Shortly after midnight, while the Black Causeway lay quiet beneath the freezing stars, the silence of the mountain plateau was suddenly shattered by the thunderous clatter of iron and the frantic beating of bronze drums. High atop the Black Barbican of Ironspire, the heavy portcullis was suddenly winched upward. From the dark archway surged an unexpected, desperate counter-offensive: three hundred heavy iron-armored war-chariots, flanked by one thousand five hundred elite…
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