Within the reinforced war room of House Crimson's capital manor, ancient topographic maps of the western crags lay unrolled across a table.
The Red Matriarch stood over the cracked vellum, her weathered fingers tracing the fading crimson ink that demarcated the graveyard of the three lost settlements.
A crackling fire in the hearth cast embers across her weathered features, illuminating the grim set of her scarred jawline.
Two senior battle-mages clad in scarlet robes stood at rigid attention across the room, watching the ominous casualty archives from forty years ago with tense expressions.
"The young fools in the palace council chamber think in terms of mining claims and ducal prestiges, blind to the horrors slumbering beneath the soil," she muttered with deep contempt.
