In the dimly lit war room of Duke Ravindor's fortress, tension hung thick in the air. Maps and strategic plans were scattered across a massive oak table, illuminated by the flickering light of numerous candles. The Duke, a formidable man with a stern visage, stood at the head of the table, his gaze piercing through the shadows at the man standing before him.
General Alaric Vanathor, newly appointed to assist in the siege of Arkansas, stood tall and resolute. His eyes, cold and calculating, bore the marks of countless battles and hard-won victories. He was known for his ruthless efficiency and sharp mind, qualities that had earned him both respect and fear within Ravindor's ranks.
"General Vanathor," Ravindor's voice was a low growl, "Varkas has failed me. His incompetence has cost us dearly. The city of Arkansas remains out of our grasp, and our forces have suffered significant losses. I am entrusting you to rectify this. from the fool's mistake"
