The first step into Blackthorn Keep felt like stepping into another world.
The air, the atmosphere itself changed.
The ruined gates groaned under the push of the instructors, rusted hinges snapping as stone dust poured like ash. The Freshers filed through in tight platoon lines, their boots crunching on debris older than their great grandparents.
Inside Blackthorn Keep, the fortress smelled of rot and damp earth.
Vines as thick as a man's leg coiled over shattered walls like snakes, and shards of broken Orc banners fluttered like torn skin, their sigils faded to little more than scars on cloth.
Staring at the state of disrepair of the ruined fortress, Kairo's eyes squinted. 'To think all this was caused by a civil war…'
'Just how much do the Orcs love war? It's plain foolish fighting against warriors of your own race'.
Despite his thoughts, Kairo stayed in line with his platoon as they entered.
