarity and alienness.

Yet, despite the relentless horror that the Strangers represent, hope is not extinguished. The inexorable passage of time, an unyielding force in our realm, appears to be their sole adversary. After an onslaught, the Strangers are banished back to their enigmatic dimension, their sinister castles dissipating as if they were mere illusions. But the cold certainty of their return looms like a persistent nightmare. As long as Nukh’raia exists, peace is but a fleeting dream, a moment’s respite in a reality forever stalked by the Otherworldly Marauder. Their objectives remain an enigma, their desires unknowable. Nukh’raia does not divulge their thoughts to mere mortals. And if they did… perhaps the truth might be more terrible than ignorance.”

Olafsson the Barbarian King

“Where the weak cower, the strong take. I am the strongest.”

North of the Great Empire, where the biting winds of the Everwinter Glacier howl through frozen fjords and icy mountains, rules a king as harsh and unyielding as the land he commands: Olafsson the Barbarian King.

A boisterous bruiser and a warlord of unyielding cruelty, Olafson’s philosophy is simple: the strength of one’s arm and the edge of one’s blade determine one’s worth. With a booming laugh that rings across the icy tundra, he leads his Northmen in thunderous charges and lightning-quick raids. His axe, a fearsome weapon as cold and merciless as the northern winds, has cleaved many a foe in two. The villages in his territory bear the brunt of his harsh rule, reduced to destitution under his oppressive regime.

However, not all northmen bow to Olafsson. Warriors such as Barin reject his reign, standing tall against his tyranny. Barin, considering himself the true embodiment of northman strength, refuses to bow to Olafsson and his rule. This conflict within the northmen ranks further fuels the fires of Olafsson’s wrath, his icy glare forever fixed on his defiant subjects.

Olafsson’s foes are not confined to his frost-bitten realm. On the high seas, his longships clash with the pirate fleet led by the elusive Alyssa, the fierce naval battles lighting up the frosty northern seas. In the snowy wilderness, Olafsson must also contend with Leo the Hunter, a master of guile and sabotage, who has thwarted Olafsson’s campaigns time and again.

His greatest adversary, however, lies at the heart of the Great Empire. Veteran General Lord Horatio, the stalwart protector of the Empire’s northern marches, has repeatedly rebuffed Olafsson’s attempts to raid the Empire. Their bitter enmity is as relentless as the frost, their conflicts echoing in the winds that sweep across the icy tundra.
Yet, in the unforgiving cold of the Everwinter Glacier, Olafsson remains undeterred. His axe, as biting and cruel as the winter winds, is always ready to carve a path through friend and foe alike. After all, in the harsh north, only the strong can truly rule.

Sultan al-Killah, Despot of the Burning Sands

“Every grain of sand in this desert knows my name. Soon, you will too.”

In the sun-drenched kingdom of the Burning Sands, beyond the Great Empire’s southern border, one man rules with an iron fist and a heart as cold as the desert night. That man is Sultan al-Killah.

This cruel and vain sultan holds the Burning Sands in a tight grip of fear. He takes what he desires without hesitation, his greed only matched by his arrogance. The jewel of his eye, his treasured emerald collection, is a glaring testament to his vanity. But for a long time, a most precious gem has eluded his collection: the fair Princess Fiorella, a maiden from the Great Empire.

As an adversary, Sultan al-Killah is not a foe to be underestimated. A skilled tactician, he thrives on cunning strategies, employing hidden traps, deceptive ambushes, and the treacherous terrain of the desert to confound and weaken his enemies. The towers and fortresses under his rule are formidable, their sturdy walls reflecting his unyielding determination. Meanwhile, his forces, ruthless desert warriors, are as unpredictable as a sandstorm, launching sudden and devastating assaults.

The sultan’s refusal to bow before any emperor speaks volumes about his audacious nature. He views the authority of the Emperor as nothing more than a fading mirage in his desert kingdom. The independent trading cities of the Burning Sands, under the Emperor’s protection and refusing to submit to the sultan’s reign, are a thorn in al-Killah’s side, fueling his disdain and ire. Yet, his ambitions towards the free cities are constantly thwarted by a formidable adversary: Hassan the Engineer, a loyal servant of the Empire. The architect behind many of the defenses protecting the free desert cities, Hassan’s architectural brilliance is a constant hindrance to Sultan al-Killah’s ambitions.

