Thursday, December 6, 2012

If you can't say anything nice

Podrick Johns was quite thorough in his evaluation. After all, the king himself had invited him to give council as the foremost art critic in all of Westros.

“This is awful!” he exclaimed, “and this! This is an abomination! Sire! I beg you to burn these ungodly dung heaps as it is obvious the artist is a complete twit!” And so his critique rattled on, until at last none of the 35 paintings displayed were unsullied by the master’s harsh words.

The next morn as Illan Flatwater approached the castle he took note of the head of his rival Podrick Johns hanging from the castle barbican. The foremost art critic in all of Eastros was nervous indeed, having been called to council the king on matters of the canvas. Yet he had a leg up on Sir Podrick, or a skull as it were. He’d already been told of the king’s newest passion, painting by numbers.

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