[center][h2][b]26 July, 1910[/b][/h2][/center]

A clear, bright day in the nation of the Tsuljin Khanate. Nary a cloud marred the sky as the squealing of train brakes sounded through the busy station. Several insectoids, each carrying two rifles, stepped off the train, clearing a path through the crowd. Once they had done so, another wasplike person stepped off the train. They surveyed the crowd, looking for their driver.

After a moment, the crowd parted with some scuffling and muttered swearing, to reveal a small column of three open topped cars, each with a contingent of six greenskins marching in stiff lockstep on either side. In two of the cars sat more greenskins, clad in crisp, starched uniforms and staring straight ahead, showing nary a trace of emotion. In the front car sat a Kudruni driver, similarly emotionless, and behind him sat the delegate of Tsuljin, smiling warmly. The soldiers standing by the sides of the second car parted, and two of them knelt, gesturing to the car. 

Wilem, the prince of the Reich, son of the Kaiser, stepped off the platform, walking through the clearing in the crowd. He made his way to the motorcade, entering the second car. Wasn't his driver supposed to be Kudruni? Whatever the case, it would only hurt matters to make a fuss, so he kept quiet. The Kudruni soldiers that came with him piled into the cars surrounding him.

Making no sound, the drivers of the cars shifted their vehicles into gear, and ponderously set off. At first, things went normally, the column of soldiers walking in front clearing the gathered crowd with minimal difficulty, though shouts and jeers abounded. A mile passed in relative ease, the shouting eventually fading into a dull background roar. There were bigger concerns lying ahead - the imposing limestone fortifications of the central citadel, dating back three hundred years, loomed ahead. Within them lay the task of treaty enforcement - it was crucial for the stability of the region, the wellbeing of Rotteburg, that Tsuljin not unite with their neighbor, or be subsumed into the wider expanse of Uruk.

A decade ago, the Reich had intervened, their armies marching westwards and forcing the signing of the original treaty - Tsuljin and Ushro would swear not to seek unification, nor to be annexed or in any way controlled by the looming behemoth of the Uruk Empire. Today the treaty would be renegotiated, ensuring stability and peace in the region, and a chance for Rotteburg to continue to grow strong without greenskin threat to the we-

An abrupt, lurching jolt brought the middle car to a halt, a deafening crack echoing around the square, and the car sagged slightly, one of its wheels now rolling aimlessly about. The axle had snapped, somehow, and many of the soldiers guarding the vehicle tensed, almost imperceptibly. After a moment's pause, the driver sighed, hopping out from his seat and scurrying underneath the car. A stream of muttered curses followed, too fast and muffled to make out. 

A minute passed with minimal movement from anyone, before an officer of Tsuljin stepped forward, inclining his head slightly towards Prince Wilem, and gesturing to the front car. "If it please your majesty, we will be continuing without this car." He bowed his head once more, and stepped aside. 

Wilem simply nodded, allowing the door to his car to be opened. He stepped out, looking around.

A commotion stirred within the crowd, a few more muttered curses, and a single yell - out from the crowd burst a wild eyed troll, brandishing a large revolver. It happened in the blink of an eye - the troll's eyes locked onto the prince, and he grinned maniacally. "Death to tyrants!" He shouted, and fired, one, twice, both bullets slamming home into the gut of the Prince. Immediately, over half of the greenskin guard turned, planting bayonets into the necks and stomachs of the Kudruni soldiers, and the crowd exploded in a cacophany of shrieking, shouting, and fighting. Many surged forwards, tackling the young assassin, but many more beat them down, rushing forwards in a wall of flesh, surrounding the prince and his entourage. 

The Kudruni portion of the entourage -- what was left -- yelled warnings into the crowd, and when they did not back off, the officer in charge ordered the soldiers to fire at will. In the panic, the soldiers immediately opened fire, each with both of their rifles. Bodies began to fall as the crowd attacked the entourage and was shot and stabbed in return.

The shots served only to enrage the crowd, and many of those who had tried to shield the wounded prince turned to flee, or joined the tidal wave of greenskins. Thousands poured in, where one fell dead, a hundred joined the throng, kicking, punching, clawing, goring with tusk and tearing with teeth. The prince, bleeding out his life's blood, was pulled from his guard by the mob, and they began to do the same, wholly out of control by this point. He was kicked, mauled, his stomach opened with the tusks of a troll, his arm shattered in the grip of five more. The crowd screamed and shouted, jeering at him - he would die here, there was no doubt of that. 

Upon losing the prince, the officer ordered the remaining soldiers to throw their stick grenades into the crowd, in one last desperate attempt to disperse them. The soldiers obeyed, throwing the grenades into throngs of people inbetween their shooting and stabbing. The grenades went off, sending fragmentation into the greenskins.

Screaming, crying, and howls of pain rose from the crowd, the explosions tearing bloody swathes through the crowd, and for a moment, the crowd withdrew in shock - but their anger resurged, and they fell back on the soldiers with twice the fury of before.

Gradually, the shooting went silent as the soldiers were picked off. Silence fell upon the square as the magnitude of what had occurred seemed to sink in with all around. The eerie stillness blanketed the air, the sun shined on, the clouds dared not to marr what had before been a beautiful day.

Of the assassin there was nothing to be seen. Perhaps he had been trampled in the crush of bodies, perhaps spirited away by quick thinking countrymen. His work was done, in this life, or whatever next life there was, he would know that. 

By the end of the day, news of the event would cascade around the world, and the die were cast.