"Our final roaster for this evening," Orrin says, "needs no introduction… unless you want to know who she is. Join me in welcoming the very funny, the very clever, might change the course of this entire war if we could only figure out what the frack she's talking about, Angelaaaaaa!"
"How y'all doin' tonight!" Angela roars into the podium.
The crowd is boisterous, most of them familiar with the eccentric herbalist.
"You doin' good? Great! Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass, bitches! Yeah! King Orrin. You're as gay as all hell, aren't you? King Orrin, not only a monarch but a scientist! He recently proved the existence of a vacuum, or nothingness, a feat he accomplished by examining the inside of his own head—bazinga!
"Arya Dröttningu is kind of hanging out around here. Hey there… whatcha up to? Making fun of people for their ancestral beliefs? You racist bitch. Hey, whatever gods turn out to be real, everybody's gonna get some afterlife cred for devoutness. Not the elves. They believe nothin'. Yeah, you die, you're gonna be all like 'Oh, hey… so, can we unravel the secrets of this universe?', and the gods are gonna go, 'Nope, it's hell for you'.
"Or, alternatively, what if the gods are all giant chickens, and all of the races, for eating the true children of the earth, will be punished. Then the elves won't look so stupid; veganism may or may not come at the price of eternal torment. We don't know."
Angela stares off into space for a while. "What was I saying? Oh yes. Um… well, Nar Garzhvog is here, representing the entire Urgal race. Good for him. Narrrrr Garrrrrzhvog. Were you born on Talk Like a Pirate Day, or what?
"Now, onto the evening's business. Eragon Shadeslayer… is a worthless piece of frog vomit. Fuck him."
The entire audience whoops it up.
"That's right," Angela says. "Guy can't fence, can't use the subtleties of magic. He can write an epic poem, that's fine, they all suck anyway, but hell, that's not gonna do us any good! We're not gonna kill Galbatorix with poetry. The guy can't do a damn thing in this world, so what makes him so special—? Oh, that's right, he's got a dragon." She winks at Saphira. "You're all right, blue stuff! I've got no issues there.
"But Eragon? Heh heh… Barzûln on you, you smelly drajl ape-man! May you leave Alagaësia and never return." Angela looks at the audience. "He's gonna, you know. What? It's inevitable. Pity the poor woman who leaves with him! Ha ha. Ewwww.
"But for the present time, this schmuck—that's Yiddish, no longer spoken on Alagaësia, just a piece of trivia there—this schmuck, who needs eighteen or nineteen people standing behind him at all times to do the simplest of tasks, is our last hope against Galbatorix. I'm putting down fifty G's on Galbatorix. Any takers?"
Angela raises her staff. "That's my time! Atra esterní ono thelduin, motherfuckers! Goodnight!"
Up next: Eragon Shadeslayer
