Iron-Scale marched through the colossal outer gates of the capital castle alongside his Vanguard lieutenant, a massive, battle-scarred Orc named Gulag. The sheer architectural grandeur of the stronghold rivaled even the City of the Spiral.
Massive pillars of polished white marble reached toward a vaulted ceiling painted with sprawling ancient battle frescoes. Golden braziers lined the central aisle, casting a brilliant light over the vast assembly of local forces.
Apostle Lucian waited for them at the base of a grand staircase. The holy champion wore pristine white and gold armor, standing in stark contrast to the dark, blood-stained star-iron worn by the Vanguard commanders.
The tension from their previous standoff still lingered in the air, but Lucian offered a stiff, formal nod.
