KINGDOM OF VARKAIN
The pit swells and whispers like a beast stirring in its own decay.
Heat rolled through the cavern in slow, uneven waves, radiating from fire bowls carved into the rock and from glowbobbles drifting lazily overhead. Their pale light skimmed jagged stone and exposed veins of ore, gliding like watchful eyes across the walls. Shadows stretched, recoiled, and reshaped themselves, making the vast hollow feel deeper—older—than it truly was.
At the cavern’s heart rose a throne carved directly from the mountain itself.
King Dagnar sat upon it, his massive frame reclined in a posture that spoke not of ease, but of restraint barely held. One arm draped over the stone armrest, fingers drumming in a slow, irritated rhythm. Each tap echoed faintly, as though the mountain itself l
