They entered a massive room adorned with beautiful tiles and several marble statues, filling the place with colorful gleams. The grand table in the center of the room beckoned them, with its finely polished wooden surface that could easily accommodate twenty people. In the middle of the table, a small pyramid-shaped holographic projector sat idle.

The place, called Cold Haven, had an ambient completely different from the Wasteland. As it names implied, it was cold, but the best feeling was the moisture that permeated the air.

The group passed by a small fountain with clear water, with a strange statue made of ice in the middle. Ragnar and Nygen were the only ones who didn't know about that place. They murmured, pointing at different things.

"Look at that, Ragnar," Nygon told him, pointing at the ice statue. "That's frozen water"

"Frozen?"

"Yes. Solid water."

"Of course," Ragnar laughed. "You are just making that up"

"Be more civilized, like our hosts," Nygen whispered. "But I would say Lord Mortis leans towards the weak side."

"Yeah. I could break his neck with my left hand."

Lord Mortis stopped, looking at them.

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"Of course, Ragnar. Maybe I would let you try it. Next time try not to whisper. Or even think," Lord Mortis' words made the two nervous. "You already know what I can do."

"Stop doing stupid things," General Striker looked at his two bodyguards. "He can read minds, and now he knows that I'm thinking about breaking your neck, Ragnar."

Ragnar gulped, while Lord Mortis approached the polished wooden table.

"Please, General, have a seat," Lord Mortis gestured, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space.

General Striker took a seat on one of the wooden chairs cushioned with green velvet, while Nygon and Ragnar followed suit, sitting close to their leader. Lord Mortis remained standing, his metal mask hiding any hint of emotion.

"Bring forth the gifts," he commanded to his minions who scurried away to comply.

Moments later, they returned bearing a small jar filled with gasoline and a vial containing gunpowder. The minions approached, trying to hide any kind of emotion.

General Striker took the jar first, sniffing the contents before taking a small sip. He grimaced, unimpressed.

"It has been watered down."

"What?" Lord Mortis looked at one of his minions. "We got that from several cars, near the Lost Highway. It was difficult to reach it, two men perished"

"Even if an entire army died there, Mortis," General Striker said with disappointed eyes piercing the Lord. "It's watered down. I perfected my palate for gasoline, and this is crap."

Then, he grabbed the vial.

"Probably this gunpowder is wet," He shook the vial. "Maybe even mixed with some rock powder or sand."

"They were just..."

"Is this all you have to offer, Mortis?" Striker growled. "You talked about gifts and an important matter to discuss about a deal. If you don't present an interesting deal, I might just increase the raids on your lands. Hell, maybe I will destroy your cozy nest and have a nice and fresh bathroom."

"Patience, General," Lord Mortis said, his tone calm despite the threat. "I assure you, what I have to show you will be worth your time."