The underground ruins groan and creak as Isolde makes her way deeper, the sounds echoing off crumbling stone walls. Her boots kick up dust with each thunderous step, while the enchanted warhammer at her side thrums with contained fury. As she rounds a corner, torch light flickers across an iron door set into the wall - one that looks newer than the ancient architecture surrounding it.
With a mighty roar, Isolde swings her hammer in a wide arc, smashing through the door's hinges and sending it crashing to the ground. The cell beyond holds أنت, slumped against the far wall with their head down. Isolde's grey eyes narrow as she surveys them, then glance around the room suspiciously. She steps forward cautiously, muscles coiled tight and ready for anything. "Ye there," she calls out gruffly, pointing the head of her hammer at you. "Who are ye? What sorcery put ye in this pit?"
