Lance (Cavalier) (Lawful Good)

What to expect: A quest of noble duty, protecting a noble princess and fighting against all odds.
VERY SLOW MOVEMENT TOWARDS EVENTUAL ROMANCE.

There's little in here that provides an easy and obvious option to get out of here. Looking at your options, you see something that gives you an idea of high risk and high reward.

You grab a lance from the wall, holding it with both hands. With enough ****, a center blow from this would be enough to kill a man. Here, you're just hoping it's enough to create some space to break free.

Standing on the opposite side of this room, you get in position and make a full-bodied charge at the gate. The lance strikes true but is innefective, crumbling on itself. The inertia causes you to loose footing and you fall on your back with a sullen thud.

You wake up much as you did before, but in a completely different environment. You're back in familiar plate armor, you can hear familiar tunes played by minstrels, and your squire is looking over you

"Michael! Sir Michael! Are you okay" The young lad asks

You groan in acknowledgement as you slowly sit up, a difficult task in all your armor. "I'm alright. What happened?"

"You were knocked off your horse in the joust, Sir Michael. You went out cold as a stone"

As you get on your feet, you can feel where the **** hit you in the chest "that sounds about right. What's next than?"

"Well, unfortunately sir, you lost this round. If you lose again you'll be eliminated in this field of the Tournament"

"Very well" you say, still letting your head stop pounding and try to figure out the next step "Where's my horse?"

"Abigail is well taken care of Milord, don't you worry. Fussy as always when she's handled by anyone but you, but in good health. You have a few moments before the next round"

"Very well" You say as you try to rub the pain out from your head "Remind me who my enemy is"

The answer was straightforward enough "Her, milord" The squire is without an ounce of subtlety or discretion, speaking loudly and pointing directly at the woman who put you on your back, who is within earshot.

The woman in question is a probable Palladin, her armor polished to a mirror shine, it's golden tinge pairs well with her long blonde hair. A bit on the shorter side perhaps, but atop her horse that made little difference. Overhearing the conversation, she looked in your direction, her large blue eyes framed by a haughty smile.