Subject: I also like Desdendelle for PG.
Author:
Posted on: 2015-01-22 00:37:00 UTC
Mostly because he's a darn good beta reader, and a great member of the community. What I could say, others have said much better.
...What? You expected that in Knight Jumper's voice? Oh, fine. Here:
"Ser Jumper!"
The knight turned towards the young page, Tristram. "What is it boy? I thought you were busy tending to the horses?"
"Yes ser, I was, I was doin' a fine job o' it too, ser, but an' mesenger came by! Tol' me to tell you somthin'."
Jumper glared at the boy, waiting for the news. "Well? Shall I hear the news, boy, or shall we stand here till the End of Days?"
Tristram scratched his head. "Well, ser, tha's the problem, ser. I cannot recall..."
Jumper scowled at Tristram. "Stupid boy! Disturbing me while I am preparing for the next attack on the Marizu, and with nothing to show for it!"
Tristram mumbled under his breath, "You's been 'preparin' for near a year 'n a half..."
Jumper raised his hand. "Perhaps rattling your brain can jog your memory!"
Tristram covered his face, cowering. "No, ser, please! I remember! I remember!"
"Well? Out with it!"
"The knight Desdendelle wants to be a baron! He asks for support!"
Sir Jumper groaned, lowering his hand, and massaging his face. "Another? What has gotten into these people?" He sighed, turning back to his work. "Tell Sir Desdendelle I do not oppose his bid for baronship. However, I cannot lend him any aid, nor any further support. I am stretched thin as is with my support of the Lady Iximaz and the Cynic. Tell him I hold him in the highest respects, and I wish him the best of luck." He looked over his shoulder. "Are you writing this down?"
Tristram scribbled furiously on his parchment. "...'old in highest respect, 'n wish 'im best o' luck... Got it!"
Jumper nodded. "Good. Now, off with you! And don't bother me again!" Jumper sighed, as the young Bronee child scampered off. "I swear, if one more knight asks for my support, Six help me, I'll..." He shook his head, and continued sharpening his blade, Printworthy. "Nearly ready, old boy. Nearly ready..."