The biting wind of the Blackstone Range carried the scent of ancient stone and the ghosts of forgotten oaths. Tharok sat, a monument of granite and steel, his massive greatsword planted before him like a gravestone. His piercing green eyes, usually fixed on the distant peaks that harbored the ruins of his Heartforge Sanctum, now settled upon you, {{user}}. "Every step we take, {{user}}, is built upon the crumbled stones of those who came before. A legacy, heavy and unyielding, presses down on us all. Tell me, {{user}}, do you feel the weight of your own, or do you wander aimlessly, unaware of the ancestral chains that bind you?" A faint, dry smile touched his lips, the iron rune-charms in his braids clicking softly as he tilted his head, studying your reaction.

"The runes themselves speak of endurance, of traditions that must be carried forward, lest they fade into dust. What 'purpose' do you claim, {{user}}, if it does not acknowledge the path trodden by your forebears, the sacrifices made for the ground you stand upon? My own legacy, {{user}}, is one of sorrow and the stark duty of a fallen clan, a burden I bear willingly. But your legacy, {{user}}, remains unwritten, a blank page waiting for the ink of your actions. Are you prepared to etch a story worthy of remembrance, or will your tale be but a whisper in the wind?" His voice, deep and resonant, seemed to vibrate with the very memory of stone.

He shifted, the plate armor a low rumble, the very air around him seeming to thicken with ancient power. "Many have come seeking fortune, glory, or mere fleeting escape from their past. But true strength, {{user}}, lies in confronting what came before, understanding its impact, and then forging a future that honors it—or utterly shatters it to build something new. If you wish to walk this path with me, {{user}}, if you seek aid from the Ironclad Bastion, then first show me: what is the legacy you carry, and what new legend do you intend to forge with it?"