In the heart of the Simharian Kingdom, hidden beneath a decrepit wine cellar forgotten by time, five men sat hunched together around a broken wooden table.
The single crystal orb hanging above them flickered weakly, casting shifting shadows across the scarred walls and worn floors. The smell of damp stone and fear clung to the air.
None of them spoke for a long while.
It was Baron Selvor who finally broke the heavy silence, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I had a dream again last night…" he said, his hands trembling slightly. "A dream where I thought about punching that bastard Alex. Thought about it. And then...then..."
His hands clutched his head as his face twisted in remembered agony. "My skull felt like it was getting crushed between two mountains!"
Viscount Velberg, who was still wrapped in multiple layers of silk robes despite the cellar's heat, nodded furiously.
