Chapter 14: Brimhold last flame
The wind over Brimhold howled like the wails of ghosts.
A once-proud fortress built into the spine of the Emberpeak Mountains, Brimhold now stood half-shrouded in storm clouds and fear. Smoke curled from its watchtowers. The people—Flameborn descendants and innocents alike—had begun their exodus days ago.
But many still remained.
Too many.
And the enemy was closing in.
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The March Begins
I soared above the flameforged legion. Five thousand warriors strong. Ral’Tir’s best, united with the nomadic fire-tribes and mage-forged riders of the Ash Tundra. Runes glowed along their armor; banners whipped in the wind, stitched with the newly-blessed sigil of our Flameborn Rebellion: a blazing phoenix coiled around a dragon’s eye.
Kaela rode ahead, her sword now reforged in white embersteel—one of the few weapons that could hurt the soulfire Revenants we were about to face.
Thorne walked among the heavy constructs, directing the siegebreakers and rune-pulled carts with gruff orders and arcane command. His beard had a streak of ash in it now—a mark of the Pyre.
As we crested the ridge, Brimhold appeared.