The Dominions

Will · Geplaatst: 24 Feb 2024 14:02

The Pact’s primary strategy is the creation of war dominions in places beyond the Realm’s control but adjacent to its holdings. This works roughly in line with what most young Lunars wish to do anyway—empowered by the blessings of Luna, they find themselves accumulating might and status, which the relentless aggression of the Wyld Hunt eventually seeks to strip away. The Silver Pact doesn’t try to make its members operate according to some greater battle plan— Luna’s gifts lend themselves to adaptability and unpredictability, not the grind of empire against empire, and the Realm’s stolen magic and superior numbers make that a losing strategy in any case. Instead, Lunars operate according to their own plans and desires, calling upon other Pact members for assistance where necessary; success and generosity bring greater standing and influence within the Pact.

War dominions are ultimately about achieving what can be achieved today, then living to strike again tomorrow. The Lunars make themselves god-beast patrons of those the Realm has pushed to the margins and deemed barbarians; those it has crushed and disenfranchised for daring to defy it; those who live at the rim of the Threshold, nervously listening to the marching of the scarlet legions and wondering if this is the generation in which the Empress will muster her forces to push beyond the mountain, jungle, swamp, or sea that has thus far sheltered them from the imperial yoke.

The Lunars use their mystic gifts on behalf of these people. They teach strength and instill pride. They spread truths the Immaculates would suppress. And they speak of the crimes of the Realm against the people of the margins—of the glittering riches taken at sword-point, of the youths enslaved, of the brave warriors slain. Lies are rarely needed; if a tribe starves in the high mountains, it is likely because a satrapial garrison forced them there.

Other Lunars create new dominions from scratch, breeding among refugees and exiles, filling the ranks of their leaders with strong sons and daughters; or planting the seeds of a new tribe of beastfolk to be tapped for war five generations hence. The Silver Pact has learned patience.
In the end, a Lunar dominion is made into a weapon. Leather-armored screamers raid tribute caravans. Moon-blessed armies march on border cities. Realm garrisons chase skirmishers into malarial swamps, filled with ambush-points and boltholes. The legions are called in, and fight grueling campaigns in hostile terrain. Sometimes the dominions triumph. More often they fall, broken by the might of the legions or the spent power of precious, irreplaceable First Age weapons. Either way, the Realm bleeds its money, military, and magic beating back Lunar aggression.

While the Realm counts the cost, a Lunar is standing in a wooded fane hundreds of miles away, speaking in her god-voice to another tribe, another cult, another fleet, another fledgling nation, stirring them to war.

“Ten thousand dragons rule the world,” goes the chant of the Realm’s military cadets. Ten thousand claws and fangs encircle that world at the behest of the Silver Pact.