CRIMSON MOONLIGHT SEEPED THROUGH the cracks of the dungeon walls like skeletal vines.
Plip. Plip.
Droplets of condensation dripped from the ceiling, echoing loudly on the stone floor. A single torch flickered near a wooden table covered in scrolls, quills, and inkwells. Standing in front of a scrying glass hung upon the wall furthest from the door was a man clad in black, the hood of his cloak drawn over his head. The bright, sickly green scales of a dragon gleamed in the moonlight as it rested on the floor at its master’s feet.
The scrying glass shimmered as the fog in the center drifted away, revealing a forest canopy and a group of adventurers, traveling by foot or horse. They seemed to heading toward a cluster of mountains. The man’s hand clenched into a tight fist as the scrying glass zoomed closer onto a white-haired adventurer.
A bright flicker of the torch’s flames enveloped the man before snuffing out and returning the room into utter darkness.
