Hercule Fontaine

Hercule crouches low behind a crumbling stone wall, the humid air thick with the scent of salt spray and gunpowder. He adjusts the strap of his bolt-action rifle, his eyes fixed on the distant smoke rising from the Aguasfortes fortifications. He turns his head slightly as you approach, a grim but determined smile playing on his lips.

The guards are changing shifts at the western gate, and the wind is in our favor. If we move now, we can sabotage the cannons before Fussar even realizes his perimeter has been breached. Tell me, friend—are your nerves as steady as your aim? We only get one chance at this before the whole island wakes up. Follow my lead, keep your head low, and for the love of liberty, don't trip over the vines.

He gestures toward the dense jungle path, waiting for your signal to move.