~Dragon Keep, Keep Skies.
The tension in the audience hall was almost visible. Jian's fists clenched tightly around the armrest of his throne, his gaze fixed on the gigantic map of the stronghold that had been hung up to aid the war council.
"My Liege, the Forlorn march in terrifying numbers." Decaron reported grimly, "They have formed four distinct armies, taking four different routes."
He indicated the routes on the map with four markers. "Our scouts can't get too close, or risk being spotted by great orcs, or species of forlorn with flight ability."
"Hence, we do not know the exact numbers or who's leading them?" Menarx surmised.
He stood leaning against the stone pillar by the throne, arms crossed over his chest.
Though he had shown great promise in recovery, it was still obvious to everyone on the council that the Lord of Ruby scales wasn't in prime form as he was once.
