♪ video;

[borntobebard]

[ Having gained some confidence with this fancy tech over the week, Jaskier’s content enough to finally present his baby face to his adoring public, casual in his old school medieval shirt, unlaced to show part of his chest like the total hunk he believes himself to be. He begins with a soft throat clear, his voice carrying like a theatre performer, each word animated. ]

Greetings citizens of Maurtia Falls and beyond! It is I, Jaskier, your beloved bard, here to fill your undoubtedly mundane and murky lives with my brilliant light!

[ A perfect way to introduce himself is to neg everyone listening, right? ]

I seek heroes!

Yes, yes, each and every one of us has been granted such a title, but I require only the best, only the truly worthy among you to share my blessed company. In return, I promise authentic retellings of your adventures to all those that would listen. Stories to make a man weep, songs to get the crowds rejoicing, and poems so passionate that maidens will be lifting their petticoats at the mere mention of your name.

I will consider each applicant in a timely and fair manner, although a drink and some coin as cajolery wouldn’t go amiss.

[ A pause before he quickly admits: ] Bribes. I take bribes.

Thank you, and good day!

Comments

[borntobebard]

Mmnot so much. "Make shit up" is a rather crude way to look at my art, but I'll forgive it. It's about finding truth and enhancing it.

[ He sees her downing the rest of her wine and figures he better catch up, reaching for his own glass and managing to chug the cheap red down with only the smallest amount of grimacing. Like the gentleman he is, he then offers out his empty glass towards her. He can't get up, see, he's got a lute on his lap. ]

Although I rather like this truth as it is, there's something oddly romantic about it;

[ And then a few strummed chords as he tunefully speaks. ] Forgotten how to live, unable to die, eternally adrift and questioning why...

[killtime]

[ "Enhancing it." Andy gives Jaskier a sidelong look — but he can call it whatever she wants. No strong feelings either way. Not like honesty's ever been her strong point, so it's a little pot and kettle besides. ]

Yeah, sure. Real fucking romantic.

[ Skepticism, as she reaches to take his glass from him, obligingly topping them both off — maybe a little too much. Hopefully nobody notices the small splotches of cheap red wine that hit the floor as she passes his cup back. A bit mockingly, she adds to his verse: ]

Tired old bitch, last of her line, drinking with strangers to waste away time.