[center][h3]The Sultanate of Tin[/h3][/center]
[center][b]The Zanjir Archipelago
Dhaka, Provincial Capital[/b][/center]

Hasun rose up in the morning earlier than most, getting out of a small bed in his equally small bedroom. As a captain of the Janissaries and the commander of this garrison, he enjoyed the privilege of having his own room within the barracks. The tiny cell even had a window; as he rose to his feet, the veteran soldier gazed out to enjoy the view. The glistening ocean was gilded with the brilliant amber of the dawn's first rays of sun. 

With a yawn, the Hasun prepared for himself a similarly amber colored drink: a sweet and savory mixture of the juices of several tropical fruits native to the Zanjir. He preferred such juices in the mornings over the more popular, unnatural narcotic known as coffee. Such drinks weakened a man's resolve and fortitude, and it was said that soon enough a man would become dependent upon the coffee in order to even feel alive in the mornings.

After eating a light breakfast, the still dazed commander donned his uniform as he had to appear in that outfit everywhere except for the room that he was in now. A minute later, Hasun left his room and walked through the barracks, careful to not wake his men  (these were the night shift, of course, as the day soldiers would have been awake long before dawn) at such an hour, for they needed their rest. After a brief trip to grab the day's newspaper, Hasun returned to his room feeling less fatigued. This newspaper was called the Truth of Tin. Some things in it were reported truly enough, such as the status of ongoing military conflicts and new laws. The rest was little more than propaganda, as this particular newspaper was written and printed by the government itself. Still, Hasun read the paper because it was provided to freely to any who cared to take it.

He read the newspaper. From it he learned rather little about the new Sultan, much to his disappointment. Perhaps he would learn more about the new monarch as time went on. When he finished reading about the status of the realm, the commander walked to drill his men. Granted, he had sergeants for seeing to such things, but the men appreciated a leader that they could see and know. Besides, Hasun needed his practice too.

The moment that he was out the door he suddenly found himself on his back: the entire central square that he had stepped into violently erupted into flames. As the bomb went off, its concussive force knocked the commander down and showered him with splinters of burning wood and pebbles from the pulverized cobblestones. Some of those that had been closer to the blast were in blown into pieces or set aflame.

His ears ringing and his eyes blinded by light, Hasun tried to cry out, "Fire!"

All that came out was a hoarse croak before he swallowed a mouthful of smoke and erupted into a fit of coughs. All around, the soldiers on patrol were rushing to the scene. With no visible enemy, all the wounded were evacuated. The city was promptly put under martial law, and soldiers detained everybody that they caught near the square or trying to leave the city. In the chaos, Gustavo and his men slipped out.