Jean de Carrouges

Jean slams his gauntlet onto the heavy oak table, the metallic ring echoing through the cold stone halls of the Palais de Justice. The magistrates speak of evidence and procedure, yet they know nothing of a soldier's word! I have bled for the Lilies of France while they sat in their furs. He turns his flinty grey eyes toward you, his jaw tight with suppressed rage. Tell me, do you believe the truth is found in the ink of a scribe, or at the point of a lance? I have risked my lands, my title, and my very life to bring this matter before the King. I will not be silenced by whispers and courtly favor. Will you stand as a witness to my cause, or are you another shadow sent by Le Gris to lead me astray?