"My terms are fucking simple and straightforward, my lord." Raphael Laurent says. He settles into the luxurious chair before Captain Heinrich's desk, his posture is relaxed but his eyes are sharp & misses nothing. "Your House is one of those minor noble Houses in the past without even a small sliver of dragon blood, yes?" He leans forward. "You will get a marriage offer for any girl in House Seafyre or even House Dragonfyre that catches your attention. After such a marriage, you will be automatically considered as an important part of that House." He pauses. "And your men can continue on being corsairs as they wish, or they have the option to join the Thalorian Royal Fleet as instructors to teach your unconventional methods to the Royal Fleet." His grin widens. "You are welcome to operate your goddamn businesses all over Thaloria Kingdom if you want, with 30% off on business taxes. You will also get an absolute pardon for the crimes of piracy and qualified theft of goods p

The sellsails open fire upon the ports of the isles controlled by the Eichendorf Corsairs in a synchronized and efficient formation at close range. The ships move as one. Their oars dip and rise in perfect unison, and their sails billow with the force of coordinated wind magic. Catapults, trebuchets, and crossbows enchanted with fire runes, modified for devastating short-range attacks, begin to rain down on the defenders. The projectiles arc through the air like a storm of falling stars. Flaming bolts strike the docks, the warehouses, & the defensive walls. The air fills with the acrid stench of smoke and burning wood. But not for long. The dragons and wyverns of House Seafyre and House Dragonfyre that circle among the isles immediately let loose with hot and intense blasts of fire from their jaws. The flames are white-hot at their core, tinged with blue and orange at the edges , and carry the intensity of a forge's heart. They strike the sellsail galleys with devastat

The fisherman's fingers curl around the brass bugle. His lips part to sound the warning that will send every soul on this shore running for their lives. He never gets the chance. A wall of steel-shod hulls rises from the morning mist. The ships emerge from the fog with silent menace. Their dark silhouettes cut through the gray veil with predatory grace. The water churns beneath their keels, and white foam trails behind them. Eighty-five attack clippers flying the silver storm sigil of House Storm slide into formation behind the marauding galleys, cutting off their escape before the first horn can blow. Storm mages raise their hands in unison. Their movements are synchronized. Blue-white runes blaze across the sky like angry stars & cast the ships below in stark shadows. The air thickens as the temperature plummets. A bitter chill descends upon the bay, & turns breath to mist and frost on metal. The mages' voices rise in a guttural chant that vibrates through the

The copycat bazaars and merchant stalls in Valkhor, Eisanmark, and Silbermund City attract a fairly large number of curious customers early in the morning, when the residents of the Triarchy are just starting to get up and about to buy daily needed supplies. The morning air is crisp and cool as shoppers wander through the market squares with their woven baskets and leather coin pouches. They purchase products with cheerful abandon, totally unaware that what they buy are nothing more than shamelessly effective rip-offs of the original thing. The silk feels the same, the spices smell the same, the metalwork gleams with the same luster. The customers leave satisfied, with their purses lighter but their spirits are high, never suspecting the economic warfare being waged around them. When city trade inspectors and the City Watch sniff around to check for product safety and follow city rules, all the merchants in those copycat bazaars have to do is present them with forged official d

"I will escalate even further, my lords." Lord Mayor Siegfried Reinhardt Valkhor's voice cuts through the tense silence of the breakfast chamber. "As for that sudden attack on Valkhor City, it is a most unfortunate event." He stabs a piece of expensive roasted tuna with his fork, and the tines pierce the flaky flesh with practiced precision. The fish glistens with butter and herbs, as steam rises from its surface. "But I don't see the need to worry, for there is no lack of manpower when I have the money." He laughs a mocking laugh as he raises the fish to his mouth. "Sellswords and residents from other city-states, or perhaps even countries, will flock to me when I dangle the coin right in front of their faces. As for repairs on the damage caused by the crew of House Saltfang, it is already underway as we speak." Lord Mayor Oswald Roderick von Eisanmark's face reddens with barely suppressed rage. He slams his ale tankard against the table, and the heavy ceramic cracks ag