A World of Darkness
The Ironclad province was in ruins, but its people no longer wept. They had witnessed the power of Draegor Nyx—the Tyrant—and they did not know what to do to resist it. The remaining rebellion were shattered, their leaders crushed beneath the foot of his desire. When Draegor's troops marched through the province, the road they left behind was scarred by charred villages, abandoned houses, and the silent murmurs of broken men.
But all of this was familiar to Draegor. Destruction, and terror, and surrender were initial maneuvers of conquest, but not final. Actual power, true power, was not in what was to be shattered—it was in what was to be possessed, commanded, mastered, and made to obey his will.
From the halls of Dravenhold to the limitless expanse of the countries beyond, Draegor's dominion stretched—slowly, cumulatively.
His armies brimmed with mercenaries, formerly sworn foes, and new enlistees who had seen his power firsthand. Gossip of his victories spread like fire through kingdoms and provinces, whispered in the taverns, shouted from the rooftops above conquered cities. Some feared him. Others adored him. But all respected him.
And Draegor knew that obedience, in the end, was a fragile thing. Fear held only for so long. To rule, truly rule, one must build something more lasting.
The Council of the Strong
In the center of Dravenhold, Draegor called forth his most loyal lieutenants. The moment had arrived for a new kind of leadership, one that would shape the fate of his empire—not through fear alone, but through calculation, diplomacy, and relentless control.
Zaelith, ever the strategist, stood in front of a great map spread across a long wooden table. It was blanketed with symbols, scrawls, and arrows following the lines of Draegor's growing empire. It was not merely a roll of cities and provinces—it was a map of authority.
The Ironclad Province is ours," Zaelith announced, his arm sweeping across the border. "But beyond that, we face the threat of the Silver Watch. They hold the northern passes, and their soldiers are well-trained, their tactics honed over centuries. If we push south towards them, we risk getting ourselves embroiled in a protracted war.".
Seraphis stepped forward, talking softly. "The Silver Watch is strong, but they are by themselves. They have enemies to their east—tribes that are waiting only for an opportunity to strike. If we pull the right strings, we can make them battle each other."
Draegor's ears were attentive, his fingers steepled before his face. "A good plan. But we won't wait to have someone else inform us of the tempo of this war. We must act swiftly, before they can do anything in response."
Varek, always the practical fighter, cracked his knuckles together. "My thought is that we attack quick, hard. Hit at their supply lines, raid their border fortifications, and make them feel our wrath. The sheer fear will cause them to stumble.".
Draegor met Varek's glare with an unwavering, unblinking stare. "Fear is a weapon, not a foundation. A swift win may silence them for a time, but it will not last. I have no need for temporary wins. I will have their surrender—complete and absolute."
Zaelith raised an eyebrow. "And how do you intend to do that?"
Draegor's eyes spat with wicked humor. "By finding their weak point and capitalizing on it. We don't merely win—we break them. Their own pride is what will kill them."
The Silver Watch and the Road Ahead
The Silver Watch, a powerful and ancient military order, had ruled the lands to the north for generations. Their armor was as famous as their discipline, and their leadership was unbreakable. To face them head-on would be a test that Draegor would not soon forget. But he had never been one to turn from a test.
"First," Draegor continued, "we'll send envoys to the eastern tribes. We'll offer them an invitation to fight for us, with the promise that if we win, they will have dominion over the north if they stand with us. With their support, the Silver Watch will be caught between two fronts."
Seraphis tilted her head, considering the options. "The tribes will not fight for us willingly. They need more than offers—something to rally to."
Draegor grinned wickedly. "Then we make them fear us. A demonstration of strength."
Zaelith nodded reluctantly. "You're going to prod the Silver Watch first."
"Right," Draegor affirmed. "A goading, a challenge. We strike at an important outpost, one they hold dear. We kill their warriors, but leave enough of them alive to carry word back to their masters. We will show them that we are not just a threat—they will learn we are their downfall."
The air was thick with the silence of Draegor's words. Everyone knew where he was leading them. It was a path of shadows, blood, and ambition. But Draegor's vision was powerful, and his will was unbreakable.
Building the Empire
As Draegor's plan came together, the machinery of his empire really began to shift into high gear. The Ironclad Province was in his firm control, and his legions were already pushing beyond its borders. But he did not rush. His army, great and powerful as it was, still needed time to become stronger in solidarity and discipline.
The men in the villages and towns that were now subject to Draegor labored day and night. Men who had rebelled against him in the past now labored for him, building roads, fortifying buildings, and preparing for the future campaigns. But Draegor understood that loyalty needed to be developed.
His officers were the first to see his methods of governance.
Zaelith and Seraphis were sent to govern the conquered provinces. While they were adepts at war, Draegor also insisted that they become masters of ruling a people. His empire would be built upon fear, sure, but it would also be built upon the loyalty of those who saw Draegor not just as a tyrant, but as a god who could grant them security in a world that was perpetually on the brink of disaster.
Varek, on the other hand, was busy commanding minor raids on the outer provinces, probing Draegor's foes and measuring their reactions. Each raid, each skirmish, was meticulously planned to instill terror and uncertainty. The soldiers and warriors who were under Draegor's command had to understand that losing was not an option.
Draegor's eyes turned to the distant mountains in the north—the domain of the Silver Watch. He had yet to strike, but the time was near. He would not sleep until the world was under his control.
Draegor soon would uncover the flaws in the armor of the Silver Watch. He would find their weakness. And when he did, they would fall.
And with them, the world would tremble at the might of the Tyrant.