The ominous clouds that shrouded Blackthorn for a week finally parted as if signifying the start of a new age. In the wake of a week-long storm, the once dry and barren lands had transformed into an endless swamp. The barely visible pathway out of Blackthorn acted as an imaginary barrier between two convoys that had no business being outside of such a small town.
Dave knew nothing of nobles, as they rarely appeared so far north, but he was confident that an army-size convoy was unnecessary for a simple visit. Yet there were two such convoys, and they were not on friendly terms.
On the left was the smaller convoy; around a hundred magisteel carriages stood dormant with elephant-size golems standing guard. Men in full plate armour lined the road and glared at the other convoy with their weapons half drawn. Dave could tell these were elite soldiers just from their formation and equipment.