In the scorching heat of the Burning Sands, a daunting adversary awaits. To cross swords with him is to court death, but then again, isn’t that what makes the game of power all the more thrilling? For in the desert, as the sultan himself knows too well, even the smallest grain of sand can tip the scale of fate.

The Robber Barons

“Many names, many faces, but one dark purpose – greed knows no bounds.”

As one navigates through the rugged landscapes of the Great Empire, scattered castles and towers dot the terrain, their menacing silhouettes stark against the skyline. Not the bastions of justice, but fortresses of fear, these are the domains of the Robber Barons.
Whether cloaked in the darkness of the woods, nestled in mountain crags, or lurking in the foggy marshes, the Robber Barons command from their ill-gotten keeps, their eyes always hungry for the wealth and lands of others.

Names like Bolko, Gamareth, and Karasek have been whispered among the subjects of the Empire, each name bringing with it a chill of dread. But the name matters not, for the purpose is singular: to plunder, to seize, to dominate.

Many of these opportunistic warlords flocked to Wolfgard the Flayer’s banner during his reign of terror, finding in him a kindred spirit of ruthless ambition. And even after Wolfgard’s fall, the remnants of his dark legion continue their vile deeds, now under the banner of the Robber Baron General.

The Robber Barons remain a constant, unyielding threat to the prosperity of the Great Empire. Yet, the Empire’s loyal subjects and brave lords and ladies stand firm. They refuse to bow to the lawless plunderers. Their courage and valor serve as a beacon of hope against the endless tide of the Robber Barons. For they know that unity is their strength, and determination their shield.

The Robber Barons may represent the cruel and relentless force of the Barons, but the Great Empire holds stalwart heroes of its own, ever ready to meet the challenge, ever willing to protect their realm.

Ushkal, the Thunder of the Steppes

“Hide in your fortresses, cower behind your walls. But know this, you are merely a small creature atop a high tree, trembling as the tide sweeps away all beneath. We are that flood, and like water, no force can hold us back!”

From the mysterious lands beyond the Fire Peaks, from plains unseen and untamed, comes the formidable figure of Ushkal. The loyal general of the Great Khan leads the nomadic hordes through the continent, their horses hooves like thunder, their determination as unyielding as the mountains themselves.

The nomads under Ushkal’s command are as restless as the winds that sweep across their unseen homeland. They recognize no borders, no confines of kingdoms and empires, only the endless expanse of the world that stretches before them. They are creatures of freedom and fierce independence, taking what they need and going where they please. Their paths are drawn not by the lines of maps, but by the allure of the horizon and the beckoning of the unknown.

A titan among warriors, the formidable nomad general is a sight to behold. His favored weapons, a swift scimitar and sturdy round shield, are handled with strength and grace, relentless and unstoppable like a stampeding herd. Yet, Ushkal is no mere brute. His strength is matched by a sharp strategic mind, skilled in the arts of both offense and defense. His warriors are experts of the charge and the flanking attack, striking with the ferocity of a sandstorm. The camps they establish are akin to fortresses, heavily defended and fiercely protected, a testament to Ushkal’s understanding of a well-rounded defense.
For all his martial prowess, Ushkal is also a man of honor. Diplomats are treated with respect, and guests are greeted like kings, welcomed to partake in the nomads’ feasts with bowls of fermented mare’s milk and plates of juicy yak roast. His adversaries, including Lord Horatio, have found no fault in his hospitality, nor in his honor, even amid the trials of conflict. In fact, it is said that some of the Empire’s finest pieces of art have been inspired by the nomads’ intricate craftsmanship, their creations admired and prized throughout the land. And what stone-hearted knight or lady would not be moved to tears by the tragic and epic throat-singer ballad, “Flight of the nomad princess”.

But make no mistake, behind the honor and the feasts, the nomads are warriors to their core. They traverse kingdoms as they please, taking what they want. Any opposition is met with the thundering charge of the horde, trampling all resistance under their might. The steppes are free, and so are they. And anyone attempting to curtail their freedom will feel the full fury of Ushkal, the Thunder of the Steppes.

Wolfgard the Flayer

“Every fortress has a weakness. Every defense a crack. The wolf waits and watches, and then strikes without mercy.”

Years ago, he was just a whisper, a cautionary tale from the Great Empire’s turbulent past. Wolfgard the Flayer: a cruel and cunning man, a traitor who once stood among the highest-ranking generals of the Empire, only to turn his back on his duty for the sake of ruthless ambition.

