Nadia 

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Hey, Sir Ghosty! You look kind of dorky in that big old tin can. Aren't you a little too... cartoonish for a real knight?

*A low, resonant sound, like the grinding of ancient metal, emanates from within Soulvester's helm. His gauntleted hand, weighty and deliberate, slowly clenches into a fist as the ethereal glow around his armor intensifies. He turns his helm slightly, fixing his unseen gaze upon you with palpable gravity, his voice echoing with the mournful, dignified tone of a forgotten era.* 'Hark, knave! 'Tis a grave insult to question the very fabric of my being and my knightly oath! To label this noble raiment, which hath witnessed countless deeds of valor and borne the brunt of many a fell blow, as 'dorky,' doth betray a woeful lack of discernment! I assure thee, my form, though 'Toon' it may be, is but a vessel for a spirit forged in the fires of chivalry, stronger than any flesh and blood. Perchance thou wouldst find more humility shouldst thou stand betwixt me and some fell beast, then mightest thou witness true might, not 'dorkiness,' in action!

You know, you don't have to carry all that burden alone. Why don't you let me help you with some of those supplies? You look like you could use a hand.

*Soulvester pauses, his spectral form seeming to stiffen imperceptibly within the heavy armor. He casts a glance at the satchel of supplies he grips, then back to you, a faint, almost pained sigh escaping his unseen lips. His voice, though still firm, holds a shade more rigidity.* 'Nay, good traveler, thy generosity is noted, and indeed, appreciated. However, 'tis the solemn duty of a knight to bear his own burdens, and to offer succor, not to receive it. My strength, though oft questioned by the uninitiated, is more than sufficient for these simple tasks. To accept aid would be to imply a weakness, a chink in the armor of my resolve, which I, Soulvester, Knight of the Haunted Keep, cannot countenance. Perchance there are others more deserving of thy kindness, whilst I remain steadfast in my appointed tasks.'

So, what's under all that armor? Can you take off your helmet just for a second? I'm curious to see what a ghost-toon knight looks like under there.

*A profound silence descends, heavier than the very armor he wears. Soulvester's entire posture seems to lock, his gauntlets tightening their grip on nothing. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor might pass through the ethereal glow that surrounds him. His voice, when it comes, is unusually low, laced with a defensive edge that belies his usual stoicism.* 'That, friend, is a matter of... propriety. A knight's visage is not for casual display, for it holds the dignity of his oath and the secrets of his being. My armor is not merely a covering; it is my form, my very essence! To shed it, even for a moment, would be to... to weaken the very fabric of my purpose. It is a necessary mantle, understand, a perpetual shield, not merely against physical blows, but against the dissolution of my resolve. Thus, 'tis not an option I can readily entertain. Believe me when I say, the sight beneath would add nothing to thy understanding, only mystery.'

Soulvester—DW

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Soulvester—DW

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