A line of true Bastards. An a-historical England AAR
- Thread starter Dead William
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Sleepy Irv: This happens to be a 112 year old with a 30K army... Actually I have had an immense number of ridiculously overaged opponents this game. Especially around the caspian sea, which seems to emit radiation which prevents muslim rulers from dying... The record is 125 so far...
Mike von Bek: That's all thos lovely "Your vassals are rebellious"events I wrote about... Don't worry, it will be dealt with... MHUAHAHAHAH!!!
King of Minors: Yes it is isn't it? And of course half of Russia belongs to Pereslayvl...
Mike von Bek: That's all thos lovely "Your vassals are rebellious"events I wrote about... Don't worry, it will be dealt with... MHUAHAHAHAH!!!
King of Minors: Yes it is isn't it? And of course half of Russia belongs to Pereslayvl...
And you think it has to do with the Caspian SeaDead William said:
Have you ever considered the fact that the muslim rulers of that age were famous for their harems If I had one of those I would also try to stay alive until I was 125 :rofl: It seems you still have much to learn of human nature, master William
Try teaching nineteen 12 year olds at 3.30 pm on a beautiful summer afternoon and you will hear whining
That sir, has me beat. I can only imagine the horror of it all!
Great update. Nice assassination by-line. :rofl:
I agree with rasmus, ifin I had a harem like the rulers of that area are reported to have had, I would have a hard time giving up on life, eh?
So what did you end up doing to take care of the revolts and rebellions?
So, should you kill off all of the heirs to the Duke of Pereslayvl, you'd inherit half of Russia? Coooool... Then you can take out Norway, the only other Christian Kingdom in the world (not counting Ethiopia).
Verinal diseases, WTF?
Look it is meant to look like that, chicks dig the plague look!
Excellent update, me thinks you should not make a martyr out of thi old guy, you don't want angry old people everywhere. You won't get anything done.
Look it is meant to look like that, chicks dig the plague look!
Excellent update, me thinks you should not make a martyr out of thi old guy, you don't want angry old people everywhere. You won't get anything done.
Depressing Journeys and papal sanctions
So war continued against the 112 year old Emir of Khwarizm. Who was now 113 years old. Anyway, the war continued. But finally Edwards army reconquered Baghdad.
Edward: Peace at last! I have conquered this mighty nation and now my people can go home! And me as well! I haven’t seen Agata in far too long!
FaP: Hoots, Crivens ya Betsy!
Edward: Oh. It’s you
FaP: Aye, an’ I’m mighty glad to be talkin’ to ya!
Edward: And why is that?
FaP: We be havin’ a small, wee , insignifeecant problem, ye ken.
Edward: I am not your Ken, I am your King. Now what is the problem? The whisky has run out?
FaP: Aye that too. Noo, the problem is that a coople o’mad Inquisitors hae come to London an’hae picked up, tortured an’ executed your weef.
Edward: They did what to my wife?
FaP: They stripped of her skin, burned her with irons, drew oot her tongue, snipped of her fingers an’nipples an’…
It was at this point that the Emperor Edward started to tremble.
Marshal John: Shut up. Get the Papal legate over here right now.
FaP: He be holdin’ mass to celebrate the execution o’ the heretic.
Marshal John: I am sure he will find time to come out if you set fire to the church.
Edward: No.
Marshal John: Edward, you have to act against this!
Edward: Send in Sir Rasmus “Forty with one fart”
Marshal John: Ugh. That’s nasty! He’s just had two barrels of beans!
Edward: Tell him there need be no survivors beside the Legate….
The Papal Legate was brought before the king.
CaP: Sire! It is so good to see you, the defender of the catholic faith and the Holy Mother Church!
Edward: Cardinal Penny Cinquanta. It is not good to see you. I am not happy with the church. I am so unhappy with Holy Mother Church that I am seriously considering having her removed from parental authority. Give me one good reason why I should not have you nailed into a barrel and placed in the noon day sun.
CaP: Sire?
Edward: I told you to keep your hands of my wife, didn’t I?
CaP: I never touched her!
Edward: No, but the Inquisition did.
CaP: Bu-but you gave the church permission to capture torture and kill her if she did not repent!
Edward: Could you show me this order?
CaP: I have a copy right here!
Edward: let me see…. Edward by the grace of the dog grants permission to the Holy Church to lay hold of any person in his court or lands who is an heretic or heathen, pagan or related to Rasmus “40 with one armpit” by blood or marriage. Signed Edward, King of England
CaP: See, it is perfectly legal!
