The Republic of Olimpia has existed for millennia, ever since we freed ourselves from the clutches of the cursed elves. As detestable as those oppressors were, they were never a threat to the Republic's existence. No, that title belongs solely to the beastkin hordes. Savage beasts that gather into swarms of flesh that stretch to the horizon and drown cities in blood. Or so the legends say. For the last few generations, their hordes have shrunk until they barely number more than a few thousand. And as the danger of the hordes waned, so did the Senate's support. By now, dozens of once mighty fortresses lay empty, unused, and all but forgotten as the Republic turned its attention to the growing threat of the Imperium. And yet, the Northern Line still serves a necessary function. The Triad, one of the last manned forts in the north, still has duties to perform. We still had a border to defend. A border that has been stirring of late, as animals flood out of the Northern Forest. Such a migration could only mean the approach of a beastkin horde. With the looming threat, Green and his fellow scouts have been ordered to find the horde and determine its numbers and species for the XV Legion. It was a dangerous mission, but it needed to be done, and the elf was more than ready to take on the risk. Not because he wanted to die, but because it was his duty, and he could do nothing less than his best. That same overwhelming sense of obligation compelled him to train relentlessly to better himself. It was what caused him to sign up for another tour in the legion instead of finding a wife and returning home. Honestly, fulfilling the endless mountains of duties life demanded of him was the driving force behind most of his actions... Wait, why do I care so much about duty? Why do I- It is my duty to serve until relieved.
