Lechlian sat on his high-backed chair in the dimly lit court, his jaw tight as he bit the inside of his cheek . The reports stacked before him were damning, each one worse than the last. For the past week, messengers had poured into his hall like a tide, bearing grim news: the Yarzats had been raiding village after village, leaving a trail of destruction behind them. Yet, infuriatingly, they weren't slaughtering the villagers.
Instead, they torched homes, destroyed crops, and pillaged everything of value, sparing the people only to leave them broken and destitute. His people didn't have the means to recover; they were being bled dry by devastation and fear, and he knew that next year he would face a famine.
