You clear your throat nervously, but the man at the desk doesn’t seem to notice. So, you cough even more loudly. He just shrugs and keeps writing.
Feeling like you have no other option, you step into the dank and foetid room and say ‘ Brother, I greet you in the glorious name of our eternal elder goddess! All praise to Zuccax!‘
Grumbling to himself, the man turns round slowly and rubs his ink-stained fingers on his bushy grey beard. In a cantankerous voice, he says ‘Acolyte! You have got it wrong! It should be “All praise BE to Zuccax”. In MY day, such sloppy grammar would have earned you a long spell in the dungeons!‘
‘Er… I won’t do it again, Brother… Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.‘ You stutter.
‘Of COURSE you didn’t! Do I LOOK like a rounders ball? Names cannot be thrown! But I suppose that I should GIVE you my name, I am Brother Archmalkwith – keeper of the records and a high mage of the grammatical arts.‘
You are about to ask if that’s actually a thing, before you realise that this probably isn’t a good idea. After all, you’re probably splitting an infinitive or something. Instead, you just stand there nervously until Brother Archmalkwith gestures to a chair in the corner and says: ‘Acolyte, you may as well sit down. I was just about to make some tea.‘
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