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Valde raised a quivering eyebrow.
By observing the people around him, he would have thought that this was some simple game produced from the warped and overrated genius of the overbearing resident of a pointlessly well-funded barrow.
Suddenly two plus signs emerged from his mouth, along with the words, “Captain no space of no space Despair,” ignoring the bow he grasped and the quiver of arrows slung about him.
He sincerely wished that the Anakron would be hung, but he actually would much prefer to see him mauled by wolves. And he knew that SpaM spewed nonsense with a clattering racket, and something from one of his past lives told him that this Mormegil person was up to no good. But alas, when his life was so terrible, his every waking hour so miserable, he simply did not care whose neck adorned what noose, and he quickly went back to prank calling dairy cows about making them into shoes.
(That short look into the mind of Valde Delego could have been avoided if you had simply let your eyes take you to this obnoxiously bolded statement: ++CaptainofDespair)
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