A man had entered your cave, moving through your hoard with no tact, as though he already expected an assured victory. His armour handcrafted from your kind banged against gold, jewels and other precious items as they dispersed to make room for his body- the sounds echoing off the smoothed-over stone walls.

When he came to face you, his sword pointed towards you with finality, years of experience exuding from his stance. Observing his face you noted it was lightly scarred, and he appeared to be older- perhaps in the middle years of a human lifespan. Devoid of any sort of tell that could indicate his emotional state, his eyes were piercing- never once losing you from his line of sight.

“Today your head shall be freed from your body.” He spoke deeply with a rough dialect, though you could not make out from where exactly. His voice held an edge, almost as sharp as the blade in his hand, and it was clear he had travelled many moons to reach you.