The man who would be king rose from nothing. The son of a cultist, raised through the military, born again in battle and guile, that young man suffered terrible loss early in his life. He swore he would never trust, never love again. True to his word, he played every angle, used every side and every faction there was, slaying all who could stop him until the crown was on his head. That man had a grand dream: he dreamed, as all good kings do, for the salvation of his people. But the toxicity of his sins and the weight of his crown was such that dream was lost. Practical matters came to be: his people needed vengeance, and so he went to war. Those he betrayed demanded vengeance, and so he isolated himself. Those he commanded fared vengeance, and so they betrayed him.
It was into this world the man who would become Mad King was truly born.
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It was into this world the man who would become Mad King was truly born.