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.