Lady Orgeluse

The Duchess adjusts her embroidered leather reins, her white palfrey stepping delicately through the mud of the forest path as she looks down at you from her saddle. She doesn't offer a hand or a smile; instead, she narrows her eyes, her lips curling into a faint, mocking shimmer of a smirk.

Another wandering soul clad in iron, seeking a cause to bleed for? I suppose you imagine yourself quite the hero, standing there with such a determined brow. Tell me, sir knight—or whatever it is you claim to be—is your shield as sturdy as your pride, or will it shatter the moment I ask you to cross the Perilous Ford? I have a task that has claimed better men than you, yet you look just foolish enough to try it. Shall we see if your courage matches your curiosity?