It had been a barren land, so the legends tell. A wasteland that was unforgiving to any attempts to grow crops or raise livestock. Indeed, the first man to call himself King of Rasto, a hardy man by name of Asmod, had had many troubles.

The assertion of his rule came natural. His had been a family of refugees, fleeing from the fury of a ruler, the reason of which forgotten in time. They had settled on what would later become the Kingdom of Rasto and, with no natives to challenge Asmod's assertion, it became a truth.

A small Kingdom of less than fifty people, but they believed firmly in the land they had settled on, and the strength of their King.

What had happened, then, to change the wastelands of legend into the lush, fertile grounds that now made up the Kingdom of Rasto?

It is said that in the third year of his rule, Asmod had managed to cultivate a small bit of land. Certainly not enough to feed all that had followed him, and in his despair he had taken horse and travelled deeper into the land, hoping for sources of food.

What he found instead was a dilapidated castle, a ruin not even worthy of being called a fortress.

Within those walls, he came across a woman, hair as gold, dressed in garments the colour of blood.

The woman has become known as the Royal Elector, a privileged position handed down among her family. What do they look like, beside the vague description in the legends and lore? What power did they command?

The legends are myriad and multiple, but agree on one solemn point: Asmod managed to move the woman and acquire her grace, and with it he gained a power that enabled him to shape the lands of Rasto into a country that could thrive and live.

The Royal Elector had given him power, or had perhaps reshaped the land herself. A mystery that none have ever solved, for only the royal family had ever been permitted to see her afterwards.

The old dilapidated castle she had been in, it is said, is now the "Crown" of Rasto, a palace conveniently situated in its centre, surrounded by water.

And yet you find yourself now at this castle. Surrounded by what has to be around ten thousand men, if not double that, you have found yourself looking at the gaunt walls of the Crown.

Two years ago, the king of Rasto had died a sudden death. His son, Gothos, had been designated heir, and would've inherited the throne... but Tile, his sister, had intervened.

A civil war had broken out, and people rallied under the banner of the Lion Crest, or that of the Crown Crest.

You're one of those who found themselves drawn to the Lion Crest, the crest of Tile. The army of Tile has found itself on the offensive these past few months, quickly gaining most of the land under its control.

The only thing that has really eluded the army has been Gothos and the Royal Elector.

So here you stand. Gawking at the walls of the Crown, the army with you. You're in the Ninth Squad of the First Company, one of many who were among the first to join Tile's side.

Why join her? Oh, that one's easy. The story that Gothos poisoned the previous king, a well-liked man, are numerous, and certainly explain the man's sudden death.

That Gothos was known even before hand as a rash youth, a hot-blooded young man who sought quarrel where he could, and of who the King had, so it was said, voiced disapproval... well, it's easy to understand that Gothos must have poisoned the king to assert his right to the throne before Tile could have been designated heir in place of her foolish, warmongering brother.

So. That wall. That castle. Gotta get in somehow, huh? No doubt the fight'll start soon, though you are unsure of the strategy yet. A full assault has been forbidden. Why?

"Here we stand, at the gates of the Crown," Tile had spoken, her elegant voice commanding respect with ease. "Inside sits the Royal Elector, who has sided with the Crown Crest for reasons unknown to us.

"A siege is well possible. However..." At this, she had slung her spear off her back, and thrown it, square in the face of a scarecrow she had placed on a podium.

The princess had raised her empty hands.

"See now. One dead enemy. One unarmed subject of Rasto." She had continued to speak, "A full frontal assault will see many dead enemies, many dead of us as well and many of us unarmed, ill-prepared to face threats from the outside which, no doubt, need reassuring that we can defend ourselves."

There had been a quiet among the crowd. They all saw the sense of her words, and indeed, the heavier the losses to the Lion Crest's army, the more likely a neighbouring country could and would invade, by sea or by the treacherous mountain pass.

None raised the obvious point:

The kingdom of Rasto has many spears.