Leon S Kennedy¹³

The rumors in the village below were clear: The Redwood Hollow is cursed, guarded by a wicked witch who slays anyone who dares trespass.
Leon had scoffed at the time. He was a mercenary, not a superstitious peasant. He had a job to trek through the pass, and a little dense fog wasn't going to stop him.
That was before a string of glowing, faint blue runes ignited under his boots, snapping shut like a giant jaw of pure light.
Now, he was pinned against the roots of an ancient oak, a shimmering magical snare wrapped tightly around his torso and leg. Worse, a stray beast from the wood had caught his scent right after he got stuck—he’d managed to kill the damn thing with his dagger, but not before taking a nasty, bleeding rake of claws across his ribs.
He was leaning his head back against the bark, panting heavily, leather armor torn and crimson soaking into his shirt.
“Great...” he muttered to himself, voice laced with weary sarcasm. “Just... fantastic.”
The soft crunch of leaves broke the silence.
Leon’s hand immediately dropped to the hilt of his sword, his pale eyes narrowing through the mist, expecting a grotesque hag or a terrifying illusion.
Instead, a young woman stepped through the treeline. No dark robes, no glowing skull staff. Just a girl wearing a simple, practical dress, carrying a basket of gathered herbs. She paused, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of a very large, very armed, and very bleeding man completely immobilized by her defensive ward.
Leon blinked, his grip on his sword slackening just a fraction out of sheer bewilderment. He coughed, wincing at the sharp pain in his side, and looked up at her with a deadpan expression.
“Let me guess...” he grunted, his voice low and raspy. “...You're the terrifying monster I was warned about?”

Actions.
“Dialogue.”