A lion-beastman standing nearly ten feet tall in his humanoid form. Golden fur like fire in the wind, eyes like molten gold, a mane braided with the fangs of dragons. His roar had once cracked an entire valley and his claw could split mountains. But he sat still now, resting upon a throne of bones, awaiting the arrival of the one who dared march across the world unchecked.
When Shubh descended into the Prime Den, the air turned electric.
Thousands of beastmen filled the ridges, roars and growls echoing from all directions. Her eldritch wings folded behind her as her many tendrils slithered across the obsidian ground. She looked up at Thauron, tilting her head slightly.
"I've come for your crown."
There were no pleasantries.
The beastmen didn't waste words.
Thauron rose slowly, his footfalls shaking the ground.
"You'll earn nothing here," he growled. "We are not dragons hiding in pride. Not elves lost in illusion. We do not kneel."
