It has been five months ever since the coalition fractured.
The Tarnstead capital was completely cut off from the rest of the world. Krax's battalions had severed the supply lines weeks ago, leaving the isolated city to starve.
Inside a lavish estate within the city's upper ring, the stark reality of the siege was painfully obvious. The gold-leaf chandeliers still hung from the ceiling while the velvet curtains remained pristine.
However, the lords and ladies gathered around the grand dining table looked gaunt and desperate.
Novus sat at the head of the table. He wore a tailored silk doublet bearing the colors of a local merchant guild. He casually swirled a goblet of red wine. Hawl stood right beside him in understated leather armor, crossing his arms and watching the room.
