The Seeds of Vengeance

Beginnings.

Russia, the mighty nation that stretched across Eurasia, has long been dead. Time and time again did Russia piece itself back together, only to be shattered once more. Under the boot of the loathsome Teuton was Russia broken and trampled upon. Both Great Wars resulted in the same outcome. Russia laid fragmented twice over, petty squabbles and warlords destroying their country and countrymen for any scrap of power. But the Russian people prevailed. Cobbling itself together once more, the mighty Russian nation stood and faced their greatest enemy eye to eye for a third time. The Near-Victory of the First Trial, as brave and tenacious as those soldiers were, were thrown back from the gates of Moscow and Leningrad and cut down like wheat by Teuton weapons. Countless millions have been destroyed by the enemy in the West. Once more did Russia fall to pieces, once more did the Russian people combat themselves, the lands under assault by it's very own children. We watched from our fortress, those who were once our comrades tore into each other like rabid dogs, fighting for whatever scraps that were within reach. From our fortress, we quietly prepared ourselves as Teuton bombs rained down upon us. For as mighty as our enemy may be, the will of Russia stands forever unbroken, unwilling to bend to any oppressor. Under the Black League, Russia would find its revenge, the might of Russia found in the cold, uncompromising determination of it's people. From Omsk, we would destroy the corrupt, short sighted dogs of war, come together as one, and march west to destroy the beastly Teuton once and for all. Though, we were naïve to assume that the greatest evil was found just within the Teuton, but it is also found in the Russian as well. For all of our preparation, we were too shortsighted to realize that our very own kind may be just as willing to bring destruction to Russia just as our great enemy. From the west, the Regent rose, and Russia wept.

Only in Russia would insanity find a following, the decades of conflict and poverty weighing heavily on the soul of each individual with the misfortune of calling these lands home. The Armies of the Regent marched East, and the Black League was their first opponent. We fought masterfully, bravely, and to the last breath. A ferocious battle for survival stretched across the Ural Mountains, the Great Trial we were promised seemingly coming early as we fought bitterly against the forces of madness. Thousands upon thousands of men lay slain, their blood pouring into Russia's soil. No matter which side they stood on, they were Russia's sons, and they would soon be reclaimed by the very soil they were birthed from. The Hordes of Insanity were too numerous, our machine guns cutting through them like a scythe against grain, only for the gaps to be filled with more bodies. We fell back further, and further, until we were too few to stand against the Regent. Plan Hydra was our retreat, what remained of us disappearing into the night, into the vast forests of the lands, or into bunkers deep below the Earth. Those in hiding in the forest resisted the madness, being hunted down by the Regent's lackeys, and fought with all they had. The vast, empty lands of Central Russia became their new home. In the bunkers, we waited with bated breath, awaiting an opportunity to rise once more. Years passed. The hunger, the suffering, the tears and blood shed only further hardened us in the face of pain. In the face of our Great Trial. Above our heads, the Regent's insanity would be unleashed in it's fullest extent against Russia. Thousands more would die for the slightest infraction upon an oath of madness, as vast swathes of land would turned to wastes with the most hateful weapons man has to offer in order to flush out any resistance to the Regent. The World watched as even though Russia was under one banner once more, it clawed and bit at itself, pleas for help drowned out by wails of agony and sorrow.

Though, the ultimate test of strength is to match the pace of the unstoppable march of time. The Regent's State, despite of the bloodshed, toil, and suffering expended to ensure it's survival and the return of it's king, could not stand upon the foundations of insanity when faced with time. It was the doing of no hero, no outside force, no rogue battalion, but time which unraveled the Regent's mind, and shattered his empire. As soon as such news reached us, we would resurface and come to face the horrors that he left. Although time, the greatest enemy of stability, may heal all wounds, what was left of Russia would take countless years to recover. The landscape scarred, the land poisoned, clean water and food exceedingly rare. Forests stood as an uncountable field of charred, dark poles amidst a dark gray field. Wildlife was a rare sight, and when it did come into sight it was likely suffering just as much as the men and women who still lived in these lands. Millions lay dead, their rotting corpses saturating and corrupting the soul of the land. Russia was broken once more, having faced the apocalypse. Her body forever scarred and mutilated, mauled by it's people as she lay poisoned upon the Earth.

But the people of Russia, no matter how terrible the circumstances were, still lived. It was here that was decided that Russia would not crumble, it would not fade away as the world moved on from the tragedy that was the Russian nation. Rather, through the decades of suffering, Russia will come back stronger than before. To rise from the poisoned, scorched lands, to piece together it's broken people once more, it would defy the World's expectations and rise to challenge it's greatest enemy once more in one last battle. The lessons of the Regent's rule were unimaginably harsh upon the Russian people, and the knowledge gained was that Russians, too, were an enemy in the Great Trial. Bloodshed once more must come to these sorrowful lands in order to purify Russia, and prepare ourselves against our last battle against the Teuton. The cycle of history soon repeated. The Black League shall redeem itself. From it's fortresses our grasp soon stretched from Kamchatka to Onega, our armies marching across the corpse-ridden plains and mountains of Eurasia, standing tall and defiant as the globe bore it's weight on their shoulders. Now, our eyes turn west. From these shattered lands called Russia a fire inside burns brighter than the sun itself. The hateful flame is cast alight, built upon decades of hunger, bloodshed, tears, and pain. Shoulder by shoulder, the unstoppable armies of the Black League shall march over the corpses of the Teuton, the Great Trial approaching by the day. Brother and sisters of the Black League, of Russia, our VENGEANCE awaits.