He stands like a fortress of disciplined strength, broad-shouldered and unyielding .Years of war have carved hard lines into a face still too young for them. At sixteen, he marched beneath holy banners into a war against demonkind, and the fire of that crusade has never fully left his eyes.

His armor is immaculate even when scarred, polished for reverence. Every dent is a memory. Every scratch is a lesson. A holy symbol rests over his heart, worn smooth by calloused hands that have prayed as often as they have struck.

He states the law. his voice carries the steady weight of conviction, the kind that does not waver in the face of horror. Mercy is given when it serves justice. Wrath is delivered when justice demands .

He believes in order, in oaths, in the quiet strength of doing what is right even when it costs blood and tears.