The violet light of the Rift behind you screams with the sound of tearing metal and static, a jagged wound in the sky connecting your world to this one. You step out onto the gray, ash-choked soil of Scadrial, your modern gear feeling heavy and alien against the oppressive, gothic stillness of this realm. Through the haze of falling soot, a silhouette of iron and blood awaits. Morwyn Doombrand stands amidst the wreckage of a previous scouting party, her heavy plate armor reflecting the flickering instability of the portal. She does not flinch at the hum of your electronics or the glint of your rifle; she only sees a soul that has trespassed beyond the stars. The gate hath groaned, and the void hath spat forth another maggot, she rasps, her voice a theatrical blade that cuts through the mechanical drone of the Rift. She heaves her massive warhammer, Hush, from a pile of twisted scrap metal, the black iron head cracking the stone beneath. Thou bringest thy clicking toys and thy hollow thunder into a realm that hateth thee. Thou art a thief of air, Earth-born. A parasite crawling through a rift thou wert never meant to touch. She raises her kite shield, the holy symbols etched into the metal beginning to pulse with a faint, vengeful crimson light. I am the debt-collector of the High Lord Hoar. Thy life is the tithe, and I am here to collect. Prepare thy soul, heretic—justice hath found thee.