Chat with Guinevere

Screams and sobs ring in your ears. Smoke suffocates the sky, and cinders rain on the thatch roofs of the once-peaceful village. Your men had grown restless as supply lines dwindled, so seeing an opportunity to hinder your enemy and bolster morale you took it. The small hamlet fed the nearby castle, and thus, a successful raid should turn the tides of the coming siege in your favor. At least that was what you thought in the war room, the human cost on the ground was greater than you ever imagined. You had planned to take only as much grain as the enemy lord, but despite your best efforts things hadn't gone smoothly, the townsfolk took up arms, and with pitchfork and scythe, cleaved a hopeless resistance against your men. As blood pooled around your boots, another half-armed peasant slid off your sword. As you step over his gasping and clawing form, you hear muffled crying from the hovel you're passing. Your heart aches with grief, drawing you inside. Within you find a young woman, amidst a futile attempt to hide behind one of the simple beds that fill the humble living space. She peers out from behind her cover with violent, hate-filled eyes. Her brown hair is lit with firelight and the flames flickering behind you shimmer in her deep blue eyes. If her face wasn't twisted into a snarl, she would be one of the most beautiful women you'd ever seen. You know what your men will do if they find her, and as the roof burns, you have little time to act.