He awoke with a scowl on his face; it had been there when he had gone to bed the previous night and had intensified as he had tossed and turned the bedclothes into the tangled mess he now found at his feet.  Simon, for that is this cheerful fellow's name, had always looked this way and so 'Scowl' was his very own nickname.  In fact parents of the castle's younger children pointed him out to them as a severe example of what happens if you're pulling a face when the wind changes direction.  This threat frightened the children almost as much as Simon himself did; it was a position of power he enjoyed.

Simon slipped out of bed and padded over to the window to watch another balmy summer's day dawn, though this one was to be slightly different.  Today was to be his day; he would finally win the big summer joust here in Asamotopia; today he would finally convince Sophie of Favina, the sole heir to the throne there, that he was the perfect suitor.  He smiled inwardly; an expression that looked out of place on him, it was the day he had waited so long for.

His plan had worked to perfection; Martain had been sent on a mission to the Swamp of Gorobia from where there had been reports of an elven uprising.  The messenger, of course, had been paid by Simon to falsify as best he could and deliver to the King a written plea of help from the King's representative in that area for reinforcements written in Simon's fair hand.  He was sly as a fox and more intelligent than his twenty five years on earth may have warrented.  His only real threat in the summer joust had been quickly despatched with his battalion of troops to Gorobia and with him out of the way the prize and the plaudits would be Simon's for the taking.

Martain had won the summer joust for the past five years, beating Simon in the final showdown each and every year.  This seriously irked Simon for he was the one who had been bred to joust; he had been born to be a knight, Martain was just the son of a smithy albeit the King's own private blacksmith.  Martain had grown up around the horses and weapons needed by a knight to prove their worth, he felt comfortable around them and at the age of sixteen had joined the King's army.  His humble birth had been a stumbling block but he had more than proved his worth in the battles at Maralure and Orestme to be made into a fully fledged knight.  This was no small honour, it hadn't happened in living memory of anyone living in Asamotopia and Simon hated Martain for it.  Simon was a son of King Albert, a bastard son born to a chambermaid who couldn't keep her legs shut when the King was around, rather than born to the Queen, a slight mis-sight on behalf of 'Mr Stork' Simon had always thought.  Well. his mother had got what she deserved anyway.  She died bringing Simon into the world, so much evil leaving her body all at one time had caused a massive haemorrhage; maybe Simon's doing on the way out, he had always been vindictive.