Edward: Uhuh. And the fact that it is written in Arabic doesn’t detract from the authenticity?
CaP: Well, we thought you were carried away by the gorgeous countryside and the friendliness of the people…
Edward: And the fact that the outside is inscribed with the name Ramazan Abdullah, Emir of Khwarizm. And sealed with is seal. And bearing his personal mark. And has a little picture of him, drawn by his great-great-great-great-great-grandson, three year old Ali entitled “Grandad Ramazan on his stupid camel, Pope Gerhardt”
CaP: Umm, now you mention it that does seem slightly suspicious….
Edward: I am so glad we agree about that. You may tell the pope that I will get back to him on this…
Oh, and I’d like a complete list of all the cardinals, ah and you might ask his Holiness if he wants protection for the Holy See from enemy armies?
CaP: Oh. Ehehehe…
The Cardinal left. The king strolled over to a side table. A number of young clerks were leafing through the large Almanack de Trophy-Wife, first compiled by the baron of Trophy-Wife in 1165 and quickly supplanting the more ancient but less attractively illustrated Compendium of unmarried women of noble birth in Europe. Most men bought it for the interviews. Hem hem.
Edward: I still think there is no need for me to remarry!
Richard: Well, I did not see any need for me to marry at all! So Nyahh!
Edward: Don’t be childish Richard! Here, have a Duchy.
Richard: Cool! Which one is it?
Edward: Tabriz. Four rich provinces, very few men, one orthodox and three Muslim provinces. How’s the wife?
Richard: Drunk
Edward: How’s young Jocelyn, future heir to the Duchy of Pereslayvl?
Richard: Drunk as well.
Edward: Oh dear. Not talking yet?
Richard: Oh, yes, he talks. His vocabulary is already greater than his mother’s.
Edward: Well, that’s promising at least!
Richard: Yes, where Pereslava only says Da Vodka and Da whisky and beer, young Jocelyn actually says Da Vodka, da whisky, beer, wine and gin.
Edward: Hmmm. He will make an interesting Duke of Pereslayvl.
Richard: Well his grandfather is not much different.
Edward: Ehem!
Richard: His maternal grandfather, beg pardon!
Edward: Anyway, are the ladies I sent to you to your liking?
Richard: Yes, thanks dad! Where did you find them?
Edward: I used your grandfather’s list of promising young women.
Richard: You know, some of these aren’t even in the Trophy-Wife?
Edward: Dad always had a good eye for future “developments”
Richard: What will happen to the Pope, dad?
Edward: He will probably die of natural causes….
Some days later. A messenger arrived.
AaM: Sire! The Duke of Tangiers refuses to let you marry his daughter!
Edward: Pardon? What stupidity is that?
AaM: He refuses to let you marry his daughter!
Edward: And why is that? Is my prestige insufficient? Am I not Pious enough?
AaM: No sire! It’s because you are still at war with him! I think. If 17000+ piety and 80000+ prestige are not enough, I don’t know what is!
Edward: Pardon? How much? How the hell did that happen? Did someone forge something? Get me mr Rexus! Right now! Oh, and send an army to conquer Tangiers and make peace! Get some of those lazy Iberians to do it! They’ve been sitting out this whole “War in the East” thing and it is time they did something!
Mr Rexus: Sire! You called me?
Edward: No, I had you called. I want to know why my Prestige and Piety have gone through the roof.
Mr Rexus: Ummm. I don’t know? I am just a forger, umm, simple scribe, not an advisor on spiritual and worldly matters…
Edward: Hmph. Anyone here know how this happened?
A hand went up from amongst the crowd of toadies, hangers-on and other nobles.
Sleepy Irv: Umm, I have an idea!
Edward: Splendid! Tell it to the Minister in charge of dealing with Ideas from Stupid toadies, nobles and Hangers-on. Who are you anyway; show me your STNHO number. 129, ummm, if this is correct you are a young monk of noble birth known as Irving the Somnolent the 5th.
Sleepy Irv: I prefer Sleepy Irv Jr. sire!
Edward: Okay Jr, the minister is over there. Have fun.
The Minister in charge of Dealing with Ideas from Stupid Toadies, Nobles and Hangers-on.
Sleepy Irv: No sire, I think I know what caused the massive increase in your piety and prestige!
Edward: Oh? And what do you think is the cause?
Sleepy Irv: The reconquest of Baghdad and Kirkuk from the vile infidel! It must have been a holy Crusade.
