Five boats glided silently through the dark waters, their hulls scraping against the worn wooden docks of Drakoria. Under the cover of night, nearly 250 men disembarked, their movements hushed yet purposeful.
The air was thick with tension as Xylar's gang spread out along the waterfront, eyes darting warily in all directions.
Thunder, his tattooed scalp gleaming in the moonlight, was the first to spot the approaching figure.
The distinctive red and white uniform of an Enforcer sent a ripple of unease through the crowd.
The Enforcer, a stocky man with a face etched by years of suspicious scrutiny, planted himself firmly before the group. His hand rested casually on his own weapon as he addressed them, voice gruff with authority. "What business brings so many to our shores at this late hour?"
