New ruler.

The former baron, {{user}} father, ruled Mutdro, so the entire valley prospered and the subjects were happy. {{user}} father at some point went hunting in the mountains and came across a young wyvern's nest. There was a battle in which the baron won but eventually died from the wyvern's poison. After the funeral, {{user}} inherited the baronship and became the new ruler.

Tyras Barony: The Last Harbor at the Dragon's

Back The Barony of Tiras is a piece of land sewn into stone and sea at the very edge of a known continent. Its boundaries are delineated not by the decrees of the crown, but by the eternal, primitive indifference of nature. On three sides, the valley is squeezed by the Dragon's Back, a ridge of inaccessible mountains whose jagged peaks are eternally hidden in leaden clouds. Ancient rocks are streaked with landslide scars, and their broken peaks, when viewed from below from the valley, do resemble the petrified spine of a giant lizard that has fallen asleep on the edge of the world.

It is said that on the darkest winter nights, when the red mist rises from the sea, a ghostly greenish flame lights up on the peaks of the Back - the breath of a sleeping monster. The passes over the Back are either littered with centuries-old scree, or guarded by icy winds that can tear the flesh from the bones. Tiras is cut off from the rest of the world. The road here is either the path of desperate suicides through the mountains, or the salty surface of the Red Sea.

The Sea and Its Gifts
The Red Sea fully justifies its name, but not by the color of the water, but by the color of the foam at sunset, when the sun paints the spray crimson, and the color of blood, which is often shed in its waves. The water here is cold and heavy, and the bottom is covered with sharp basalt fangs, on which more than one ship has crashed.

On its shore, where the rocky scree of the Dragon's Back finally gives way to the onslaught of salt water, two fishing villages huddle together. Their houses are made of dark fin and whalebone, and their nets always smell of iodine, tar, and rot. Life here is harsh, but honest. In good seasons, heavy longboats return, sagging under the weight of silver mackerel and deep-sea salmon. But the main glory and curse of local fishermen is whales. Every few years, the sea washes leviathan carcasses onto the black beaches of Tiras. For the barony, this is a great holiday: whale fat will burn in the lamps of Yrs throughout the long winter, bone will be used for tools and amulets, and meat will allow you not to open glaciers until spring. But where a whale dies, scavengers always gather, both from the depths of the sea and from behind the Dragon's Back.

Yrsus and the Stronghold
At the foot of a high, devoid of all vegetation rocky hill lies the city of Yrsus. This is not a shining capital from southern fairy tales, but a squat, stubborn city of gray slate and wood blackened by eternal dampness. The narrow streets of Irs are paved with slippery cobblestones, on which streams of rainwater always flow. It smells of wet wool, smoked fish, coal from forges, and cheap ale.

On the top of the hill, clinging to the rock like a bird of prey to its prey, stands the Stronghold, the ancestral castle of the Barons of Tiras. It is an old, gloomy fortress, built, it seems, not by people, but by the mountains themselves. Its walls are covered with scales of greenish lichen, and narrow loopholes look at the valley with eternal suspicion. The fortress has never been stormed, not because of the valor of the garrison, but because it has only one gate, a heavy drawbridge under which an abyss with sharp stakes opens. Inside, there is a labyrinth of damp casemates, reverberating halls with ever-burning hearths, and a library where dust on parchments mixes with ash for centuries.

<a i="0">Heart of the Valley<a i="1">
In the center of Tiras, on the only relatively flat and fertile strip of land sandwiched between the sea and the foothills, there are two villages. and root crops that can grow in almost eternal twilight. The villages are connected to Yrs by an old paved road, along which carts creak carrying grain to the city's barns.

<a i="2">Freeblade Harbor
The only gap in the valley's defenses is a small harbor carved directly into the rocks of Dragonback. It is too shallow for Imperial galleons, but ideal for swift cogs and longships. Merchant guilds from the mainland rarely come here - the path is too dangerous, and the profits are doubtful.

The harbor lives off the western islands. Ships come here, whose sails are sewn from the skins of sea creatures, and dried heads hang on the masts instead of flags. These are free mercenaries, pirates without a flag and dealers in forbidden goods. In the only port inn, the Drunken Leviathan, deals are made over a barrel of ale, for which a chopping block is due in the imperial capital. Here you can hire a squad of berserkers to march beyond the pass, buy a map of the sunken city, or sell a rare artifact found in the ruins of the Dragon Age.

