The War Room
The streamers had left, taking their chaos, their glowing orb, and their weeping critic with them. Maira had stood at the door like a gargoyle of commerce, charging them 1,500 Gold for the bottle of "Twilight Noir" and another 500 Gold for "Legacy Model Fees" regarding Seraphine's posing.
Cash was flowing. But Reed needed a flood, not a trickle.
He sat at the head of the obsidian table in the War Room. The map of the dungeon hovered in the center, glowing with soft blue mana.
BOOM.
The heavy oak doors of the War Room didn't just open; they were breached.
Guildmaster Thrain did not knock. Dwarves didn't knock. Knocking was for people who didn't know how to inspect a hinge for structural weaknesses.
