Nyssa hadn’t expected the direction her life would take. But, her first attempt at defying destiny had turned into an utter failure. Not only had she had to sacrifice the love of her life for duty, but her father’s murder ushered her ascension decades before she thought she’d ever have to consider it. 

And what of it? 

Nyssa was a prodigy and princess. A child bred for combat, born some said to supernatural skill. Was it magic? Could it be her mother’s parentage of the mysterious Bough that endowed her skill to excel in the military arts beyond normal aptitude? She was a warrior without equal in a country that valued might above all else. She was unrivaled, and that’s all her subjects believed and wanted to believe.

It mattered little in any scheme of things. She was a queen now and destiny had softened towards its child. A new wife, Nyssa was blessed and deeply fulfilled with her new path. A warrior-queen with a consort on one side, loving and supporting; a first guardsman on the other, steadfast and loyal, honest to whatever end. In the middle, a brother as her brilliant regent, with a family expanding outward.

All seemed perfect, save the burning eyes of her nightmares… Foggy and unclear, she remembered having them occasionally when she was very young, but her mother had always dismissed them. In a dark and thick forest, obscured by mist, a hovering flame awaited her but she could not get closer to see its source. It felt ominous and threatening or was it cautionary-she’d never been able to understand. They would disappear in times of happiness and return when things were dire.

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She could not comprehend why they were back now. Things were finally settled, Rogun zealots who’d attempted to assassinate her were dead, her father’s murderer executed even, by her newlywed husband, Hedir. Things were calm, resolved. 

Except Rogunites continue to plague her shores with small raiding parties, causing disruption and anguish among the rural population. If they were not there for her, what then did they wish to accomplish?

Rogun. 

Emperor Dascus would pay for his insolence. A decrepit, failed state of corruption, elitism and imperialistic superiority, they hated Orak’Thune for its power and influence, it’s wealth and comfort, its republic and its progression.  It had poked at its neighbours side with a rusty iron rod for centuries. Nyssa had enough. To the winds with the rumours Rogun’s disease was a hidden seat of dark sorcery. No such thing existed that she’d ever seen. Every villain, past and present had been flesh and blood and Nyssa and her countrymen had seen to the justice of every single one. 

If it was the occult of Darkness they favoured, a fabled threat of incomprehensible, imaginary influence, then so bit it. Perhaps it was this idea of them scratching at the back of her mind that was responsible for her nightmares recently; she would ignore them. They were never more than mere nuisances before. To Orak’Thune, Nyssa’s Orak’Thune, life, liberty and the defence of all that was good and fair was worth the fight. Soon enough she would seek out the truth for their violation of her borders, and bring it to Dascus directly; bleeding, broken and on the tip of her sword.