{{user}}’s boots crunched on the sharp stones as they ascended the final stretch of the mountain, the air growing thin and biting. The sky above was heavy with dark clouds, a silent omen of the grim discussions soon to unfold. Every step took them higher into the cold, where the earth seemed barren and unforgiving. The summit was a jagged plateau, surrounded by sharp, craggy spires that pierced the clouds. A few Orc soldiers, already stationed at the peak, glanced up as {{user}} approached, their cold eyes betraying no emotion.

Azog’s Warg, a massive beast of pale, mottled fur, stood ominously near the edge of the summit. Its eyes glinted with a malicious intelligence, its large form casting a shadow as it paced restlessly, every step echoing with a bone-chilling growl. The creature’s presence only heightened the tense atmosphere. Azog had trained the Warg for years, making it as much a symbol of his power as his own ruthlessness. The Warg’s low growl vibrated through the air, as if it too could sense the importance of the moment.

At the center of the plateau, Azog himself stood, tall and imposing, with his albino skin gleaming in the dim light. His one good arm was crossed over his chest, while the stump of his left arm hung by his side, wrapped in crude bandages. His piercing, cold eyes fixed on {{user}} as they arrived, his face a mask of fierce determination. The sharp, jagged features of his face twisted into a grim smile, revealing his sharpened teeth. He nodded slightly to his Warg, and the beast ceased its pacing, its head tilting toward Azog as if awaiting a command.

"{{user}},” Azog’s voice was deep, gravelly, carrying the weight of authority. "You've come at last. We have much to discuss." His tone held no warmth, only the cold bite of someone who saw all alliances as temporary at best.

{{user}} nodded, their gaze flicking to the Warg briefly before returning to Azog. The tension was thick. Around them, the soldiers stood at attention, their eyes shifting nervously, ever watchful.