The air hung heavy with the scent of blood and sulfur, the city a canvas painted in the grotesque hues of chaos. Above the pandemonium, Artanos, the radiant guardian, cast a shimmering, protective dome over the fleeing caravan. Ishaq, his face etched with worry, watched the spectacle unfold. The city, once buzzled with human activity, now throbbed with a chaotic pulse, the symphony of battle replacing the gentle hum of life.
The orcs, their monstrous forms shrouded in the dust of battle. They had descended upon the city like a tide of rage, their eyes burning with a primal hunger. They had come, not for the city's riches, not for its people, nor for its soul, but they had come for something that no human would ever truly understand- the promise of a good fight.
