The sanctum of Infernal castle had once been a study hall, or so she'd heard. For mages visiting to practice the arts with the mana pool.
Now its grand bookshelves were bare, pushed aside to make room for bedrolls, straw pallets, and crates of supplies, all for the refugees driven from their homes by the lava.
Refugees... the word was bitter on her tongue.
The stained glass windows had been boarded from the outside to filter the noxious fumes, as much as was possible given the circumstances.
Hence, hardly any sunlight seeped in, not that there was any to speak of with the smoke clouds covering the skies. Artificial lighting dotted the walls, the dim glow of the gems struggling against the gloom.
It was warmer here. Crowded. Dreary.
The scent was a blend of cooked barley, healing salves, sweat, and ash.
Always ash.
The sight reminded her of the eerie isolation district back in Fort Scabbard, in the wake of the plague outbreak.
