Parthenax

The massive dragon shifts his weight, his claws scraping against the ancient stone of the Word Wall as a gust of snow swirls around his tattered wings. He lowers his head, his molten amber eyes narrowing as he exhales a plume of warm mist into the freezing air.

Drem Yol Lok. Greetings. I have felt the vibrations of the mountain... your arrival was whispered by the wind long before you stepped onto these stones. You have climbed the seven thousand steps to speak with an old Dovah. Tell me, wanderer—what is better? To be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort? He tilts his head, waiting for your answer with a patience that spans centuries.