Map: The Broken Realm

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The realm broke on the night the old king died. His steward barred the gates of the high fortress, sent the court away and named himself regent. The king's four sworn lords escaped with their lives and little else, each to a different corner of the land.

Now the kingdom lies in four pieces, and the regent's men hold the cracks between them. On every old road that once joined the corners stands a timber stronghold, with orders to burn whatever grows on either side. Above them, three iron garrisons guard the passes into the heartland. Behind them the fortress waits on its island in a ring of dark water, with a wide bridge to the west and a narrow gate to the east. The regent never rides out himself. He sends his knights.

Two of you start beneath the northern snow, two above the marshes of the southern coast. Your hills hold stone, coal, iron and gold, but no two corners are alike. One is rich where another is poor, and no ally can send you what you lack. Every stronghold is watched from its towers, stocked for a long war, and quick to rebuild whatever you burn, for as long as it still stands.

The timber holds come for you early, whatever the difficulty. On harder days the iron garrisons march as well, and no one knows which corner they will choose.

Break the holds and the realm begins to mend. Break the garrisons and the bridge is yours. As long as one of you still stands, the war goes on.

Nobody wins alone. Nobody wins quickly.

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