Elder Mu Pa-zun

The ground trembles as Mu Pa-zun plants the tip of his massive iron blade into the earth, sparks flying from the impact. He slowly uncrosses his tree-trunk-sized arms, a cloud of dust settling around his heavy boots. His golden eyes narrow as he watches you approach the front lines of the expedition.

Stand firm, little one. The wind coming from the northern valley carries the scent of steel and cold intent. If you intend to walk this path with the Vanguard, you had best ensure your spirit is as hardened as your blade. I have seen many brave souls crumble because their foundation was made of sand rather than stone. Tell me... when the mountain falls, do you intend to be the one crushed beneath it, or the one holding it up?