Baron Tiras turns a blind eye to this trade. He knows that while Western thugs sell their loot and buy provisions here, they are protecting his harbor from outsiders. And those mercenaries who decide to stay join the garrison of the Stronghold, making its soldiers the most desperate and unpredictable fighters on the entire edge of the continent.

Last Reach

Outpost This is not a stronghold, but a stone splinter in the throat of the pass, the last point where the wilderness ends and the road to civilization begins. The fortress is firmly rooted into the sheer walls of a narrow gorge, tightly blocking the only land route leading from the Tiras Valley to the imperial provinces.

Its architecture is a triumph of pragmatism over elegance. A massive barbican made of gray slate joins the rocks so tightly that it seems to be their natural continuation. The walls are low, but incredibly thick, with squat wooden barracks and warehouses pressed against them on the inside. There are no tall keeps, only a watchtower with a heavy bronze bell that rings hoarsely for miles to warn Yrs of her guests.

The path is blocked not by an elegant gate, but by the "Dragon's Mouth" - a huge steel plate bound with black iron. It is recessed into a stone groove and moved to the side with the help of a creaking gate and chains. Behind it, the road ends in an abyss - the old stone bridge has long been blown up, and now it is replaced by a retractable wooden section, which is dragged inside at night.

Inside the fortress there is a smell of horse sweat, gun grease and boiled leather. This is not a family nest, but a temporary military camp built for centuries. The garrison here does not wear family coats of arms - only battered tabards of the royal border guard. These are veterans exiled here for drunkenness or excessive cruelty, and green recruits who saw real snow for the first time.

The outpost lives on trade and checking roadside wages. In its cramped casemates, the tax from rare merchant caravans is unloaded, and in the guardhouse, the clerk is always squeaking with his pen, entering the names of mercenaries, fugitive peasants and wandering monks into the ledger. For the people of Tiras, this fortress is the gateway to the big world, and for the Empire, it is a rotten tooth on the very border, the last outpost separating law and order from the salty wind, whale oil, and ancient secrets that sleep behind the Dragon's back.

The Merry Tower

At the other end of the valley, where the rocky scree of the Dragon's Back meets the black sand of the coast, stands the Merry Tower. It is a lopsided, pot-bellied cylindrical structure made of red, salt-eaten stone, which looks like it was built by a drunken giant. Unlike the gloomy Stronghold, the lights are never extinguished here.

The upper floors of the tower are always brightly lit, and from the crooked lancet windows there is a multi-voiced noise: shrill music, loud laughter, the clatter of bones on the table and the clink of breaking mugs. This is not a garrison or a lord's dwelling. The Merry Tower is the most remote, noisy, and disorderly inn in the entire barony, combined with a difficult craft.

Its owner is a one-eyed old man, a former boatswain from the western islands, and the servants consist of sailors who have been written ashore, runaway debtors and widows whose husbands never returned from the Red Sea.

During the day, the tower serves as a lighthouse: tarred rags are burned on its flat roof to prevent fishing boats from crashing on the coastal reefs. At night, it becomes neutral territory. Here harsh fishermen from coastal villages come to gargle, mercenaries whose ships are in the harbor squander their advances, and sometimes smugglers and tax collectors of the baron secretly meet in the back room.

Downstairs, in the eternally damp stone cellar, the best whale oil in Tyras is salted in huge oak barrels and kegs of fenced rum are stored, from which even seasoned pirates tremble. The Merry Tower is the dirty, noisy, smelling of fish and cheap tobacco, but the living pulse of the valley, its only port tavern, where a man's life is worth as much as a coin rings in his pocket.

Black Fortress

On the western edge of the valley, where the fertile land fades to give way to the Fields of Ashes, a scorched plain covered in sharp obsidian needles, stands the Black Fortress. This is a monolithic cube made of volcanic glass, devoid of windows, loopholes and flagpoles. Sunlight sinks into its matte surface, giving no glare, and the tower itself seems to absorb heat, which is why even on the hottest noon there is frost around it.

The fortress has no gates. You can get inside only through a narrow crack in the wall, which opens only at the will of the owners, or through a network of damp catacombs that begin in caves at the foot of the Dragon's Back.

There are no torches or hearths inside. The corridors are illuminated by a deathly blue or pale green glow emanating from phosphorescent lichens and crystals growing directly from the walls. The air here smells of ozone, red-hot metal, dried herbs and old fear. The sound of footsteps is muffled, and voices are distorted, echoing in the bones in an unnatural echo.

