Dravenhold – A Fortress Awaiting Its Downfall
The sun was only just beginning to set, casting its golden light over the eastern valley upon which Dravenhold Fortress stood—a rebellion fortress, its walls ancient and reinforced with blackened stone. It was once a warlord stronghold, now belonging to a faction who had had the temerity to go against the power of Draegor.
The tension hung thick in the air.
From his vantage atop a rocky outcropping, Draegor Nyx gazed out across the fortress, his scarlet eyes reflecting both calculated patience and ultimate ruin. His troops had swelled since Blackspire Ridge's fall—mercenaries, deserters, and prisoners-turned-soldiers now marched beneath his banner.
But still, Dravenhold refused to yield.
A smile curled at Draegor's lip.
Good.
He preferred it when they fought. It made their eventual capitulation all the sweeter.
Strategic Preparations
Zaelith kneeled beside Draegor, his dark cloak not fluttering in the air. "The fortress is strongly guarded, but it lacks solid leadership. Their commander is a noble who does not possess any combat experience."
Draegor chuckled. "Another fool sitting on a throne of conceit."
Varek, who towered over them, cracked his knuckles. "We can breach the walls at night. Swarm them before they even know what is happening."
Seraphis, emerging from the shadows of twilight, shook her head. "A brute-force attack would be unnecessary." Her silver eyes shone softly. "Their morale is already shaking. We should break their spirit before we break their walls."
Draegor nodded. "Then we give them something to fear."
He raised a clawed hand, dark energy curling around his fingers.
"Begin the siege at sundown. No mercy."
The Siege Begins
As the last ray of sunlight disappeared, the first wave of terror descended upon Dravenhold.
Shadow Wraiths—ethereal spirits bound to Seraphis—slipped into the fortress like spectral reapers, snuffing out torches, whispering terrors into the sleeping guards' ears. Hysterical screams ensued.
The second strike came.
Draegor raised his hand, and the air darkened, shadows boiling about his palm before forming into one, pulsing sphere of energy. A curl of his wrist propelled it at the fortress.
BOOM.
The impact was crippling. The outer gate hung in shreds, its wreckage flying through the darkness.
And now the real battle began.
Varek led the way, his form a blur of untempered ferocity as he sliced through the front line of troops. Steel shredded beneath his claws, his presence alone enough to send convulsions of terror coursing through the defenders.
Zaelith moved through the carnage like a ghost, his sword slipping into the weak points in armor, his blows trim and efficient.
From on high, Seraphis oversaw the wraiths, unleashing an endless cascade of terror and death.
And then, Draegor.
His abyssal form surrounded him as he marched across the battlefield like a god of war. Every step that he took was rooted in devastation, every strike that he delivered a masterclass in annihilation.
A unit of archers drew their bows against him—only to see Draegor lift a hand and destroy them with hidden strength, their bodies bursting as if reality itself had spurned them.
It was no use resisting.
Fortress walls fell in succession.
The battle had taken only a few minutes. Dravenhold was broken.
The Aftermath – A Throne Claimed
The courtyard was littered with the dead. The rest of the soldiers had shed their arms, falling to their knees in the blood-stained mud.
Draegor entered the fortress throne room, the noble commander shaking in terror before him.
"P-Please… I-I just followed orders…!" the noble stuttered.
Draegor tilted his head. "Then you listened to the wrong ones."
He raised his clawed hand.
The noble managed only a faint scream before Draegor incinerated him with his black flames.
Draegor turned to his men. "Dravenhold is ours."
Zaelith nodded. "And what of the survivors?"
Draegor gazed at the prisoners in the courtyard. Terror filled their eyes.
He sneered. "The ones who surrender shall be presented with an option: serve… or die."
As night descended, a new sigil was revealed over Dravenhold.
A black sun surrounded by crimson fire.
The Tyrant's crusade had just begun.