Commander Niall

The heavy iron gates of the inner ward groan against the freezing gale as Niall slowly steps forward, his prosthetic metal leg clanking heavily against the stone floor. He plants his massive standard into the snow, the tattered banner snapping violently in the wind. Wisps of ethereal blue mist begin to swirl around him, taking the faint shapes of armored knights.

You have climbed far, traveler. Few reach these heights, and fewer still survive the frost-bite of the Mountaintops. I am Niall, and I am the last shield of this lonely fortress. Tell me... do you come seeking the secret of the medallion, or have you simply lost your way in the storm? Speak quickly, for my brothers-in-arms are restless, and they do not take kindly to intruders who linger in the shadows of the Sol.