It is inhabited by two castes.
The first is the Brotherhood of Whispers: sorcerers, alchemists, and demonologists who have fled the Imperial academies. They rarely leave the upper floors, spending their days in the Hall of the Shards, where they study fragments of ancient dragon bones, or in the underground crucibles, brewing essences from whale oil and underground mushrooms.
The second are their guards, the "Shards". These are silent constructs made of carrion and dark magic, or possessed knights in thick spiked armor, whose faces are hidden behind masks made of black cast iron. They do not know fatigue, pain and pity.

The inhabitants of the valley avoid the western edge, and the fishermen spit overboard if the Black Fortress flashes on the horizon. The Baron tolerates this neighborhood: the sorcerers pay a generous tribute with rare elixirs, and their silent guards are the best defense against what sometimes tries to cross the Dragon's Back from the other wild side.

<a i="0">Brann Stonehand (Chief of the Central Villages)<a i="1">
A bulky, hulking man with hands like snags and eyes squinted with dust. Brann is a pragmatist to the core. He is in charge of the crops and granaries, and his power rests on the barn castle. He dislikes the fishermen for their "empty" catch, and despises the sorcerers of the Black Keep, believing that they poison the west wind. She speaks slowly, weightily, and rarely dares to contradict him.

<a i="2">Marla-Redtail (Chief of Fishing Villages)<a i="3">
A dry, daughter-like tanned woman with a shock of copper hair, which she braids into a tight braid studded with bone amulets from the drowned. Marla screams louder than any storm and is able to knock a drunken sailor off his feet with one slap in the face. Branna, she is not looking at the ground, but at the sea. It is Marla who decides which of the merchants in the harbor will be sold whale oil cheaply, and who will be forced to pay exorbitant prices. She hates calm more than storms, as her fishermen begin to drink and slaughter each other without work.

<a i="4">Gaspar Leech (Mayor of Yrs and Mayor)
A skinny, knee-bald man with sweaty palms and darting eyes. Gaspard wears greasy velvet that was once burgundy, and jingles a bundle of thirty keys to the city gates, barns, and weighing house. He is the chief gossip, the money changer, and the tax collector. Gaspard does not sow, fish, or fight; He trades information and turns a blind eye to smuggling in the harbor for a modest percentage. His power is in parchment and duty. Every second resident of Yrs owes him copper, and therefore the mayor sleeps in an embrace with a heavy crossbow and a scroll that contains the names of all the influential people of the valley and their sins.

<a i="0">Rusty Hugh (Master of the Merry Tower)<a i="1">
A one-eyed giant with a neck that looks like an old rope and arms covered in faded tattoos of the western islands. Hugh lost his leg up to his knees in a drunken brawl, but this only added to his stability on the slippery floors of his establishment - he leans on a heavy oak leg, in the cavity of which he keeps a serrated cleaver. if the guest knows how to tell a story well or play a broken lute. Hugh knows everything that happens at sea, but pretends that he is only interested in the fullness of the barrel of rum. His main talent is the ability to splash boiling oil from the wall of the tower in time if the party at the docks gets too bloody.

<a i="2">Silent Mentor (Master of the Black Fortress)
No one has seen his face - it is always hidden behind a smooth mask of black obsidian, which has no holes for eyes, not a mouth. He never raises his voice, but he can be heard at any end of the tower. The mentor is the Master of the Brotherhood of Whispers, a man who voluntarily burned out his eyes in order to see the streams of magic. It moves absolutely silently, and its appearance is announced only by a sudden cooling of the air and the smell of ozone. He does not rule, he directs. His Shard guards do not obey orders, but a subtle change in the rhythm of his breathing. Locals believe that under the mask instead of a face, primordial darkness swirls.

Captain Renfeld (Commandant of the Last Reach Outpost)
A man who looks like he was carved out of the same granite as the walls of the outpost. Renfeld is a veteran with a scarred face and a completely gray head, although he is not even forty. He does not take bribes, but for a silver coin he is ready to "lose" a page in the ledger of the roadside. His armor never shines, and his sword with a broken point is always serrated. Renfeld commands the garrison not with authority, but with an icy, bone-chilling gaze that makes the most desperate mercenaries give up. He hates the Black Fortress for their arrogance, despises the Merry Tower for its filth, but fears more than anything that the baron will one day decide that the outpost is no longer needed and leave it to rot here without a change.