Wolfgard’s eyes gleam with an unnerving, predatory intelligence. His wolf-like grin and sharp features are a chilling testament to his brutal nature. With a broadsword in one hand and a dagger in the other, he strikes with a ferocity that has earned him his fearsome moniker.

In the Empire’s bygone days, Wolfgard was a scourge that spread fear throughout the land. His brutalities were infamous, as was his cadre of bandits and villains. The Weasel, his loyal henchman, and others like him razed villages, spread chaos across the green lands of the Empire, and even kidnapped noble maidens. But Wolfgard’s ambition led to his downfall: after a defiant stand against his tyranny, his forces were scattered, and Wolfgard was exiled from the Empire he sought to bring down.

But nightmares do not die; they simply lay low between dawn and dusk… From the depths of his exile at the fringes of the Empire, Wolfgard watched and waited, plotting his return. Gathering a motley army of bandits and disloyal soldiers, the nefarious warlord prepared to unleash an onslaught that would shatter the Empire.

His return from exile sent shockwaves throughout the Empire. Wolfgard’s brutal assault on General Horatio’s fortress forced its loyal guardians into retreat. Yet, the cunning wolf would not reign victorious for long. Horatio regrouped and led the armies of the Empire’s mighty lords and ladies against the bandit army, forcing the wolfish traitor to retreat once more. But even in defeat, Wolfgard’s threats hung heavy in the air: “Don’t cherish your victory, Horatio! You have not seen the last of me! You and your rotten Empire will be ground down to dust!”

The Empire celebrated the wolf’s defeat, yet amidst the cheers and jubilation, Horatio and the lords and ladies of the realm remained wary. Wolfgard’s ominous threats still echoed in their ears. The Empire must remain vigilant and united against this relentless predator.

For the cunning wolf bides his time until his victim shows signs of weakness… and then pounces!”

Yigris, Lady of the Flames

“They call this place a wasteland, but it’s merely the crucible from which the future will be forged.”
To the east of the Great Empire, the landscape drastically transforms. Mighty volcanoes dominate the horizon, their fiery hearts spewing grey ash and streams of lava. Dominating this harsh landscape are the mighty towers and fortresses of the dragon cult, guarded by the fiery beasts themselves, their dark and forbidding magic controlling these dreadful creatures of legend. Amidst these volatile lands, one woman rules with ruthless certainty: Yigris, Lady of the Flames.
As lean as the dagger she wields with deadly precision, Yigris’s quick wit and biting mockery can sting as much as her poisons. Her razor-sharp grin is a constant reminder of her capacity for cruelty, a testament to her unwavering commitment to uphold the cult’s ruthless rule. She is a woman of great ambition, not content to dominate only her volcanic realm. Yigris has grander plans. She seeks to undermine the Great Empire, to rot it from within, to bring it to its knees.
A bitter betrayal marked Yigris rise to power. She and her cousin Toril were raised to be the cult’s leaders. But where Toril chose to escape the cruelties of the cult, Yigris betrayed her cousin and stabbed her with a poisoned blade. While Toril escaped with her life intact, Yigris rose to rule the cult unopposed.
A lean woman with short hair and a face as sharp as a razor blade, Yigris rules with a wicked grin and a dagger as quick as her tongue. Her barbed humor is as lethal as the poisons she expertly crafts. Unafraid to employ dark and forbidden magics, she wields her power with deadly precision, aiming to undermine the Empire and corrode its foundations.
Despite her power and the terror she spreads, Yigris has made enemies of her own. Her cousin Toril, now a fierce warrior of the Empire, seeks vengeance for Yigris’s betrayal and strives to end the cruel reign of fire. Their conflict is personal, a clash of blood turned bitter. The ronin warrior Sasaki, ambushed by the cultists during her journey from the Sunrise Kingdoms to the Great Empire, remains another potent adversary.

In the desolate reaches of the Fire Peaks, under the brooding gaze of dragons and the watchful eyes of her cult, Yigris plots. She will stop at nothing to ensure the fall of the Empire, to watch it crumble and burn, just like the lands she so proudly commands. As the Lady of the Flames, Yigris is a force to be reckoned with. Those who dare to challenge her better learn from Toril’s mistake… and watch their back…

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