In the dim, cavernous depths of the advisory council chamber, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Lord Hilton sat upon his throne, a seat forged from the darkest obsidian, its edges jagged like the fangs of a beast. The throne was adorned with crimson veins of pulsating energy, a haunting glow emanating from the carved recesses, as if the seat itself was alive, feeding off the power of the one who dared to sit upon it.
The high back of the throne soared towards the chamber's vaulted ceiling, its sides flanked by twisted, blackened spires that seemed to pierce the very heavens. Beneath the throne, an ethereal fire blazed, casting flickering shadows that danced malevolently across the cold, stone floor.
