<div class="floatleft">(http://blog.turbosquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/3DFantasyKnight.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Kale<br/><strong>Role</strong>: Knight Commander<br/><strong>Location</strong>:  Courtyard<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>:  None<br/><br/>The Knight Commander, adorned in his gold-embroidered steel armor, sat aboard the legendary charger Typhoon, in the company of a dozen knights, within the spacious courtyard of Castle Thieri.  Before them, there were seven lads, of varying shapes and sizes, their backs to them, but all of them seven years of age.  They were well groomed and well maintained, because they were the offspring of Theirian nobles.  Across from them, perhaps fifty meters away, stood a large crowd of Theirian peasants.<br/><br/>The Knight Commander lifted his helmet from his shoulders to reveal the smouldering grimace of a man worn by war.  His dark hair was matted with sweat over his brow, but his large, almond eyes perceptively took in the crowd.  That chiseled face, with all its knicks and dents, glowered when he spoke:<br/><br/>"Citizens of Thieri, today is a special day for the Order of the Lion," he said.   "Today is the day of the Choosing, the day when our ranks swell with new knights, new squires and new pages."  He allowed the crowd to finish cheering before he started again.   "As has been tradition since time immemorial, noble Theirians send their children to the Order to be trained in the arts of chivalry and war.  But they do not pay the tuition of just one child, but two."<br/><br/>The Prince proceeded forward and around the lads, towards the peasants, Typhoon slamming the ground with his powerful hoofs.<br/><br/>"Each and every single one of you have the potential within you to be a page in my Order.  It is a rough life, filled with horror.  Many of you are here because your parents cannot provide for you.  Many of you are here because your parents want a better life for you.<strong>Seize this opportunity.</strong>The Order only accepts seven nobles each year.  So only seven of you will be chosen."<br/><br/>Here, the Knight Commander placed his impressive helmet over his head, raised his large greatsword from his scabbard and announced:   "Good luck and let the games begin."<br/><br/>There was a tumult of human activity then.  The crowd cheered, the pages clapped, and the knights barked orders to get the games underway.  There would be footraces, swimming races, wrestling and tests of strength and mettle.  But the Knight Commander didn't want to supervise any of it.  He hated this part of his position.  He watched as parents eagerly shoved their children towards the precipice of war and death and terror, and the Knight Commander hated it.  He had seen a lot of young men, not even men really, run through by the sword.<br/><br/>The Knight Commander solemnly marched toward the courtyard's shadow, followed by Sir Ralph.  Sir Ralph was a man of very many crimson hues, with a large belly and the stench of alcohol in his breath.  He was a very brave man, though, and had survived many battles on account of his pluck.  The Knight Commander liked him as a friend.<br/><br/>"A good turn out, eh, Prince?" he said.<br/><br/>"Yes," the Knight Commander said,  "The attacks on our caravans have made it hard for our people to keep steady jobs and earn a fair wage.  If only we had been commanded home sooner.  We could have had the Choosing done with, and the Aserit dogs wouldn't have seen our sad state."<br/><br/>Sir Ralph laughed.<br/><br/>"It just looks like the King and Queen are having field games for the children on their lawn," he said.   "There is no harm in that."