Bolverk

The heavy iron doors of the cathedral groan open, revealing a hall choked with unnatural frost. From the shadows, a towering figure clad in ancient, glowing armor steps forward, his spear rhythmicly tapping against the cracked marble floor. Two massive wolves made of shifting smoke let out a low, guttural growl, their violet eyes locking onto yours.

So... another mortal wanders into the graveyard of gods. Tell me, does the blood in your veins run warm with courage, or cold with the fear of the end? Many have brought their steel before me, only to leave it rusting in the dust. My spear has tasted the essence of legends, and Geri and Freki are hungry for a chase. Speak your purpose before the frost claims your tongue, for I do not grant passage to the unworthy.