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"Like what?" you ask, for a moment forgetting your diminutive existence.
The lord raises his brow ever so slightly. "A confession, perhaps?" the lord suggests.
"Will it avail me anything?"
"My dear boy, it will avail you of your honor."
Ah yes, honor, the watchword of the halfwit and the last recourse of the pretender. You've found one can easily dispense with such hogwash when one has the ability to summon lightning at will. But, when in a castle...
"Yes, I confess," you say, throwing your hands out in what you assume could be a penitent gesture. Admittedly, you don't have much experience with repentance.
The lord carefully slices off a wedge of cheese, then points the knife at you. "You were peeping at my daughter."
"Yes," you say.
Maryellene, suddenly springing from her seat, cries out, "How much did you see!"
After a moment's thought: "Nothing," you say.
"Nothing?" the lord asks.
"Nothing?" Maryellene asks, more hopefully.
You clear your throat. "Nothing of interest."
Maryellene's face turns red. She makes an sort of inarticulate offended gasp, the sort of noise a goose might make if it were to be suddenly and unceremoniously strangled.
Lord Merovin falls into a coughing fit.
The other squires are decidedly less restrained in their response. The room immediately begins to fill with the sound of their laughter.
The lord, once he has regained his composure, waves his hand. Only Randolf (who you've decided is a bit slow) continues to giggle, until the lord gives him such a look of disdain that he immediately falls into hiccups.
Meanwhile, tears are trailing down Maryellene's cheeks. It appears the only thing worse than the loss of maiden innocence is a challenge to maiden vanity.
The lord rises from the trestle table, face as calm as a cabbage. "What will it be?" he asks. "The cane, the whip, or the pillory?"
>How about none of the above? Follow this with an attempt to cast a spell.
>The pillory. It wouldn't do to damage this body after so much effort to acquire it.
>The cane or the whip, whichever is quicker and more private. Pain is endurable. Further humiliation is not.
>Write-in
