The heavy stone doors of the underground bunker closed with a low, echoing thud, cutting off the distant sounds of the world above. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension, the only light coming from the flickering lanterns made long, distorted shadows across the cold, bare walls.
The room was long and narrow, furnished with sturdy wooden chairs around a large, obsidian table, worn smooth by years of use. At the head of the table sat Lord Wallion, his piercing amber eyes glowing faintly in the low light, betraying the barely contained fury simmering beneath his composed exterior.
Around the table, the rest of the beastmen had gathered, each a figure of considerable power, but none of them the Mighty Dragon, Darien Dravik, for he was the subject of this meeting.
These were the ones who had chosen to come, the ones who never truly saw Darien.
