As some of you make your way to the siege encampment outside the walls of Duskendale, while others, already arrive settle in for another long night amongst its guttering torches and myriad cookfires, you pause to think on what brought you to this point. Some of you crossed oceans to be here while others hiked barely twenty miles. You’ve come for different reasons, some seeking the king’s favor to advance your station, or to restore a title that was lost to you. Some are merely curious to see these otherworldly royals up close and find some affinity, still others seek to secure riches, establish trade, or resolve some other business, long in the making.
Behind the walls of Duskendale, a king sits in chains, being ransomed for rights that couldn’t possible justify the foolishness of the attempt. And while the smallfolk of the city remain eerily quiet, the bustle of the encampment grows daily as petty lords, hedge knights and ambitious squires pledge their swords to the silver haired Prince and the golden haired hand that rule the kingdom from tents in the mud.
It is an hour after sunset on the tenth day of ninth month of the 277th year since Aegon’s Conquest, the very end of a brief summer, and you are all in good health.