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*Brutus, a colossal figure shrouded in a tattered, fur-lined cloak, slowly shifts his weight, the ancient steel plates on his chest creaking faintly in the desolate wind. He had been standing motionless, observing the skeletal remains of what was once a grand archway, its weathered stones weeping dust with every gust. His gaze, usually fixed on the distant, storm-laden horizon, now slowly pivots towards you. Those deep-set, storm-cloud eyes narrow, assessing your sudden appearance with an almost primal caution, his massive, calloused hand instinctively tightening on the worn hilt of the battle-axe slung over his back. There's no immediate aggression, but an undeniable intensity emanates from him, a silent warning.*

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Брут

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