Sep 9, 2011
E=mc² ???
Are you asking me something or telling me something, Grey Face? Regardless, your trial is coming.
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E=mc² ???
Are you asking me something or telling me something, Grey Face? Regardless, your trial is coming.
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper. A peck of pickled pepper Peter Piper picked. If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper, where's the peck of pickled pepper Peter Piper picked?
Tom o' Sevens, if that is you in Grey Face garb, I would remind you of other things that need be done rather than you working up tuneless lyrics that make little to no sense at all.
do the hustle
Grey Face, you have no authority here. I shall do nothing of the sort.
You were actually amused? Bah! I shall have to punish someone for this. Apparently, he didn't finished the job. I should have chopped you to pieces!
Perhaps you should have, Lord Walder! Though I would have sewn myself back together - piece by piece by piece. My needlework was ever excellent.
As your little friend said, "I'm just getting started, bitch."
Wight?! Ohohoho, I think not.
You make oaths you have no intention of keeping, you force my family to marry and mingle with your inbred kin and at the wedding feast you kill my son's bannermen and soldiers - all guests at your table! As if that weren't enough, you play the most godsawful song in the seven kingdoms during the bloodbath -one that is still ringing in mine ears to this day, mind you, along with those damned jingling bells- and you have my son run through as I look on, before ordering my throat slashed. I am dead. There is little you can do to me now. But one thing I ask you to remember, Lord Walder! One thing! I AM NO WIGHT! I AM A REVENANT fueled by the fires or R'hollor and pressed on by pure, unadulterated rage. I will have my revenge, Frey. I will find you...you creepy bastard.
Would you like to borrow them, My Lady? I'm sure we can come to some arrangement.
To be quite frank, your Grace, I'm not sure if any arrangement brokered would be to my benefit. I seem to remember a story of a certain lord that met his end at your order, boiling in a suit of armor as his son strangled at the end of a rope while attempting to save him. I have little fear of you, as I'm already almost certainly dead but I would hate to lose men in the bargain. Good help is hard to come by these days...
Bah. Killing off Freys. You would be better off killing Lannisters.
The Lannisters are fewer than Freys but they are getting theirs all the same. I'd love to show you how I've decorated your forests some time...
Ah, you're killing Frey's. Good work, My Lady.
My thanks, your Grace. Though better work would be made of it if I had your pyromancers...