[centre][b]Empire of Valhall, Caylor Brant[/b][/centre]
Caylor Brant entered his council chamber. It was a massive room. On his left and right there was a tribune. The right filled with almost three times the people than the left one. Most of them were fat, old or ugly. Sometimes a combination of the three. They were richly dressed in bright velvet. Some of them were farm lords, trade princes and others representatives of guilds. Each held a high position in the economic world of Valhall, there was no doubt to that.

On his left the Tribune was mostly empty. The front row was filled with older looking men. White beards and bald caps. But dressed in leather and metal scales. They were the military arm of the council. Representatives of Orders whom bent the knee to Emperor Caylor. Mercenary generals seeking fortune and gold at the newly risen court. Even a few former self-proclaimed Pirate-Kings who sought the fortunes of Valhall.

He walked in the middle of the unlikely company. He was the glue that kept it all together. Without him, each of them would fall back to their old, miserable lives in which fight and dying was a daily threat. He was their shield against that. He knew it and he knew that they knew.
He finally passed the tribunes and took his seat on a raised stone platform. On it, an throne stood. It was carved out of a massive block of silver, softened by cushions and filled with rubies, sapphires and diamonds. On each side of him, 2 wooden chairs stood. On his far right sat Erneos. Then came Michael. On his left hand sat Nero and on his far left Magnus. This was his retinue. His most trusted advisors. 

Erneos’ past was filled with mystery. He never talked about it. But he knew things. Things he wasn’t supposed to know. And more importantly, he knew how to use that. He was Valhall’s spymaster. The people called him the Lord of Darkness.

Michael was a trader prince once. A wealthy one. He joined Caylor during his unification of Valhall and was now his chief trade administrator. People called him the Master of Gold.

Nero was his general and supreme commander of the army. Infantry, cavalry or ship, all had to follow his command. He was a gifted commander and won many battles for his Lord. People called him the Master of Steel.

Finally, Magnus was his Head Magister. A mighty sorcerer whom also trailed his friendship with Caylor back to the beginning days of the unification. He was a proud man and capable when it came to Magicks. There for he was also a fear man. People called him the Master of Crystals.

“Let the first messenger in.” he commanded from his throne. The doors swung open. Two guards escorted a single man inside. He walked up infront of the stone steps and stopped, bowed and never looked at Caylor. “My lord, I bring a message from barbaric land.” And with that the messanger began to read his letter out loud. Caylor had trouble to keep his anger at bay. His face reddened with every word. He wanted to shout stop. But he knew he had to finish the letter. Finally, the man finished. He took a deep breath. “Erneos, what do you know about this place?” he asked, while murmur broke among the tribunes. “Not much, my lord. The place is barely visited.” He said. But then Michael broke his words: “My lord. I remember to once have seen a trader selling silver baring that name.” he said. “Silver would be a good bonus, no doubt. But I need maps. Coasts.” He said. “Little coasts, I’m afraid, my lord.” Said the messenger. “The place is surrounded by cliffs. There is a little bit of coast here and there. But very difficult to reach. “Nero. Prepare the army. Send out scout ships. I want to know where the coasts are. These words must be punished with an iron fist.” He said still containing his anger.
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And so it happened. Little fast ships went forth, starting to explore the coasts of the massive lands. While there was an explicit order not to set foot on the land, some former privateers thought a little walk wouldn’t harm anyone. What would they find on the strange lands of Qrithland, they often thought.