The Blood-Stained Map
The War Room of Crimson-Hold was a masterpiece of gothic strategy.
The walls were lined with the severed heads of beasts from the lower layers, their eyes preserved in glass, staring eternally at the center of the room.
Dominating the space was a massive table carved from a single slab of obsidian.
Above it, a holographic map projected in blood-red light hovered in the air, displaying the topography of Layer 4.
It was a grim picture. The Crimson Plains were slowly being swallowed by a tide of grey steel.
"You want the coordinates to Layer 5?"
Duke Varic Vane sat at the head of the table. He leaned back in his high-backed chair, swirling a goblet of thick, viscous wine. He looked every bit the apex predator, pale skin, horns of polished obsidian, and eyes that held the cold indifference of a glacier.
He laughed, a dry, humorless sound that echoed off the stone walls.
