The smooth dark hair and noble countenance of the Lord Constable are oddly familiar, reminding you of someone whose name momentarily you cannot recall.
‘Welcome, my lord,’ he says, with a respectful salute. ‘I am Nathor, Lord Constable of the Royal Citadel. My troop would be honoured to escort you to an audience with Queen Evaine.’
‘Pray tell me, Lord Constable,’ you reply, ‘have we not met before?’
‘No, sire. I venture you must be thinking of my late brother—Adamas. He held the office of Lord Constable afore me. I understand that you and he once fought together in the war ’gainst the Darklords. He spoke most highly of your courage. Sadly, though, he is no longer with us. He died valiantly during the great siege of Torgar.’