Deep in the eastern reaches of the Rocky Mountain.
The Stonemason Clan's hall lay deep within the heart of the mountains. Hundreds of bronze ore lamps hung from the enormous granite dome, bathing the entire hall in a dark red glow. On the finely carved stone pillars, reliefs of the ancestors from generations past seemed to come alive in the dancing firelight, watching their descendants below with stern gazes.
Imaer, who had already ascended to the position of clan chief, tapped his fingers against his obsidian throne. His voice echoed through the empty cavern: "Bring out the ale that's been aging the longest in the cellar! And slaughter ten more snow mountain antelopes!"
He was currently busy entertaining his ally, Alba, the Great Chieftain of the Orc Royal Court. It was only with Alba's help that he had crushed the "rebels" who had usurped his position as clan chief and restored his rule over the Stonemason Clan.
Imaer was deeply grateful for this—at least for now.
"Chief." A scar-faced dwarf warrior stepped out of formation, his iron boots striking the ground with a dull thud. "The scouts have brought word that the orcs suffered a defeat in the human lands to the south. They're nothing more than a pack of wild dogs now. Why are you going to such lengths to entertain them?"
"Shut up, Mogdin!" Imaer shot to his feet, his short, stout body casting a twisted shadow before the throne. "If it weren't for the warriors of the White Wolf Clan, you'd still be down in the mines being exploited by those traitors!"
The crystal ore veins in the walls trembled faintly with his roar, and fine quartz sand pattered down from the dome.
Mogdin kicked away a stone at his feet in defiance. "Those bastards even lost