“A fine compact between our peoples,” an Imperial cavalry officer proclaims, reading through the various provisos at his desk in the Peter Chivay barracks of Owynsburg. Sipping some fine Priory Black™ tea, grown and brewed courtesy of the local monks, Stafford continues reading over the concordat with a mixture of approval and pride.
“The Empire grows ever greater. Glory to Her Imperial Majesty.” Filing away his copy of the wisely negotiated treaty, the Lieutenant then returns to preparing for the ISA’s next battle with the Daemonic horde to the south.