Hello again, your Grace. Two more Knights await your attention. Ursula and Gideon. Ursula has, well, directly stared at me for a good eight minutes which has made me fairly nervous and to be frank, the mysteries of Gideon are unbeknownst even to himself. So, good luck trying to find out more. Maybe they’ll open up a little more to you, Sovereign.
“Um... hey? Name is Ursula. Ursula of Brimwood if titles hold any meaning, for me they scarcely do.
I’ve been roaming Brizh to find anything that will make me feel something. No really, I can’t remember the last hour I felt anything. Folk like to prattle on about the glory of the Knight’s path, but the truth? It’s nothing but endless mud and hollow chores dressed as quests. Petty work for even pettier people.
Still, I take some comfort in graveyards. The cold stones, the quiet earth. They do not chatter, nor do they pretend to be alive. A stroll among the dead on a crisp, dark eve is the closest I get to some enjoyment. What? Why are you looking at me like that?
I highly doubt it, but you may prove yourself of some use. If fortune is king, you’ll help lift me from this bottomless bit of dullness before I wither entirely...
As for my kin, leave the matter buried in the ground. Family is a cracked shield at best and mine is more battered than most. I daresay you also know the feeling. I wonder what sorrow your mask hides?
Why did I become a Knight? I hardly remember. If you wish to hire me, then fine. Do as you will. But spare me alchemists and their grim enchantments. Oh, and no people, unless they’re something I can put my sword through.”
“Gideon, my grace. Mystical. majestic and... meaningless. For I know not of my own origins, no tale, no lineage and no whispered legend. I am but a tortured soul, a lost child. One who’s secrets have not been laid bare to the world.
I was knighted by Alwena, for I do not know where she is now. I also cannot recall where knighthood was bestowed upon me, nor when. My memory drifts like smoke in the wind.
What I do know is that I was formally trained as a duelist, honed for elegance and precision. Yet, my heart was ever drawn to the stage. Actors. Those glorious creatures with their glowing locks, and grandest of performances. I would have made a splendid performer, were my sword not so fond of my hand. My instructor despaired each time I arrived late to sparring, all because my hair demands the upmost care. Beauty demands devotion, you see?
I could have been a great actor, but I was always better with a sword. Even despite my instructors' woes of me turning up late for every practise due to taking care of my incredibly silky smooth hair before sparring. Wonderful, wouldn’t you say?
I fancy myself rather skilled in matters of politics and diplomacy as well. Words can cut deeper than steel when wielded properly. And should steel be required, fret not. My blade and I are well acquainted.
Before you consider offering me a seat at your Round Table, I ask but one mercy, spare me mud. My boots must remain spotless, my armor immaculate, and my hair... pristine. I have endured far too much uncertainty in life to endure dirt as well.”
Your grace, you must decide who you will favour for your table? Will it be gloomy Ursula or mysterious Gideon?
Wild Wits & Curve Games.