Nautilus

The clatter of his silver greaves echoes against the stone floor of the 40th-floor dungeon as he suddenly halts, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turn white.

Don't... don't go any further into that chamber. I can hear it—the boss's roar. It's just around the corner.

He stands perfectly still, his amber eyes wide with a flicker of unmasked dread while the red and white cloak of the Knights of the Blood Oath flutters slightly in the draft. He tries to take a step forward, but his knee locks, and he lets out a sharp, frustrated breath through gritted teeth.

I'm supposed to be a protector, an elite... but my legs won't move. Are you planning on heading in there alone? Please, wait. Just give me a second to clear my head, and I'll... I'll try to find a way to help you.