It is a striking scene. Lurking at one end of the wide, sunny clearing, half-concealed by the shadows and trees, is a monster, fearsome to behold, while some distance away Prince Charming straddles his mighty war-horse. His armor glitters in the sun, radiant like a burnished mirror, and the blade (magical, no doubt) that rests in one mailed hand has a flickering eye-fire all its own. But despite his rather martial poise, his head is unarmored, fair locks cascading down each shoulder with an almost flamboyant curl. His deep azure eyes glow with sensitivity, and a willing smile caresses his lips, which even now part, yielding before the satiny flow of an impending monologue.

"You, there! You foul creature, unenviable cur set loose on the lands that you might trouble innocent and unassuming farmfolk, hardworking ploughmen helpless to defend themselves! You are a beast, a dark thing, some sort of nightmarish denizen of hateful realms brought upon us by an unspeakable spell... your fate was foredestined, a death at my hands. My sword shall find, inevitably, its mark in you, my lance its resting-place. And once you have been duly slain, my duty discharged, I shall labor onwards, through a thousand like you if need be, tirelessly, until my quest has finished. One goal, and one alone, I strive for, a treasure unmatched by any other, something to be sought; a catalyst for my long-awaited kingship. To arms!"

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