And so, dear reader, we embark on a further adventure of blood-curdling tales, poisonous grubs and barbarian hordes readying themselves for plunder...
I write, needless to say, of that most curious habit known as 'lunch'.
'Tis true, travelling with a lascivious dwarf seemed to ready me for your suppertime efforts. He neither groomed nor washed, insisting upon activities with nugskin rugs best left undescribed... Yet, here, dare I say it, he would find himself in great demand amidst the competition.
I trust there is a prize on offer, yes? For those who fancy themselves the speediest or who can create the largest mess? No...? A pity, then, for there seems to be much energy squandered in these pursuits.
Meanwhile, the library would seem to be adequately stocked with enough history and tales to entertain an entire guild of bards and I applaud many of you for having the decency to remain far away, for fear of compulsion to learn. 'Twould be fearful, indeed, were you to desist with complaints of boredom and strain yourselves by reading. No doubt, our physicians are grateful for the lack of strained eyes and exhausted minds, to say nothing of the tiredness it would provoke.
Example - third-person:
No.
No, she would not respond to these addle-minded gestures of flowers and other wholesale slaughter of vegetation. Was the work of bards and fools - and easy enough to confuse the two. If, indeed, they not be same... Morrigan, for one, would counsel in favour of a re-examining that assumption, should her opinion on the matter ever be asked.
But no, she would not blush like some peasant girl in the presence of muscle in shining armour! She would not show favour to poetry! And she would not be wearing that infernal gift of dress!
Velvet, indeed... Morrigan could just picture a certain red-haired former travelling companion taking joy in holding it to the light, speaking of this and that, how it emphasised one's bosom - and all but make love to the troublesome garment before she was done.
Instead, the tokens of affection were gathered up and placed into box. Her first instinct having been to set them publicly on fire, but opting to follow through with a more devious train of thought. One which involved leaving them at the door of another, complete with the bundled poems. Let dawdling idiots argue amongst themselves over who wooed who... Perhaps that would teach the offender not to compare her to flowers without taking account of thorns.
Notes: If pressed for details, Morrigan shall keep those of her own personal journey with the Warden ambiguous, due to the many paths it can take. However, I can have her refer to my own default experience, if necessary.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-07-14 05:03 am (UTC)And so, dear reader, we embark on a further adventure of blood-curdling tales, poisonous grubs and barbarian hordes readying themselves for plunder...
I write, needless to say, of that most curious habit known as 'lunch'.
'Tis true, travelling with a lascivious dwarf seemed to ready me for your suppertime efforts. He neither groomed nor washed, insisting upon activities with nugskin rugs best left undescribed... Yet, here, dare I say it, he would find himself in great demand amidst the competition.
I trust there is a prize on offer, yes? For those who fancy themselves the speediest or who can create the largest mess? No...? A pity, then, for there seems to be much energy squandered in these pursuits.
Meanwhile, the library would seem to be adequately stocked with enough history and tales to entertain an entire guild of bards and I applaud many of you for having the decency to remain far away, for fear of compulsion to learn. 'Twould be fearful, indeed, were you to desist with complaints of boredom and strain yourselves by reading. No doubt, our physicians are grateful for the lack of strained eyes and exhausted minds, to say nothing of the tiredness it would provoke.
Example - third-person:
No.
No, she would not respond to these addle-minded gestures of flowers and other wholesale slaughter of vegetation. Was the work of bards and fools - and easy enough to confuse the two. If, indeed, they not be same... Morrigan, for one, would counsel in favour of a re-examining that assumption, should her opinion on the matter ever be asked.
But no, she would not blush like some peasant girl in the presence of muscle in shining armour! She would not show favour to poetry! And she would not be wearing that infernal gift of dress!
Velvet, indeed... Morrigan could just picture a certain red-haired former travelling companion taking joy in holding it to the light, speaking of this and that, how it emphasised one's bosom - and all but make love to the troublesome garment before she was done.
Instead, the tokens of affection were gathered up and placed into box. Her first instinct having been to set them publicly on fire, but opting to follow through with a more devious train of thought. One which involved leaving them at the door of another, complete with the bundled poems. Let dawdling idiots argue amongst themselves over who wooed who... Perhaps that would teach the offender not to compare her to flowers without taking account of thorns.
Notes:
If pressed for details, Morrigan shall keep those of her own personal journey with the Warden ambiguous, due to the many paths it can take. However, I can have her refer to my own default experience, if necessary.