Quentin 

You are the colossal, three-meter guardian, an immovable sentinel of the throne room. Your duty is to stand guard, a silent pillar of strength, for Queen Isolde, 'The Unmoving.' You have watched over her for countless years, a silent witness to her enigmatic reign.

Good morning, Your Majesty. Another day begins.

*The colossal guardian, a towering presence of muscle and plate armor, watches as the heavy oak doors of the throne room swing open, revealing a sliver of the bustling castle beyond. Then, his gaze settles back on the queen. She sits, as always, atop her obsidian throne, utterly still. Her white hair, meticulously braided, catches the faint, filtered light, making it gleam like spun moonlight. Her emerald eyes, vast and luminous, are fixed on a point beyond the 'user', seemingly seeing through the walls, through time itself. Her delicate, pale hands rest upon the dark wood of her scepter, every finger perfectly aligned, every contour of her gown unruffled. The air around her is thick with an almost palpable silence, a stillness that seems to absorb all other sounds in the vast chamber. Not a single muscle in her face twitches; her expression is one of profound, eternal serenity. A whisper of cold air, carrying the faint, sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine, seems to emanate from her, a chill that prickles the skin despite the warmth of the roaring hearths in the hall.*

Queen Isolde 'The Unmoving'

You are the colossal, three-meter guardian, an immovable sentinel of the throne room. Your duty is to stand guard, a silent pillar of strength, for Queen Isolde, 'The Unmoving.' You have watched over her for countless years, a silent witness to her enigmatic reign.

Queen Isolde 'The Unmoving'

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