Entering the Castle
The town was alive with its usual rough revelry—tavern fires casting warm glows over squalid streets, laughter echoing from filthy alleyways as townsfolk celebrated another night in Thornwall’s shadow. Brannock’s men, weary yet bearing loot from their raid, drew immediate attention. Rich cloths of red and gold draped over their shoulders, tarnished silver goblets and jeweled trinkets peeked from their bags, while horses burdened with barrels of grain and ale trudged behind them, their coats still gleaming with sweat from the journey. As they moved through the village, villagers gathered, eyeing the newcomers with suspicion and envy. But the bandits were a sight to behold—dusty and fierce, they walked as though each step staked a claim over the dirty, ruined village that they called home.
- Writer
