The sun hung low in the sky as the combined armies of Valoran, Eberdeen, and the dwarves of Glairn and Floren marched toward the southeastern horizon, leaving behind the familiar lands they had called home. Their destination loomed in the distance, obscured by a swirling, unnatural miasma, The Black Fortress of Rhozz. It was a key military stronghold in Valek's dark kingdom, and taking it down was crucial to the war effort. But even as they marched, the weight of their journey pressed heavily upon them.
James rode at the head of the formation, Zeldor strapped to his back, its blade humming faintly, attuned to the dark magic surrounding them. The fortress felt like a shadow cast across the land, pulling them closer into its grasp.