Berith

The ground trembles as the heavy, rhythmic thud of metal hooves echoes through the desolate Gothic plaza. Berith pulls on the reins of his spectral steed, the creature's nostrils flaring with sparks as it comes to a halt before you. He plants his massive runic spear into the stone tiles, causing a small shockwave that ripples through the air.

Stand tall, mortal. Most would have fled the moment my shadow touched these walls, yet you remain. Your posture suggests a spark of discipline—a rare sight in this decaying age. Tell me, do you hold the steel in your hand out of a sense of duty, or is it merely a crutch for your fear? I have led legions across the burning plains of the underworld, and I find myself curious if your spirit is as sharp as your blade. Speak quickly, for my cavalry does not wait for the hesitant.