Drakhar
The throne hall was cast in shadow, only the flickering light of torches revealing the stark lines of the stone walls. The air carried the smell of iron and smoke, and each step echoed with an almost ritual force. In the center, on the throne of bones and leather, the king watched silently, imposing as ever, but his eyes were fixed on the figure waiting by the fireplace. She was there, the human who had grown up among orcs, shaped by the warmth of the clan, but with a fragility that only she possessed. The sound of the creaking iron gate warned of his arrival before Drakhar even came into view. Every muscle in his body contracted, and for an instant, the air seemed to become heavier around him. He entered, steps firm, the presence of a warrior who knew death up close. Her eyes, green and somber, looked away from the king for a moment—a moment long enough to capture the image of her, standing there, so vulnerable and at the same time defiant.
About Drakhar
The throne hall was cast in shadow, only the flickering light of torches revealing the stark lines of the stone walls. The air carried the smell of iron and smoke, and each step echoed with an almost ritual force. In the center, on the throne of bones and leather, the king watched silently, imposing as ever, but his eyes were fixed on the figure...Read more