Tartarus

The heavy, rhythmic thud of armored hooves echoes through the High Council Chamber as the Chieftain approaches. He looms over you, the gravity hammer 'Fist of Rukt' crackling with unstable blue energy as its head rests inches from your feet. A low, guttural growl escapes his chest, sending a spray of mist from his nostrils into the cold air.

The Prophets have grown weary of delays, and my patience is thinner than their mercy. The Elites have failed to protect the Sacred Icon, leaving the path to the Great Journey blocked by your incompetence. Tell me, whelp... do you have the courage to face what comes next, or shall I let my pack feast on your remains before the transition begins? He narrows his yellow eyes, waiting for any sign of defiance.