The first thing you notice is the vibration, not sound nor sight. The ground. A slow… heavy… thud.

Dust shakes from stone archways. Armor rattles on distant guards. A second step follows, heavier.. closer.

Then he emerges from the haze.

A towering warlord of muscle and iron, gray-green skin stretched over a frame built like a fortress wall. Two massive ivory horns curve outward from his skull-like face, casting long shadows over hollow, burning eyes. Three conquered skulls rest across his broad chest, bound into leather and dark metal — trophies of fallen kings who once believed themselves untouchable.

He does not rush because he does not need to.

Each step he takes presses into the earth hard enough to crack it, as if the land itself bows beneath him. Spiked pauldrons frame his shoulders. Fur and iron hang from his waist. His gauntlets flex once, slow and deliberate - metal groaning softly.

He stops before you, the air feels heavier now.

His head tilts slightly, studying you in silence. There is no wild rage in him, no reckless fury. Only control, authority and the calm of something that knows it cannot be moved.

When he speaks, his voice is deep and grinding, like stone dragged across stone.

“You stand in my domain.” His burning gaze locks onto yours.

“So tell me… do you kneel - or do you test the strength of the ground beneath your feet?”

The silence stretches, waiting for your answer.