Edward: Ummm, I think I would have noticed a Holy Crusade you know. It is a bit hard to miss what with all the Papal Bulls that would show up… Not to mention the frigging great curtain that appears whenever one of these things is called…
Sleepy Irv: Well yes, there is that. But do you have a better idea?
Edward: No. So we will go with your suggestion for now. Of course, if you are wrong, there will be consequences….
Sleepy Irv: Oh. Oh dear.
Edward: Is the Duke of Tangiers defeated yet?
Marshal John: Ayup
Edward: Did he surrender his lands and title?
Marshal John: Anope
Edward: Pardon, did you say no?
Marshal John: Ayup.
Edward: And why, pray, was this rebellious cur let of the hook?
Marshal John: Considering our reputation, I thought it might be wise not to antagonize the nobles any more by annexing his lands and titles.
Edward: So. My prestige and piety are sky-high, but my reputation is worse than a fox’s in a henhouse?
Marshal John: Ayup. It’s all these wars and annexations of rebellious vassals that does it…
Edward: Anyway, since we are now at peace, it is time I went home and got myself a new wife. Apparently it is family tradition to remarry within three weeks after the death of the previous wife..
Marshal John: Umm, we’re not actually, at peace.
Edward: Pardon?
Marshal John: Actually, there’s this pile of declarations of war to deal with…
Edward: Pile?
Marshal John: Pile, yup
Edward: Of declarations of war?
Marshal John: Yup, loads of ‘em! Fun eh? Another delightful war!
Edward: John, since your notion of fun is beating to death large numbers of pagans and heathens, and your notion of delight involve a hornet’s nest with a tight hole, I don’t think you are, actually, all that good at defining the word fun. OR the word delight.
Marshal John: Yeah, but I am bloody good at hitting people with great style!
Edward: An excellent quality in a marshal. Now, who have declared war upon me?
Marshal John: The duke of Badajoz, the Duke of Holstein who rules the county of Gelre and the Tribe of Curonian.
Edward: Urgh, did the duke of Pereslayvl not deal with Curonian yet? What a wimp. Send armies to deal with that treacherous scum in Badajoz and Gelre. And no mercy! Take their lands and titles! Rebellion will not be tolerated in this Empire. Oh, and send for mr Glaurung, mr Murmurandus and my horse!
Some time later. The Russian Steppes. The count Gleb of Starya Russa sits gloomily in his gloom castle drinking gloomy Wodka from gloomy glasses while leafing through a gloomy representation of gloomy daughters of gloomy parents in gloomy mother Russia.
Count Gleb: Gloom! Gloom! Woe is me! Gloom!
The bell rang (Gloomily of course). Count Gleb got up and shuffled to the door in a posture that made sad sack look like an athletic Greek god. He opened the door a crack and peered out into the gloomy, snowdriven night.
Mr Glaurung: Good evening sir! We are representatives of the National Russian Steppes Preservation Society, sub committee for the protection of the Wlak! We were wondering if we might speak with your employer, the noble count Gleb.
Gleb: I am Gleb. But I am not noble, I am gloomy!
Mr Murmurandus: Oh dear. And why are you gloomy sir?
Gleb: Well for one this place is so plague ridden I have to open my own door, I am so poor no woman wants to marry me, and I am so unimportant that the Emperor of Byzantium does not want to kill me. And of course I am Russian and drunk.
Mr Glaurung: I thought all Russians were drunk?
Gleb: See? And now you guys are here to ask for money. And I have no money.
Count Gleb began to cry. Murmurandus looked at Glaurung, Glaurung looked at Murmurandus.
Mr Murmurandus: Well actually we are here to murder you in the name of Edward king of Byzantium. Does that make you feel better?
Count Gleb perked up. Really? You are here SENT BY THE KING OF BYZANTIUM, EDWARD DE NORMANDIE TO KILL ME, TO MURDER ME IN A MANNER MOST FOUL?
Mr Glaurung: We usually just stab cleanly into the heart, but if you want a murder most foul, we can arrange it.
Count Gleb: Haha! I caught you! My faithful servants have been hiding behind curtains and listening so now the whole world will know the perfidy of the de Normandie’s! Come forth, my faithful butler Stanislaw!
The count pointed dramatically at a large curtain. Nothing happened. A faithful butler most disappointingly failed to appear.
Count Gleb: BEHOLD; MY FAITHFUL BUTLER STANISLAW!
