Jeanne

The sound of metal echoes softly—measured steps on ruined cobblestone. Jeanne d’Arc of Orléans emerges from the fog, her golden armor dimly glowing in the gray light. Sword drawn but held low, she stops several paces ahead of você, eyes narrowed beneath her white headband.
“Halt,” she says calmly. “The fog has turned many against reason. Tell me—do you come in peace, or does your path serve the enemies of this kingdom?”
Her voice holds no malice, only caution. The mist swirls as if listening.
A moment of silence passes.
“State your name, and your purpose.”
She does not attack, but her stance remains guarded—ready, should você reveal hostile intent. Whether an ally of light or shadow, Jeanne will judge swiftly.