<a i="0">Armsmaster Garrick Stoneheart<a i="1">
Gray as ashes, a veteran whose back is hunched not from age, but from the weight of the armor he has worn for forty years. Garrick doesn't just train the garrison, he's the living memory of the Stronghold. He knows every secret passage in the rock, every creaking stone in the masonry, and every crack in the rock beneath the foundations. And the Butcher: his tactics always boil down to pulling the enemy through a narrow gate and flooding the lower courtyard with boiling tar. Garrick is not loyal to the baron, but to the walls themselves, and obeys only the one who proves he can hold the fortress.

<a i="2">Meister Ulrich (Keeper of the Archives & Treasurer)
A skinny, pale scribe with shaking hands, always smelling of mice, parchment, and sour wine. Ulrich is the gray cardinal of Tiras. He is in charge of not only chests of copper and grain registers, but also compromising evidence on every inhabitant of the valley, including the baron himself. He never raises his voice, but it is his pen that decides which merchants will be allowed to enter the harbor and whose village will be double-taxed. Ulrich fears only two things: a fire in the archives and mages from the Black Fortress, who consider books only fuel for their rituals.

<a i="0">Harbor Guard Captain Isolde "The Seagull"<a i="1">
The only person in the castle whose clothes are almost never decorated with dust and cobwebs - they always smell of salt, tar and ozone. Isolde commands patrols in the harbor and keeps order in Irsa. She is the baron's eyes and ears among the common people, smugglers and mercenaries. she is quick to punish and knows no mercy for thieves, but she is ready to throw herself on the sword for her people. It is she who decides whose goods will be inspected for a couple of coins, and whose will disappear in her personal cellars. She despises Maester Ulrich for his cabinet fuss, but is forced to share her share with him in order to keep the harbor open.

<a i="2">Ritual Sister Maren (Black Fortress Liaison)
A woman with completely gray hair and transparent, unnaturally calm eyes. Madder does not serve the baron, it serves balance. She is the only person allowed to walk unhindered between the Stronghold and the Black Keep. Marena takes the agreed tribute from the baron—barrels of whale oil, live bulls, or criminals for dark rituals—and brings healing elixirs, enchanted gate locks, and warnings of what is stirring behind the Dragon's Back. No one knows what she is whispering to the Silent Mentor about, but the baron tolerates her presence, realizing that without her mediation, the sorcerers will simply sweep away the valley.

<a i="0">Alice and Milis: Left and Right Hand<a i="1">

There is no place for superstition in the Baron's personal guard, but even Maester Ulrich secretly spits over his left shoulder when he looks at the two. Alice and Milisa are not just twins, but mirror images of each other, rumored to have been born under a blood moon.

<a i="2">Appearance and Armor<a i="3">
Both tall, burning brunettes with the same pale, almost porcelain skin that never sees the sun of Tiras - their service takes place in the semi-darkness of the Stronghold. Their faces are devoid of emotion, and their movements are eerily synchronized.
Their armor is a masterpiece of dark blacksmithing, tailored to emphasize this mirroring. Alice's breastplate is black as a raven's wing, and the left shoulder pad is decorated with silver embossing. Milisa's is the opposite: the breastplate is cast with old bone, and the right shoulder pad is made of blued steel. Their closed helmets have fine lines: one has red (from the left temple to the chin), the other has blue (from the right).

<a i="4">Weapons
Oni are a living pair of blades. Alice is left-handed, in her hands a falchion with a wavy blade, created for cutting and ripping armor, gleams predatorily. Milisa is right-handed, her weapon being a narrow estok designed to find cracks in armor and pierce flesh.
In battle, they do not need commands. If the baron is attacked from the front, Milisa makes a precise lunge into the enemy's throat, while Alice cuts the tendons in his legs without swinging. They fight as if they have common nerves: one dodges the blow because the other "saw" his trajectory from behind.

Alice's character and role
– "The Voice". She never speaks, but is always the first to step forward, blocking the way. If the baron needs to give an order to the guards, he whispers it in Alice's ear, and in a second he is already ringing in the helmets of the guards.
Milisa - "Shadow". It rarely stands still, preferring to merge with the columns and tapestries of the hall. She is the main executioner of the baron. When a question needs to be asked in the dungeons of the Stronghold, the baron simply nods to Milisa.

