Outer Borders, Salim, Zabel, the Zabulite Empire.

"Ssh, shhh!" The man laughed drunkenly, staggering back to his comrades. "Now, as you so eloquently pointed out, my dear Charlie, today we successfully infiltrated one of the largest defending cities of Zabul – and I think that calls for some debauchery, don't you?"

The one called Charlie, with dark, messy hair and mischievous green eyes, snickered loudly.

"They all want to kill us." Charlie told the first man seriously, a flask of ale dripping in his hand. "So yes, yes I do think that calls for some debauchery, yes."

"Very well." He wobbled as he stood, slinging an arm over Charlie's shoulder. Regally, he thrust his own leather pouch of foul-smelling liquid into the air, leaning onto Charlie for support. "I hereby declare that any man to both bed a woman and not be killed for it by the time of our agreed reunion tomorrow gets..." The man wobbled slightly, glancing over at his friend.

"Double points?" Charlie offered.

The man nodded clumsily.

"... Double points." He finished. "Men – we drink to the victory of the Jamesland Empire!"

The men cheered loudly, smashing their drinks together, before drinking them so fast that the varying shades of amber liquid began to spill from their mouths and run down their necks.

It was a warm, dark night in Zabel and the men revelled in it. The de facto leader of the small group stood there, swaying slightly in the wind, as he continued his drink.

They were the Knights of the High Order from the Zabulite Empire's only rival – the Jamesland Empire, a land of mud and cold compared to the land of Zabel's cool breezes and blazing suns.

The Knights of the High Order were in Salim, the first post of defence, as an act of war.

Salim, when prepared, was a force to be reckoned with – but Salim hadn't been prepared. Not for the small group of highly trained soldiers, at least – a group of highly trained soldiers that were currently in the act of taking Salim in a mildly peaceful hostage. Salim and its citizens were to be used as both a bargaining chip and a show of Jamesland's power – and the drunken speaker who had declared double points had been the genius behind it all.

"Lord Lawrence," Charlie sighed, clapping a hand on his friend and commander's shoulder. "You're not a lady. And if I don't find a lady, I may have to kiss you – and, love you as I do, I highly doubt the extent of our brotherhood reaches that far. So how about it, hmm?"

"We must find you a lady." Lawrence nodded with a slur, pulling Charlie by the neck towards the candle-lit street before them.

In the days to come, Lord Lawrence of the High Knights would not remember what happened that evening. He would not remember Charlie's ever-successful attempts to charm women, nor his own modest charms.

No. Instead, in a few hours to come, Lord Lawrence would find himself in a cage, at an illegal slave market just outside of the city walls - in nothing but his linen under-shirt, riding breeches and a nasty gash underneath his left eye.