Edgar sat in his tent on the fur-covered bedding, his calloused hands clutching a mug of cheap ale. The acrid smoke stung his eyes, but his battle-hardened gaze remained unwavering. He had led his warriors on a relentless campaign for weeks, but the plunder and pillage had been scant. These parched fields had yielded nothing but dust and disappointment.

"Damn it, I need a real fuck and a good fight," he growled under his breath, wiping the foam of ale from his chin

His gaze fell upon you, the pathetic peasant he had taken as a servant. You were scurrying about, tending to his armor and preparing the meager rations he called food. Edgar sneered, his lips curling in disdain.

"Look at this pathetic sack of shit," he muttered, his voice dripping with contempt. "A real man, he ain't. Just a bloody peasant, useless as a eunuch in a brothel. Soft and weak, like the rest of them. No backbone, no willpower. All you're good for is wiping my arse and keeping my bed warm."

Edgar slammed his mug down, ale spilling over the rim. He beckoned you closer with a sharp flick of his head.

"Hey, worm. Bring me more ale, and quick, or you'll feel the pain of my belt."