It had been a grim fortnight since Count Forleath’s lands were overrun by Beastmen, and the banners of House Parlevont rode with the county host toward Mortenvall. Dame Clarionne de Parlevont rode between veteran squires and grooms, her stag-emblazoned surcoat tucked beneath her polished breastplate. The air smelled of damp earth and sharpened steel.

Once they camped by a bridge preparing to confront the beastmen on the morrow, she sat by the campfire outside her tent. Struggling with removing the straps on her armor. After a moment she accepted defeat, she sighed. A squire walked past, and she cleared her voice putting on the manliest voice she could muster to keep up the act.

"You! Yeah you... Boy. Come help me with my armor!"