Move on from talents

"That'll just about do it for talents." Here, the commander stood up, walking silently past the table to stand nearby you. After staring for a moment, he began to circle to the other side, as if trying to spot some flaw. "Look at you. Such a well-rounded individual. The saintesses ought to count themselves blessed, eh?"

Some special sort of hostility seemed to have crept into his voice now. It was less a matter of detecting the nuance and more that, no matter how polite and subservient you were trying to be, you couldn't ignore the offense in Fastner's tone. Even so, you weren't sure how to actually bring it up with him.

"The next and final segment before we put you on your assignment is to describe your courtship style. Put more bluntly, they want to know how you see yourself as a lover. The saintesses are interested and asked for it on the form, so on it goes. Remember, no need for bashfulness here. All part of Geod's damned design."

You finally thought you understood the emotion: jealousy. Fastner was clearly frustrated that you squires counted bedding the saintesses among your duties.

"Let me explain what I mean. Certain among the saintesses are are a bit choosy with their bedfellows and would like to have advance notice of any promising squires that might suit them. Be that to beat the others to the punch or just to avoid a dull fling, I cannot say. But whatever the case, you've got to write something on the form, so pick your poison. Describe yourself as a lover in one word. And for Geod's sake, dont lie," he sighed wearily, rubbing one of his temples with two fingers. "Sacrilege is not how we want to begin this adventure."

One word to pitch yourself to the saintesses… no pressure!