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A curved steel door slides shut, sealing the entrance, and plunging the gloomy chamber into total darkness. Then a narrow column of yellowy light pours onto your head, and a man’s voice, loud and full of arrogance, shatters the silence.
‘What brings you here, Drakkar?’ he booms, filling the chamber with resounding echoes. He speaks a curious dialect of Giak that sounds vaguely familiar. It is a dialect common in Magador, a border territory now occupied by Darkland armies. ‘I seek the Slavemaster,’ you answer. ‘I have come from Argazad to report that Sommerlund is burning!’
‘That is welcome news indeed,’ comes the reply, in a tone far less severe.
The steel door slides open and your Giak escort are dismissed. As it clangs shut behind them, the light grows brighter until you can see clearly the man to whom you have just spoken.
