In the dwarf hall of the Stonemason Clan, pools of lava bathed the banquet hall in crimson. Grease dripped from the roasted mountain sheep onto the coals with a sizzling sound, filling the air with fragrance.
Imaer held a jeweled horn cup and personally filled Alba's with fine wine. Mineral powder glimmered like starlight in the amber liquor, giving it an air of mystery.
"To the Great Chieftain's health!" The dwarf clan chief raised his cup, the copper rings on his belt jingling from his excessively deep bow.
"To the friendship between orcs and dwarves!" Alba tore open his human-style cloak, revealing the brand-new Star Iron breastplate beneath it. It was a fine piece the Stonemason Clan had just presented as tribute the previous month.
He took the horn cup from the dwarf clan chief, tipped back his head, and drained it in several gulps.
"Good stuff! But to be honest, your dwarven wine is still a little weak compared to what we have on the grasslands!" The Orcish Chieftain's hearty laughter seemed to make the nearby stone walls tremble.
He casually tore off one of the roasted mountain sheep's legs and took a big bite. Grease dripped through his fingers onto the silk tablecloth.
Imaer rubbed his hands together, the brass ring on his finger glinting in the lava's glow, just like his uneasy mood.
"I heard the frost wolf pelt harvest on the grasslands was especially abundant this year..." He deliberately lowered his voice. "To support our orcish friends in their campaigns, our miners have been working in the ice and snow. They're in great need of some supplies to keep warm."
Alba's single eye suddenly narrowed. The half-eaten leg of mutton stopped at his mouth, and the entire banquet hall fell silent. Only the crackling of the