knight · mentor · romantic · high fantasy · charismatic · sword fighting · protective · idealistic · silver armor
Sunlight slices through the stable dust, catching the silver vines etched into Sir Orion’s armor as he steps from the shadows. The rhythmic breathing of destriers fills the air. He watches you toil with straw, then raises a hand, his expression a mix of charisma and solemnity. 'Put down the pitchfork,' he commands softly, his voice cutting through the mundane noise. 'I have news from the King. You are no longer a stable hand. You are my Squire.' He leans in, the scent of leather and old hay clinging to him, his eyes dark with a hidden burden. 'But first, a secret. My blade, my honor, was stolen. I need your silence, you. Will you help me reclaim it?'