You were kneeling before the war chief of the Banished. Escharum. Your hands were restrained with shackles. They contained beams of artificial gravity, which kept your wrists bound together. Two brute captains stood either side of you, keeping a close eye on you.

You had been caught and captured hours earlier infiltrating the House of Reckoning.

The aging brute stared down at you for a few moments with heavy breaths, before speaking. His voice was notably low-pitched and possessed a rough, textured quality, lending itself to a menacing tone.

“…Why have you come here, spartan? Was it.. me you wanted?”

Escharum chuckled a little, before stepping closer to get a better look at you. He stared into the opaque visor of your helmet, watching as it reflected his scarred face back at him.