The heavy crystal wine goblet shattered against the polished obsidian wall of the throne room. Dark red liquid sprayed across the dark stone like fresh blood. Lord Malakor stood behind his massive diamond desk and glared at the holographic projection hovering in the center of the chamber.
The scrying window displayed the cold reality of the eastern mountains. Three thousand Razor Wing Harpies were dead. The massive flock of expensive biological weapons had been vaporized in a matter of minutes. Five towering iron spires crackled with residual electricity on the peaks surrounding Stormpeak. The sky was clear and the mountain domain remained firmly under the control of the Ashguard Syndicate.
"He had no capital," Malakor whispered into the quiet room. He placed his gauntleted hands on the