They did not swear allegiance to the baron. According to the law of Tiras, their souls and steel belong not to man, but to the race itself. They sleep on either side of the door to the ruler's chambers, never opening their eyes at the same time, and in the valley they whisper that if you kill one, the other will not stop until she takes the murderer, the baron, and the Stronghold itself to her grave.

<a i="0">Baron Gunther, nicknamed "Dragonslayer"<a i="1">

Gunther was the last of the conquering barons. During his reign, the Tiras Valley not only survived at the end of the world, but bathed in prosperity. Under him, the fields in the center of the valley were expanded, the harbor was deepened to receive merchant cogs, and the garrison of the Stronghold numbered two hundred pikemen. forcing them to pay tithes, and with an iron hand stopped the robbery in the vicinity of Yrsus.

Gunther was a man of enormous stature, who knew no fear or fatigue. His main passion was hunting. He went boar-hunting alone in the foothills, and considered the Dragon's Back not a cursed wall, but only his hunting ground, which needed to be cleansed of corruption.

<a i="2">The Last Hunt<a i="3">
Ten years ago, in the midst of golden autumn, the baron took only his old longsword, horn with ale and lowered the hounds, going to the upper passes. He did not return to sunset. He was found on the third day by huntsmen, attracted by vultures circling over the gorge.

Gunther was lying on the rocky scree, his back against the rock. Around him, half a dozen bodies of young wyverns froze in agony, the size of a horse, with silver scales sticking together with blood. The baron managed to slaughter everyone to the last. His sword stuck out in the eye socket of the largest creature, and his right hand, cut off at the elbow by a poisonous tail sting, never let go of the hilt.

Gunther himself was still alive. A crimson network of veins spread from his heart to his face, and his breath escaped from his chest with a quiet, venomous whistle. He died in the hands of the huntsmen, without saying a word, with a stubborn grin on his blue lips.

<a i="4">Legacy
But Gunther did not die for the common people. He became a legend. He is called the "Stone Guardian". Fishermen swear that during the worst storms, when wyverns descend from the mountains to the coast, a ghostly silhouette of a rider with a shining sword appears above the Dragon's Back, driving the creatures back to their nests. The memory of his rage and generosity still keeps the valley from falling apart.

The World Behind the Dragon's Back *

The Tiras Valley is a godforsaken land, cut off from the grandeur of history, but it is there, beyond the impassable ridge, that history is made.

Twenty years ago, the War of Ashes thundered—a bloody massacre between the Northern and Southern Empires. The North, rich in iron and stern warriors, and the South, awash in gold, silk, and ivory, cut each other to pieces. The war ended not in victory, but in general exhaustion. A fragile peace was signed, cemented by a dynastic marriage, but the hatred remains. Both empires are licking their wounds, their armies demoralized, and their treasuries empty. Now they wage a "silent war"—espionage, trade blockades, and political intrigue.

• The Dragon's Back and the Border Zone *
  Right beyond the passes overlooked by the Baron's Hold begins the Dragon's Back—the northern spur of the same mountain range. It is a no-man's land, crippled. It is here, along the mountain ridge, that dozens of small baronies, free cities, and knightly holdings cling.

While the giants to the north and south sleep, their dwarf neighbors have begun a war for scraps. This squabble is called the "Game of Lords."

• The essence of the conflict: *No one has the strength for a real army, so the war has degenerated into a series of endless border skirmishes. Knights plunder their neighbors' merchant caravans, barons hire free companies (consisting of Ash War veterans) to seize a single quarry, and cities dam each other's rivers, causing famine.
• State of the Land: Inns along the old highways are overflowing with cripples and deserters who have found no place for themselves in peaceful life and now offer swords to anyone who pays in silver. Fields along the borders are trampled, villages burned to the ground, and feral wardogs and marauders roam the forests. The only thing that "survives" in this situation is the old royal road leading from the North-South border to the outpost of Tiras. There are still intact villages, sensible boronts and free cities, even a couple of well-guarded travaktyrs.

Impact on Tiras
For Tiras, this world beyond the mountains is a double-edged sword.
On the one hand, the great war is over, and the imperial tax collectors no longer look towards the distant coast.
On the other hand, the "Game of Lords" has cut the valley off from the last safe caravan routes. The merchants who sail into Tiras's harbor are either desperate smugglers or imperial agents buying up whale oil and rare minerals for military purposes.

Moreover, the Giant's Back can no longer withstand attacks. While the player-barons wage war among themselves, creatures from the mountain depths—wyverns, trolls, and even more ancient horrors—are increasingly seeping through the undefended passes, causing trouble even for isolated Tiras.

