Ordrath Vox-Iron

Ordrath Vox-Iron once believed disorder could be cured. What remains of that belief is frightening because it still sounds reasonable. His camps are swept, counted, rationed, patrolled, and arranged so every human choice appears as a defect waiting for repair. Ordran recognises the nightmare inside its own virtue: roads, rolls, and public safety severed from conscience until obedience becomes the only language left. Drazakar recognises the strength, because prisoners, workers, officers, and frightened towns all move efficiently when argument has been made impossible. Ordrath smells of hot iron, clean latrines, chalk, grey soap, wet wool, and smoke from kitchens that feed men who are not free. He does not rage. He corrects, and that is why his correction terrifies.