Under Tycho's urging, Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys stood together once more. They didn't trust each other worth a damn, but they agreed on one thing: stop the aggressive neighbor before he swallowed them whole.
The Golden Company was the big draw, but sellsword bands from across Essos started gathering in the three cities. Tycho's money from the insurance vault gave them enough to build a real army. Myr had its own banks—three of them—and while they couldn't match the Iron Bank's vaults, they could still pay for a big force.
Once the magisters in Myr locked in the plan and cut deals with the bankers, the loans started flowing. The gold went straight to hiring sellswords.
Some men backed the Three Daughters. Others saw Viserys carving out an empire with nothing but a sister and a dream, and they wanted in. Small sellsword companies rode to Braavos to swear to King Viserys, spilling the alliance's plans and offering their blades.
Viserys already knew from Duck-Pointer's reports, but he thanked them anyway and hired every last one. He sent out the call to arms. Every lord was ordered to raise his banners and march on Braavos. A great war was coming.
Three thousand fresh players logged in that day. Most got snapped up by guilds before they even finished stretching.
"Ha! Finally logged in!" one new player shouted, hands on his hips, laughing like a madman while everyone around him stared. His game ID read Happy Kangaroo. He breathed in the air like it was the best thing he'd ever smelled.
"Brother, you look lively. How about joining the Flying Sky Pirates?"
The talent market was packed—guild recruiters lined up in the old docks, now renamed Dany's Harbor. A player named Amynos waved Kangaroo over from a small stall.
Kangaroo turned. Amynos stepped out fast, grabbed his hand, and launched into his pitch. "The realm's barely settled and three traitor cities want to burn it down. This is the hour for heroes. We need men like you. Join the Flying Sky Pirates. Sail with us… I mean, serve His Grace!"
Kangaroo blinked and pulled his hand back. Something about this guy felt off.
Amynos saw him hesitate and doubled down. "Wait, brother. Every month the guild leader sends us a hundred-buck red packet. You get in now and you walk out with a sea-wind hood, a sawtooth shark knife—real epic gear—and you fight from a Viking longship!"
Kangaroo stopped. "For real?"
"Dead serious," Amynos said, eyes lighting up.
"Where do I pick up the gear?"
"Stand behind me for a minute. We just need three more guys and we're out of here."
Thirty minutes later.
"You can't pull anyone else, can you?"
"Just one more. Two more and we're gone."
Two hours later.
"Forget it."
"No, no—wait! One more! Help me shout for recruits. Look at all these new players. I can't yell loud enough by myself!"
Five hours later, the sun was dropping. Amynos finally dragged Kangaroo and one other new guy back to the guild's base—a small warehouse near the harbor.
The Flying Sky Pirates had twenty-nine members before today. With the two new guys, they hit thirty-one. In a player base pushing twenty thousand, they were the bottom of the barrel.
Big guilds like the Heroes ran three thousand strong in peacetime and swelled to thirty-five hundred when they formed the Wind-Mane White Cloud Legion. They had wyverns in the sky and war elephants on the ground. The Pirates had a handful of knives and a warehouse.
Still, their leader Golden Lion kept saying they had room to grow.
After a quick welcome, Kangaroo stared at his "epic" gear: a beat-up sailor's knife full of notches and a hood that stank of old hair oil.
He spun around and barked the recruiter's name. "Amynos!"
"Yeah… what's up?"
They stayed anyway. A hundred bucks a month was still a hundred bucks. And the big guilds gave new players two hundred. These guys were getting screwed and they knew it.
New players and veterans mostly got along. There were the usual flare-ups. In the talent market, a small old guild called the Wild Wolves—about fifty guys—almost came to blows with a newer crew, the Polar Bears, who had over a hundred. They beat the hell out of the blue-robed enforcers who showed up to break it up. The Enforcement Squad captain, Halfway Jumping Train, had to ride in with his own men before it calmed down.
Small stuff.
Viserys sat in his temporary palace after meeting the third sellsword company that had come to pledge. He looked at his gathered lords and let the contempt show.
"If those three cities and their sellswords count as real opponents," he said, "then I'll call the boar king a warrior."
He stood to head back to his rooms—maybe check on Daenerys and his black-scaled hatchling—when Nine-Thousand-Years stepped in.
"Your Grace, a knight requests an audience."
"Which knight? I've knighted so many lately, little Nine. Be specific."