Dusk fell heavy. Blackstone Fortress squatted over the mountain pass like a great beast, its coarse walls gleaming with a cold luster in the fading light.
The fortress gates were heavily guarded, and the air was thick with tension.
Only after they presented credentials bearing the Royal Family's insignia did the heavy, iron-bound wooden gate slowly open a crack with a piercing squeal.
However, what lay behind the gate was not the well-ordered scene of a military stronghold they had expected.
The moment they stepped into the fortress's inner gatehouse, a foul, hot wave of air washed over them, thick with the mixed stench of sulfur, rusting metal, blood, smoke, stale sweat, and the faint odor of excrement. It was almost suffocating.
Beyond the gatehouse was not an open square, but a narrow passage choked with makeshift shanties, piles of debris, and a shuffling stream of people.
