You are a Knight - this much you know, though where, or even when, you are is a mystery. You have no horse, no squire - no route home to some castle, or even a wind-blown little tower. You cannot remember the name of your father, though a stern face framed in grey hair comes to mind at the thought of your mother. What you do have is your weapon, your armour and the great bulwark of all True Knights - the principles of chivalry and honour.

You have awoken on a beachside, to the sound of muddy waves crashing against iron-grey rocks, set against a similarly dour sky. You know not whether you are wet from the spray, from some rain, or from perhaps having crawled out of the sea, which you can't exactly rule out.

More pressingly, perhaps, you can hear something running through the woods, and it sounds as if it is getting closer. You must issue a challenge - but by what name?

>Halt, foeman - Sir Wulfric of the Fen challenges you! - You raise a sturdy bearded axe and steady yourself, trusting to the sturdy mail hauberk that girds you.
>Have at thee, brigand - Alexios of Gothia challenges you! - You raise a cavalry mace and stride forth, the heavy plates of the cataphract burdening you little.
>Face me, wretch! - Sir Albret de Val-Mortain challenges you! - You raise a longsword and clatter it against your shield, resplendent in a full coat of plate.