Your Majesty,

Your town stands on one side, the field on the other, and a single bridge between them. Hold it until dawn.

On raising an army

There is no barracks here. Set three of a kind together and they become one of the next rank. Set four, and the one that rises wears a crown.

Every coin is struck the same way. Want gold? Merge. Want an army? Spend that same board.

On ordering the line

Every soldier strengthens the ones beside him, and no two do it alike. A mixed line holds where a line of your finest breaks.

On the nights to come

Each evening you choose which of three creatures draws near. Whatever comes on the last night is one you named yourself.

What awaits Your Majesty

A town on one side, a battlefield on the other.

Three of a kind become one, four wear a crown.

Every coin comes from merging.

Every soldier aids the ones beside him.

You choose which monsters join the horde.

Relics and war-gear change every reign.

A hundred days to hold, a boss on every tenth.

What is learned outlives the reign.