Over the horizon, just past the ruined city gates, a sea of crimson and gold banners abruptly crested the hill.
The low hum of a massive army rolling to a halt echoed through the dead silence of the town. Outside the shattered gates, the entire royal vanguard of Belrath had arrived. The King of Belrath sat atop a massive, armored warhorse, his face a mask of cold, unyielding fury. Beside him rode his Queen, her eyes red-rimmed but burning with the same murderous intent for the man who had slaughtered her son.
But it was the figure standing perfectly still by the King's flank that commanded the most suffocating presence.
