Malakar, the beating heart of Zavareth, was a city where power and ambition thrived in the embrace of shadow. Blackened spires clawed at the storm-ridden sky, while the ever-present scent of smog and iron hung thick in the air.
The streets teemed with wary merchants and soldiers alike, all moving under the silent watch of armored enforcers, as if the city itself was waiting for a war to break out from within itself too.
At the core of the capital stood the royal citadel, a fortress hewn from the very bones of the earth, its obsidian walls etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with an eerie glow.
In the depths of this great citadel, lay a chamber untouched by daylight, Zavareth's warlords gathered once more.
The war chamber of Zavareth was buried deep beneath the royal citadel, its chamber smelling of aged parchment, molten wax, and steel, a testament to the endless discussions of conquest and bloodshed held within these walls.
