The Grimknights gathered in the narrowest stretch of an alley, where the sour stench of salt and grime clung to every brick. The only illumination came from the dim flicker of a rusted lantern swaying above them and the soft glow of Elric's half-burnt cigarette, which flared with each drag like a heartbeat in the dark. Moisture trickled down the walls—an eerie mix of condensation and the filth of the town—casting long shadows that made the alley feel narrower than it was.
Wulf stood at the center, his eyes sweeping every angle of their surroundings with a hardened gaze. Boots scuffed softly on the cobblestones as each Grimknight shifted, tense but ready. This wasn't just a meeting—it was meeting of action in enemy territory. The alley seemed to muffle their voices, swallowing sound like a conspiracy.
In this hollow between buildings, surrounded by decay and secrets, the Grimknights plotted the unraveling of Shallow Town's rot.
