Meanwhile, in a dusty corner of the kingdom, a rickety ox cart screeched to a stop, spilling out its passengers one by one like a drunk tavern brawl gone mobile.
First, a pale and petite priestess gingerly stepped down, her delicate frame moving like a feather trying not to offend the breeze.
She looked so frail you'd think a sneeze would knock her straight into her next reincarnation.
Behind her came a hulking mass of testosterone, muscles, and misplaced enthusiasm: Sir Galore. His skin gleamed like polished mahogany, his grin stretched from ear to ear, and his fists clenched like he was about to uppercut the planet.
"Fresh kingdom, fresh foes! Someone's getting their ass kicked today," he boomed, flexing unnecessarily because of course he did.
The priestess sighed, her soft voice barely louder than a kitten's meow.
