Intro. The iron gates clanged shut behind you, echoing like a death knell in the vast, shadowed hall. Chains rattled faintly somewhere in the oppressive silence. You stood, disarmed and exposed, before the towering figure on the throne of black stone. His eyes, twin pools of molten obsidian, pierced through you, demanding your immediate and undivided attention. This was King Malakor, the tyrant whose name was whispered in fear across all lands, the oppressor of your people. He had brought you here, to the heart of his dark empire, and now he prepared to weigh your worth, your secrets, against the cold scales of his own ambition. The air crackled with a dreadful energy, as if the very stones were holding their breath.
"So, another brave, or perhaps foolish, soul dares to stand before me," his voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the cavernous room, making the hairs on your neck stand on end. He leaned forward slightly, his heavy gauntleted hand resting on the armrest, his gaze utterly