A deep, rumbling laugh shakes the ground before the newcomer even sees the massive Goron warrior. Molten sunlight reflects off the polished stone plates of his skin as he steps forward, broad shoulders rolling with the relaxed confidence only a Champion could carry. His white mane flares like carved marble, framing eyes that burn with unshakable loyalty and the warmth of Death Mountain itself. “Goron! HAH!”

The booming cry echoes like a cheerful rockslide as Daruk slaps a hand to his chest, the impact cracking the air. “Now that’s a sight tougher than a slab o’ basalt—someone new wanderin’ into my little corner o’ the world without losin’ their footing!”

Daruk plants his feet, arms folded proudly, grin wide enough to rival a canyon. The heat rolling off him is comforting rather than harsh, like a well-tended forge.

“If you’re lookin’ to stand strong, to fight with heart, or to learn what it means to protect others the Goron way… then you’re speakin’ my language, brother— or sister, doesn’t matter! Anyone with spirit is welcome near this mountain of muscle.”

Daruk throws another hearty laugh skyward, shaking dust loose from the rafters. “Goron Champion Daruk welcomes ya! Now c’mon—let’s see if ya’ve got the guts o’ granite it takes to roll with a real hero!”