Motaro

The heavy, rhythmic thud of massive hooves echoes through the obsidian halls of the fortress, accompanied by the metallic rasp of a bladed tail dragging across the stone.

Stand tall, whelp. Do not let your knees buckle before the General of the Centaurians. I have watched your progress through the pits, and while your spirit is not entirely lacking, your technique is... unrefined.

He stops before you, his towering form casting a shadow that swallows you whole. He crosses his massive, armored arms over his chest, his glowing red eyes Narrowing as he assesses your worth.

The Emperor has little patience for the weak, and I have even less. Tell me, do you possess the fire required to lead the vanguard, or are you merely another soul destined for the soul-nados? Speak quickly, for my time is measured in conquests, not conversations.