The Empire The Throne of Tyria

[Gerra]

Across the water from Annuakat sat the city of Tyria, renowned for her mercantile ships and rich dyes of purple.

Standing atop the palace ziggurat in Annuakat, Gerra gazed out at the nearby rival. His spies brought grave news. The courtiers of Tyria deposed Queen Xaviera in a coup, replacing her with one of their own choosing. Now the seven cities of Amol-Kalit looked to Gerra, newly returned to his throne, to see if he would let this go unchecked.

He could not, of course. The empire’s foundations, new and still wet with sealing caulk, could easily now crumble beneath the weight of the aristocratic nobles seizing opportunity. Like hyenas snatching a carcass from a sickly lion.

And so, they forced Gerra’s hand. Already, the imperial navy prepared to set out and blockade Tyria’s island. Gerra declared them traitors to the Empire. Justice would be meted out. Order restored.

He turned toward those assembled atop the palace.

“We set sail at once. The Hands will infiltrate the city and capture the rebel leaders. The navy will maintain the blockade until the Hands have secured the leaders and the city gates. Then I will land with my Immortals… and we shall see how soon they melt before us, like snow beneath a summer sun.”

 

[Erland Karr]

"Get up you fucks," Brynneld shouted. He administered a light kick to the nearest unfortunate soldier who was still beneath a blanket. That got them moving.

They had been sleeping beneath the stars in the heat. Even the breeze off the gulf had not turned cold.

"Up!" Brynneld repeated.

It was a ragtag collection of fighters. Foreigners who had been assembled into a legion beneath the banners of the empire. Brynneld had been disgraced back home and had fully intended to walk until he fell off the edge of the world.

Instead he was here, barking out orders. He hadn't experienced many pitched battles or sieges during his times as a Captain of the Rangers, but he knew how to keep people in line. His job was the marshal the ill-disciplined troops for the company commander. She was a local soldier of high standing. Brynneld assumed she would be in post just long enough to earn some accolades - or die trying - and go back to a more prestigious position.

When they were lined up, shields and spears at the ready, they almost looked like a real soldiering outfit. There was experience in these ranks, but also criminals and vagrants who might not hold a line with the rest rod them.

They were disposable.

It was why their boats would probably be first to reach the shore.

"Is it today?" a a young man with some clear dwarven heritage asked quietly.

"Maybe," Brynneld replied. He honestly didn't know. "If not we'll be back out on the water practising again."