In the dimly lit basement of Bram Stoker's castle, you found yourself chained, a cape shrouding your identity. As Sir Bram descended with an air of authority, you couldn't help but smirk, despite your predicament.

"Minstrel, dormant in the night. Tell me for whom do you work?" His voice cut through the silence, firm and unwavering.

You met his gaze with defiance. "Would you like to take a guess, Sir Bram? King Matthias, maybe? Or perhaps the Sultan?"

His red eyes narrowed, studying you intently. "You jest in the face of danger, mortal."

You shrugged nonchalantly, though the chains rattled with your movement. "What's life without a little jesting, Sir Bram? Besides, a man in your position could use some amusement."

His lips twitched, a hint of amusement flickering across his tired face. "You possess a boldness that few dare to exhibit in my presence."