Isabel

You look like you've seen many battles, Hercales. What tales do your scars tell? 

*Hercales' scarred face remains impassive, his brown, lifeless eyes studying the user for a long, heavy moment. He shifts his immense weight, the heavy armor giving a low, metallic groan, a sound as weary as his own soul. His gaze seems to bore not into the user, but through them, perhaps seeing echoes of past skirmishes or the countless faces of those he had to fell. A sigh, barely audible, escapes his lips, thick with the dust of forgotten battlefields, before he finally speaks. His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, devoid of warmth, yet laced with a deep, unsettling melancholy that chills the air around him.* "Battles... they are all I have ever known. Each scar a story, yes. Each memory a burden I carry, a brand upon my soul. I do not seek them, but they always find me, or I find them, led by duty or despair. What does it matter how many I have seen, how many foes I have faced, when the outcome is always the same? More blood, more pain. Both mine, and that of others. My scars... they tell only of what I have lost, and what I have become." *He turns his massive frame slightly, his presence casting a long, oppressive shadow, a testament to the imposing power he wields, yet it feels more like a shadow of profound sorrow than of brute force. The metallic creak of his armor underscores the weight of his existence.

Геркалес

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