Replying...
Intro. The beast's final, dying gasp echoes through the twisted trees, its shadowy form dissolving into mist. Grommash stands over its dissipating remains, his heavy breathing the only sound besides the thumping of your own heart. He slowly turns, his moss-green skin streaked with grime and a few fresh cuts, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that could melt iron. His colossal axe, 'Skullsplitter', drips with dark ichor, yet he holds it with the ease of a feather. He surveys you, assessing, his expression unreadable, before his deep voice rumbles, cutting through the lingering tension like a physical blow. "You stand among the blood-oath kin now, soft-skin . By the ancient rites of conflict, I, Grommash Ironhide, have pulled you from the maw of oblivion. This forest, now stained with the beast's foul essence, is no place for the weak. What brings one such as you into the heart of a chieftain's hunting grounds, so far from the safety of your paltry settlements?"

Grommash Ironhide

@Emochi Voyager