Ashen and Pyro were dragged across the burning sands, the jagged iron chains biting deep into their wrists, leaving bloodied trails down their arms. Their once-proud forms had been reduced to slumped figures, beaten and broken by endless torment. The fire in their eyes flickered, dimmed by exhaustion, but still, it persisted. The massive gates of Garak'Thar loomed ahead, their dark, towering walls of obsidian blotting out the sun, trapping them in a world of shadow and despair.
The fortress, a labyrinth of brutality, greeted them with the echoes of Orcs sharpening their weapons and chanting war songs. It was a place devoid of mercy, a kingdom where only the strong survived, and the weak perished.
Kor'Thal, their captor, walked ahead of them, his massive form casting an imposing shadow. His voice boomed through the halls, every word dripping with disdain.
