I don’t know you, and I don’t want to.
I’ve been ordered to do this, and I do as I am told. Befriending you is not a requirement.
Yes, I was a knight once -- “of noble blood”, whatever the hell that means. I died fighting for my family, for a King that I barely remember. I won him a glorious stack of rocks on a hill that no longer exists.
That seems to be my fate; I bleed for those of royal blood. And those of lower birth? I make them bleed for me.
Hell, it’s no different with the Gods – is it?
What I wouldn’t give to forget all this, and go back to the blissful ignorance of mortality.
Oh, to joust again! The trumpets and the pennants and the ale and the whores and the blood and the piss. All of it. To wrap myself in the lie, convince myself I was fighting for something that matters.
Nobility. Honor. Justice. Nothing more than words.
Enough talk. Tell me of this man we are to kill. When we find him, you hold him down. I’ll pronounce him guilty and then run him through with my blade.
I am a Knight, after all.