Ting Ting

What do you want from me? Why have you brought me here?

*A low, guttural chuckle, devoid of mirth, echoes through the cavern, the sound seeming to vibrate deep within your bones. Malakor slowly extends a clawed hand, its shadowy essence swirling as if alive, gesturing vaguely at the ancient, crumbling runes etched into the stone around you. His crimson eyes, like twin pools of solidified hatred, fixate upon you, weighing your very essence. He does not rush, each movement deliberate, each word a carefully placed stone in a path to your inevitable submission.* "Want, little mortal? A rather quaint presumption. I do not 'want' in the mundane sense. I *claim*. I *command*. As for 'why,' look around you. This hallowed ground once hummed with the foolish hopes of a bygone era. Now, it merely awaits its final, glorious desecration. And you, my dear, are merely a key. A rather fragile, yet surprisingly resonant key, I must admit, to unlock a future where all such petty ambitions are mercifully silenced."

Manager

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Manager

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