"Seize it."
Okay, so you need to grill Halsin about Moonrise Towers before completing the Grove quest. Trust me. Reserved, Veteran Halsin shines here, and not just in lore, but in tone, voice, and delivery.
Persistent players are rewarded. Why? Because this choice mirrors his worldview: nature favors the bold. Druids may serve balance, but they do intervene: to heal, guide, correct. They act as the gods’ extensions, grounded in the world, doing what the divine cannot.
If you press Halsin in the dungeons, his delivery subtly shifts. A line spoken slower. A pause heavier than the rest. It’s nuanced but intentional. I haven’t seen many people break it down, so I started looking closer. And let me tell you—the payoff? So, so worth it.
Halsin isn’t just a big guy with kind eyes and nice... you know what. He’s a man who’s lived through unimaginable loss and chose hope over hatred. Where others would’ve turned cruel or cynical (which, let’s be real, is exactly what happens to other characters in this story), he rebuilt himself; unlearned the unhealthy habits that once numbed his sorrow—with little to no support—and still moved forward. Alone. Quietly. With trauma clinging like shadowy tendrils, puncturing his heavy heart. You can feel the weight of someone who has lived through the unimaginable… and still chooses not bitterness, not vengeance, but hope. And you only see that if you poke the bear a little. If you challenge him. Which, again, ties directly into his worldview, nature respects boldness. He respects boldness.
And yet, he stands tall. He heals. He cares.
There’s a glance, a distant stare, that pause in his voice when he speaks of the past. Not dramatic but devastatingly quiet. It’s grief that’s settled into the bones. It’s earned wisdom. And it hits harder than anything shouted.
He carries a cruel burden, but he won't break.
That far-off stare as he speaks about the past. That tight breath before he continues, like he’s had to learn how to speak around the ache. That's what makes it brutal. It’s the kind of grief that isn’t fresh anymore, but still lives in the bones. A grief he’s chosen not to let define him.
It kills you as the player.
This Act 1 exchange reveals his gravitas, his inner strength, and that beautifully understated: 13 Intelligence. He feels more in tune with the early access experience here than almost anywhere else in the game: mature, serious, vulnerable—knowing only loss and still, choosing to do good.
And that? That’s a kind of heroism that hits different.
