A strange woman gives you an ornate box sealed with wax and hoarsely whispers "It's up to you now, keep it safe, keep it from ... them." It is not until the woman drops dead at the character's feet that the dagger in her back becomes obvious.

I idolize a particular hero of my faith and constantly refer to that person's deeds and example.

I've been isolated for so long that I rarely speak, preferring gestures and the occasional grunt.

I once satirized a noble who still wants my head. It was a mistake that I will likely repeat.