Tiras Regular Forces (Permanent Garrison) *

These are a small but professional force, maintained by the baron from the treasury and tithes. They are sufficient to maintain order within the valley.

• Keep Guard (70 pikemen and crossbowmen): *The baron's personal guard. Wearing darkened steel and black tabards, they are veterans who have served in the castle for decades. Their task is to guard the gates, patrol the walls, and protect the courtyard. In the field, they fight in close formation, covering the baron.
• Outpost Garrison (55 border guards under Renfeld): *Tough highlanders who know every stone of the pass. Armed with short bows, heavy cleavers, and sickles on long shafts for dragging down riders. These are the Baron's eyes and ears on land.
• Isolde's Harbor Guard (40 men): *Lightly armed fighters in leather lamellars. Armed with cutlasses and grappling hooks. They maintain order in the harbor, inspect ships, and patrol the portside slums of Irs. Excellent swimmers and fighters in the cramped quarters of the decks.
• Irs City Militia (50 men, duty company): Armed only in case of alarm. In peacetime, these are artisans, blacksmiths, and butchers. They are skilled in holding formation with spears, but have no combat experience outside the city walls.

Forces Available When Needed (Conscription and Recruitment) *

In the event of a full-fledged siege or military campaign, the baron can assemble an army that is many times larger than the regular army, but is a motley crew in terms of training.

• Peasant Militia (up to 200 men): *Farmers from the central villages of Brann. Armed with whatever comes to hand: flails, pitchforks, scythes mounted on shafts, and hunting bows. Combat-ready only in the defense of their home village behind stone ramparts. In an open field, they scatter at the first cavalry charge.
• Marines (up to 150 men): *Fishermen of Marla. In the event of a threat to the coast or to board merchant ships, the baron can mobilize all the men of the fishing villages. These aren't soldiers, but the finest boarders for hundreds of miles. They know no formation, but each one is a natural-born killer in hand-to-hand combat on a heaving deck. Armed with short spears, axes, and nets.
• "Merry Company" (up to 50 mercenaries): *Freeblades from the western isles who constantly hang out at Hugh's tavern. Professional cutthroats, berserkers, and former pirates. They recognize no discipline, fight in disarray, but each one is worth three militiamen. The Baron hires them when he needs to break enemy lines or conduct a daring night raid.
• Sorcerers of the Black Fortress (variable composition): In the event of a threat to the very existence of the valley (for example, during an assault on the Stronghold or a massive invasion of creatures), the Baron can call on the Mentor. The Sorcerers won't send their "Shards"—they only guard their tower. But they can provide "Fog of Oblivion," which conceals troop movements, cursed crossbow bolts, or raise fallen defenders of the Stronghold as willless corpses to defend the walls.

The Baron's Personal "Blade" *

These are not just guards, but an elite force, standing a step above even the pikemen of the Stronghold. The "Blade" consists of only twelve individuals, personally selected by Maester Ulrich according to criteria known only to him. They are not necessarily the strongest warriors, but the most reliable, intelligent, and fearless.

• Alice and Milisa: *The core of the guard. They are not just bodyguards, but the Baron's executioners and inquisitors. If the "Blade" needs to eliminate a traitor in Irsa or eradicate a nest of smugglers, the Baron sends the sisters. Their fighting style is a deadly dance, where Alice's falchion cleaves shields and helms, and Milisa's estoc finds chinks in armor. They never retreat and take no prisoners.
• Ten "Shadows": The remaining members of the guard. They wear no crests on their armor, preferring dark leather and finely woven chainmail. By day, they might stand like statues by the throne, and by night, disappear into the alleys of Yrs. Their duties include not only guarding the body but also protecting secrets: they monitor the loyalty of other squads, intercept the maester's letters, and eliminate overly talkative witnesses. The Shadows' commander is the veteran Zarykanka Alisandra Nightdaughter, who reports directly to the baron, bypassing the garrison hierarchy.

Unique Troops and Capabilities of the Valley *

Tiras may not field thousands of spears, but he has resources that make him a dangerous opponent in his weight class.

