[Western Fantasy + Lord + Ten Thousand Races + Planes]
They call me Rhaegar the Skullcrusher, the great green-skinned warlord and conqueror of countless tribes. But I prefer another title - Lord.
My kingdom was not forged with glory, but with conspiracy, betrayal, and piles of countless corpses. I know very well that in this cruel land, after the passion of the so-called "Waagh!" (Orc war cry) fades away, only bread, steel and order can turn a group of stragglers into a real force.
I tamed the violent wolf cavalry into disciplined light cavalry, I drove the goblin engineers who were afraid of death to build terrifying war machines, and I made the shaman's spells no longer pretend to be gods, but precise artillery fire. I learned taxation and law from humans, and spies and poisons from elves, but I always used the most direct method of the orcs - those who obey me will prosper, and those who go against me will perish.
Now, my eyes have crossed the barren frontier. The fertile valleys of human dukes, the mithril veins of elven princes, the mountainside fortresses of dwarf kings... Will all be eclipsed in my shadow.
The road to the throne is a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood. What I love most is decorating my throne with the skulls of my enemies.
