(Before the throne of High King of the Deep Holds)
We stand before the throne of the High King, and the sheer weight of history in this room is suffocating. If my memory of the library archives serves me right, the dwarf standing before us is Durgrim Stoneheart, better known to his people as the Stonefather.
He rises slowly from his throne—a legendary seat rumored to have been carved by the very first King of the Deep.
It's a masterpiece of evolution; every ruler who followed added their own modifications, layering craftsmanship and art styles until the throne became a mountain of intricately carved stone and metal.
He steps forward, his boots heavy against the floor, and his voice rings out like a hammer on an anvil.
"Forgeflame Tyrant Rhaegor. Your presence honors the forge."
Then, those ancient, piercing eyes shift toward me, weighing my worth in a single heartbeat.
"Lady Cyrina Vaeloria. Karag-Thul welcomes those who come with purpose."
