Church

Publisher's blurb:

Three weeks of seemingly endless journey ended at the gate of Torncastle. Once a mighty stronghold, cultural and trade capital of the South-West, now a rogue town of ghosts, cutthroats and criminals. Grizkh was joyfully feeding pigeons and birds seemed to love him.

I shrouded my face in a shawl I found in one of the dungeons and tried to lead the way – I was never in Torncastle. Grizkh followed me, but after a while, he instinctively guided us through narrow alleys, a shortcut. We found ourselves in the courtyard of a great church, its walls scribbled with childish nonsense and cultist invocations. He fixed his eyes on the entrance.