BigSaltyDog

  Chapter 4: The Gathering Storm (Enhanced) The skies above the Blacklow Plains churned with roiling clouds the colour of bruised flesh. Lightning flashed in silent streaks across the horizon, casting hellish light on a landscape scarred by war. Smoke rose from distant villages, their once-proud banners now torn and trampled. The earth, blackened and broken, stank of blood and sulphur. This was no longer land fit for men. At the heart of the valley stood the warcamp of the Broken Tooth Horde, a teeming chaos of crude tents, weapon forges, and bone totems. The ground squelched with the weight of a thousand booted feet and clawed paws. Orcs, goblins, ogres—and worse—massed for slaughter beneath the watchful gaze of demonfire. Gorbrak Skull-Splitter , warlord of the horde, towered on a slab of basalt. His eyes burned like coals, and his fanged grin promised agony. His axe, Gravehowl , shimmered with a cruel red sheen, as if thirsty for a king's blood. Around him, drums boomed lik...

  Chapter 3: Before the Storm Rain lashed the shutters of Kilbride Hall, where the wind howled like wolves along the cliffs. Thunder cracked in the night sky, but inside, the fire burned hot and steady. Sir Salty stood by the hearth, the glow casting golden light across the iron curves of his breastplate and the war-worn scars of his bare arms. His axe, Stormcutter , rested within reach—always—but tonight, his thoughts strayed far from steel and blood. Maeve was there, watching him from the bed they’d shared since dusk fell, the linen sheets tangled around her, her hair a wildfire across the pillows. She was a woman of the sword and saddle, with hands calloused from bowstrings and boots worn from battles. But beneath the battle-leather and stubborn fire was a heart that had only ever softened for Salty. He crossed the room slowly, the weight of what awaited him on the morrow pressing hard upon his shoulders. The war horn’s call had echoed across the valley that afternoon—an omen...