Partly Cloudy, 64°
Campus reports indicate a medieval frat bro is attempting to recruit for his fief.
“Bro, you HAVE to rush Rivershire. We throw the best festivals in the kingdom, and we crusade like every weekend,” said Sir Brayden, chugging mead through his helmet’s visor and spilling everywhere. “You don’t want to go to House Wexelwood or The Astorian League. Their knights are totally dishonorable. And their castles don’t even have drawbridges.”
“Look, I know we kind of have a bad reputation around the kingdom for witch hunting. It was fucked up, I’ll admit,” continued Sir Brayden, completely shanking his beer archery shot and hitting a nearby cow. “But between you and me, those wenches floated, bro. They never mentioned that in the royal report. We almost lost our vassalage over that shit.”
“If thou aren’t a knight or betrothed to a knight, then get the fuck out!” declared Sir Brayden, dispersing the drunken crowd with a wave of his sword. “Gotta show’em the blade sometimes. It was getting hella crowded in the castle and we can’t be letting serfs in.”
“The point is, you should rush. Are you a noble? If you are, you should mention that in your hearing with the liege lord,” explained Sir Brayden, pausing briefly to boke into a nearby cask. “We need honorable knights like you, so definitely look out for us on the Eve of Bidding.”
At press time, Sir Brayden was seen making Rivershire pledges lick plague rats.
