The dominion of the Emerald Imperium is, to put it mildly, vast. So large, in fact, that conducting a simple census is a near-impossible task spanning decades. The Imperium’s territories are so numerous and varied that the most educated of the populace at one end of the empire is unaware that the other end even exists. The Imperium blooms off into infinity from one, central point: The harsh realm of Strigal, where non-natives can survive mere days, and the native population only perseveres because of the intervention of The Empyr, who saved Strigal countless years ago using his deific array of powers.

The Empyr harnesses the power of the oppressive Strigali Crystalum that choke the air with radiation and render the land devoid of magic to pursue a neverending quest to prepare the Isterica for the second coming of The Old War by uniting all the worlds under the Emerald Banner. The Native peoples of Strigal and many of the conquered realms beside undertake The Empyr’s mission with a zealous fanaticism so extreme it often trespasses even beyond he realm of the religious.

But the Emerald Imperium is, as I have said, is vast beyond imagination, and grows ever larger. Its armies, bureaucracy, mythos and legends are equally expansive. So vast that I, The Observer, have borne witness to a thousand harrowing tales from both the Imperium’s denizens and enemies, all worthy of their own telling. For now, I shall begin with one.

The Imperium’s war to conquer the sprawling world of Myril is dragging on. The conflict has entered its 5th year, and it has been a bloody 5 years indeed. Despite the hundreds of thousands of Imperials marching to dominate them, the peoples of Myril have repelled them at every turn.

A world where failing to practice magic is the exception rather and the norm, and 10 immortal individuals of vast experience protect the land, Myril is one of the few civilizations able to resist the Imperium’s might. Against all odds, Myrili forces killed one of the Imperium’s infamous 6—now reduced to 5— and drove out the elite forces he commanded.

But when the Empyr resolves to take a realm, they will not be denied. The resources of Myril are limited, those of the Imperium are… much less so.

And so another massive wave of troops—one of The 5 at their head— is sent to bring the uppity world to heel. Among them is Amaira, one of a few thousand Strigali natives sent to aid the war effort. High on the promise of another glorious conquest, and with the hope of distinguishing herself enough to become a lauded Praetor, Amaira is positively chomping at the bit to begin. Not-so-fortunately for her, a twist of fate lands her babysitting duty for a handful of non-Strigali troops: An ambitious blowhard high on dreams of his own, a weaselly scrap of a man with a decidedly non-weaselly past, a mop-headed woman with a can’t-do attitude, and a tired-eyed fellow altogether too fond of his favorite black shawl. All of which have been marked for their considerable potential, a judgement that consistently confounds Amaira.

Beyond these distractions, Amaira quickly finds that Myril is no backwater realm easily ground down, and that the Imperium’s every step will be challenged. Even so, Amaira is determined to cast off her duties and rise to Praetor and stand at the side of one of The 5.