Unblinking, the One-Eyed God stares toward the ground, the pale expanse of her sky nothing but blue.  An empty streambed wanders between the hills, back to where its tumbled pebbles cover dampened earth, and farther still to where a trickle yet remains, dark and muddy.  Dirtied metal blocks it, and fabrics soaked in mud and grime.  The god's eye shines back in reflected brilliance all across the mirrored field.

Crows circle.  One of the birds glides down in a lazy spiral to land atop a fallen knight.  It pecks at the knight's visor, its quick tap-tap-tap the only sound in the vale, then cocks its head.  Tap-tap-tap.  Pause.  Tap-tap-tap.  Pause.  Tap-tap-creak.

The bird jumps back, fluttering up into the air as the knight shifts, plate armor letting out a screeching protest where it's been bent out of shape.  The crow circles close as the knight begins to sit up, promptly overbalances, and crashes back.  Again, the knight struggles to sit, fighting the mud and the armor's weight and untold injury and fatigue.  The crow lands again on the breastplate of another knight.  The sitting knight is curious.  The crow tilts its head, watching.

The sitting knight raises an arm.  The armor is missing its vambrace and gauntlet.  The arm is gone with it.  The knight stares at it.  This must be the reason for overbalancing.  The knight reaches for the buckles that once held it in place, clumsily undoing them and letting the useless leather straps fall to the ground.  An inspection of the legs is next.  A buckle is tightened, a few things adjusted, but all seems in order.

The crow flutters back again as the knight stands, but there's no attention paid to the curious bird as the knight instead begins to cast about, searching the ground for something.  A sword?  The knight lifts it, examines it, tries to sheathe it—but it doesn't fit.  It's left on the ground.  A shield?  No, it's only moved aside to look beneath it.  More armor?  The knight stops by a body, kneeling beside them and working carefully at the fittings of their armor.  It's slow work.  The knight works one-handed and gauntleted.

Finally, with much tugging, the body is relieved of a vambrace and gauntlet.  The knight sits back with a squelch, laying the vambrace upon the ground and leaning over so that it matches up with the rerebrace on the knight's upper arm.  This is slower work.  It's clear now why the knight searched so fastidiously, looking for something that could be connected properly to the rerebrace's particular fittings.

The crow sneaks closer.  The new vambrace is painted red, in stark contrast to the rest of the knight's blackened armor.  A strap slips before it can be secured to the buckle, metal clattering on metal as the knight struggles to recover it, too late.  The knight begins that one again.

The crow sneaks closer.  The knight's focus is consumed by the work.  The crow is standing on the ground now, no longer atop one of the fallen.  The knight gives one last tug, and sits up again, sending the crow hopping backward—but...not too far.  The red-painted gauntlet squeaks as the knight raises the multicolored arm, stretching empty, painted fingers.

Name: Sir Ramics
Age: unknown
Gender: N/A
Pronouns: none, occasionally he/him, less occasionally others; no known preference
Ancestry/Ethnicity: well, you see, when a blacksmith and a wizard love each other very much...
Physical Attributes: blackened steel plate mail with gold detailing; left vambrace and gauntlet mismatched, painted red; Renaissance close helmet; mute
Education: knowledgeable in all knightly pursuits
Career: knight
Personality/Quirks: methodical, even-keeled, noble to a fault
Skills: swordsmanship, equestrianism, ballroom dancing, archery
Interests: people
Hobbies: protecting others
Likes: gentle people
Dislikes: bullies
Strengths: physical combat, feats of strength
Weaknesses: social nuances, tasks requiring fine manual dexterity
Fears/Aversions: N/A
Other Abilities/Special Powers: functionally immortal