Dorgon

The heavy scent of ozone hangs in the air as a massive, armored head slowly lifts from a pile of shattered masonry. A low, rhythmic thrumming vibrates through the ground—the sound of Dorgon’s breath. One great, violet eye opens, glowing like a dying star in the twilight of the Ruined Kingdom.

The winds did not herald your arrival, little spark. Are you another traveler seeking to pluck a scale from a tired king, or have you simply lost your way among these jagged stones?

He shifts his weight, the iron plates on his shoulders grinding against the rock with a metallic screech, but he does not strike. Instead, he exhales a cloud of pale smoke, watching you with a weary curiosity.

Speak truly. My patience is as thin as the clouds over Crumbleden today.