As soon as you stuck your head out of the tent it was hit in the back by a club. When you come to, you find yourself in a brightly lit prison cell filled with bales of hay and decrepit wooden boxes. You try to stand, but it is fruitless- you are tied up, arms and feet, to a spare wagon wheel lying against the stone wall. Jeers greet your ears, and you blink your eyes to see your jailers waving arms and tankards of ale through the iron bars.
Bandits, by the look of it. "Hey, Captain he's awake!" One of them calls out. Someone approaches the bars from deeper in the jail. He's better armored than the others, wearing a leather jerkin instead the wool gambeson like the others.
"Is this the prisoner then? Where'd you find him?" the supposed Captain asks.
"He was in the tent, took the bait, just like we told ya."
The captain looks you over, at your muscled physique. Your armor had been stripped, though you weren't naked, still having your tattered undergarments. Your six pack was covered by a old grey tunic. Though to your embarrassment, your shoulders were bear, and though revealing muscular, also an old tattoo on your shoulder.
"What's this then?" the Captain asks, "never heard of knights getting branded like stock."
The bandits laugh, but you grimace. That tattoo could be a problem. Prominent on your right shoulder, it was bright pink, in the shape of a wide, fat heart. It had little lines surrounding it, as if it was glowing or sparkling, and one big name in the middle, and then scrawled text above and below.
"It's my girlfriends.. Ex girlfriend's. We got matching tattoos when we were young. Didn't know any better."
"I'm sure you didn't," the bandit captain somberly stated, pulling on the fingers of his gloves. "What did you say her name was?"
"Mimi," you say through clenched teeth.