No need for violence, Lemm, the initiator of the violence thinks, mirthfully wishing they could simultaneously be doing this and write.

The Knight is yanked along a little before rolling off where they'd scooted onto a bit of the beard. They stand and dart backward, fended off and terribly threatened by the power of his shove.

They've got a wildly smeared handprint directly between their horns. Their mask is covered in bizarre shapes of ink where the individual hairs made lines. Put all over a surface that certainly was never meant for being written on, they can feel little parts of it dripping.