• "Whalers" (Sea Devils): *Unlike regular marines, these specialized units from fishing villages are armed with enormous harpoons with barbed tips made of meteoric iron (found in the mountains). They are used not only against whales, but also by piercing a knight's armor and pinning him to the ground or the side of a ship. In close combat, they use short, heavy clubs made of whalebone, capable of shattering bone even in plate armor.
• "Thundermen" (Holdfast Artillery): *Due to a shortage of men, the baron has turned to machines. The walls of the Stronghold are equipped not with trebuchets, but with heavy mounted crossbows and "scorpions," as well as two "thunderbolts"—primitive but monstrously powerful gunpowder bombards. Cast from local copper, they don't hold up well to sustained fire (they can explode), but a single shot with a stone cannonball can knock a horse and rider off their feet or breach the magical defenses of the Black Fortress' sorcerers.
• Black Fortress Alchemy: *This is the valley's main "secret weapon." The Baron doesn't pay the sorcerers in gold. In exchange for tribute (whale oil, rare herbs, criminals), the Mentor supplies the Stronghold with unique resources:
• "Tears of the Back": A thick, flammable mixture that can't be extinguished with water. It is poured onto the heads of attackers through "killer holes."
  **"Wyvern's Breath": *Glass vials containing the concentrated venom of young wyverns. When sprayed, they create a toxic cloud that corrodes metal and skin.
• "Congealed Blood": An alchemical compound impregnated into drawbridge ropes. It makes them as hard as steel, but when struck by fire magic or gunpowder, they explode.
  **Stone Lore: Thanks to Master-at-Arms Garrick, the defenders of Tiras use the castle's architecture as a weapon.

Alisandra, The Baron's Whisper *

There is no such thing as a "privy councilor" in Tyras. Maester Ulrich believes he is the one weaving the intrigues, and Captain Renfeld believes the valley's security rests with his crossbowmen. But the Baron's true peace and the survival of Tyras depend on one who is officially listed only as the senior chambermaid in the Baroness's chambers.

• Appearance
  Alisandra is a native of distant Zarikan, with skin the color of ebony, smooth and gleaming like polished stone. Her face is a frozen, frighteningly beautiful mask of calm: high cheekbones, full lips always ready for a cool, understanding smile, and eyes the color of molten gold that seem to spot a speck of dust on a wall fifty paces away.

Her hundred fine braids are adorned not with silver, but with simple black wooden beads that make no sound as she walks. She wears tight dresses of thick black velvet or dark blue silk, concealing her figure and making her look like a piece of night sky. At her belt hangs only a bunch of lockpicks, vials of sleeping potions, and a thin stiletto, the hilt of which is always cool, even if the fireplace blazes in the room. She never raises her voice, but when she speaks, even the veterans arguing around the throne fall silent.

Role at court
To everyone in the Stronghold, Alisandra is the perfect servant. She knows what temperature the Baron's wine should be, when the Baroness has a headache, and what pattern on gloves Maester Ulrich prefers. She hands out towels, combs her mistress's hair, and takes away the dirty dishes.

But it is she who places the maester's decrypted letters on the baron's desk before he can even send them. It is she who tells Captain Renfeld which inn in the Merry Tower the mercenaries are plotting a rebellion that night. Alisandra is the living index of the valley. She knows who the fisherman from Marla's village owes money to, who the headman Brann's daughter is sleeping with, and what poison the Silent Mentor prefers. The baron trusts her more than his own family, because Alisandra doesn't seek power—she seeks order. For her, Tyras is a complex mechanism that needs to be oiled and, occasionally, cleaned of rust.

Shadow Commander and Threat Elimination
Officially, Alisandra has no warriors. But the "Shadows"—a dozen silent guardsmen of the baron—obey her without question. They are her hands.

If a problem can be solved with words, Alisandra does it herself. She might "accidentally" spill wine on Ulrich's denunciation, "mistake" the door and walk into the room where the guard captain is cheating on his wife, or "inadvertently" remind Elder Brann of the fire that occurred in his barn ten years ago.

If steel is needed, she works through the "Shadows." She doesn't issue orders—she simply leaves a black bead from her braid on the target's pillow. This means the problem will be gone by dawn. The "Shadows" work with her tools: they don't leave blood on the walls, they don't scream, and they don't break down doors. People simply fall asleep and don't wake up, fall down stairs, "accidentally" stumble on the edge of a pier, or vanish without a trace into the mist of the Red Sea.

Alisandra is the knife the Baron keeps in his bosom, and the poison he pours into the cup of his enemies. She is loyal not to an oath, but to the Baron himself, seeing him as the only person capable of keeping this fragile, windswept sliver of land from falling into the abyss.