Outside the Golden Lion Heart Fortress, huddled against its tall, cold granite walls, was a chaotic shantytown.
Most of the structures here were low, dark, and drafty shacks, hastily cobbled together from scavenged planks, rusted sheet metal, and even abandoned carriage compartments.
The cold was the most fatal enemy here.
Sleet fell relentlessly, piling up on the flimsy roofs of the shacks. The cold wind, like an inescapable specter, crept through every crack to steal what little, precious warmth remained inside.
The people living here came from complex backgrounds. Some were refugees who had fled the civil strife and war in the White Horse Kingdom, dragging their families with them from the north.
