The Dwarven underground city's strategy room was vastly quieter than the throne room.
A single slab of rough marble sat in the center, bearing a carved stone map—not parchment, but a thin slab of rock meticulously chipped into a topographical relief. The surrounding walls were covered in deep purple runes that pulsed with a slow, rhythmic heartbeat.
Rianor Sudrath stood hunched over the table, his fingertips tracing every groove and ridge of the relief.
His left arm still hung limp, the completely dead Arcanotech Bracer dangling like a piece of useless scrap metal. His finely cracked glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose, but he didn't bother fixing them. All his focus was anchored to the map.
Three distinct points caught his eye.
