The Art of Imperial Rule

The heroes of this age are born to ride the winds of change. Once they enter the martial world, the years fly by. They speak of imperial glory and conquest with laughter, yet life is no more than a drunken dream.

Sword in hand and astride a steed, they summon a rain of ghosts. Bones pile up like mountains, startling birds into flight. The mortal world surges like a tide, its people like water. One can only wonder how many who enter the martial world ever return.