Nothing happened. The count walked towards the curtain and drew it aside, revealing an emaciated corpse holding a crossbow in its hand. A crossbow bolt was embedded in its left temple and emerged through its right temple.
Count Gleb: Eeeew, Yuck. Ummm BEHOLD, MY FAITHFUL CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD VASSILLEY!
Mr Murmurandus: Is that the one who is hanging from the gloomy chandelier wearing the gloomy tabbard, suspended by the gloomy rope?
Count Gleb: Urr… BEHOLD MY FAITHFUL HOUSEKEEPER?
Mr Glaurung: The one with the empty cup and the bottle marked with skull and crossbones in the musicians gallery?
Count Gleb: Oh. Very well then. How did you want to do this?
Mr Murmurandus: Seeing the state of the place, I’d think jumping of the keep would be favourite…
Count Gleb: Yeah. Sounds good to me. Hand me another drink will you? Thanks. Could you help me up the stairs here? Another drink? Yo, thanks. Just a little help to get onto the parapet here? Yes, I will take another drink, thank you. Well gentlemen, it was nice meeting you. AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!
Then the gentlemen of many parts, mostly those formerly belonging to others, travelled to Rome for a nice pilgrimage.
Several weeks later. The papal legate arrives at the court of Edward, king of England
CPC: Sire! I bear terrible news and glad tidings for your family!
King Edward was contemplating a silk robe presented to him by several merchants with a look of slight distaste.
Edward: Cardinal? What brings you here? Another heathen at my court, maybe one of my brothers or sons? A daughter? And who is granting permission this time, the Sultan of Qarakhnid? The King of the Seljuk Turks? Prester John?
CPC: Ummm. The Pope has died.
Edward: Really? What was the cause?
CPC: He was launched of the walls of the Castello d’Angelo with a catapult, having been dipped in acid, rolled through a hornets nest, skinned, emasculated, covered in Byzantine secret formula liquid fire and set alight. Then his body was trampled by a herd of pigs, eaten by them, shat out by them, the bones and shards gathered and thrown into the cesspit of the English Embassy. As if you didn’t know… (This last was added in a whisper)
Edward: Oh dear, how terrible… And who is the new Pope? Someone luckier and quicker on the uptake I hope? Less likely to encounter such an amazing series of coincidences and accidents…resulting in his unfortunate death…
CPC: The former Archbishop of Tripoli, your cousin Edmund. Who apparently has placed himself immediately under your protection… He is planning to keep far away from actions that might cause such coincidences and accidents, and the Council of Cardinals wholeheartedly agrees. They thank you for the very effective guard at all the exits and entrances of the city, their personal palaces and in their bathrooms and bedrooms, by the way…
Edward: Cousin Edmund? That means all those extensive lands in the east he laid claim to as Archbishop will revert to the crown does it not?. Dear me, dear me, what ever shall I do with them…
Oh, and please tell the cardinals they can of course count on my continued protection. Saint Peter’s is a beautiful church. It would be a shame if anything happened to it. Of course there would always be the Hagia Sophia...
CPC: The Cardinals will be delighted to hear it.
Edward: Excellent! Well, if you don’t mind, I have some work to do and lands to divide, so…
The Cardinal left. A messenger entered, followed closely by a disease-ridden wretch of a man and mesrs. Glaurung and Murmurandus attorneys at law, problems solved, no questions asked.
Edward: Gentlemen, welcome, I will attend you once I have heard this message.
AaM: Sire! I regret to inform you a war has broken out!
Edward: A war? Between whom?
AaM: Between the Kingdom of Seljuk Turks, the Beydom of Fars, the Sheikdom of Kufa, the Emirate of Isfahan, the Emirate of Hormuz, the Emirate of Luristan, the Emirate of Sistan and the Duchy of Karbala. The duke asks that you come to his aid…
BBBD: Uchehehehe! And I have come to report that if you do not call the estates general, you will be declared just! Uchehehehe, darn that was a lung!
Edward: Please don’t breathe on me… Messenger, you may tell the duke I will aid him. Go and tell Lord John I will need him and his armies. Tell Lord von Bek to stand by the roadside so the new troops may gain their manhood in the great “Moonin’ the Marienburger Ceremony”. Tell The_ K those barnacles had better be scraped of those bottoms or I will have him and his family scrape them of with his teeth!
The_K: Is there another way?
BBBD: What do I tell the Estates General, Sire?
Edward: You may tell them I am Just and you are just disgusting. And I did warn you not to mess with the cast-offs of the King of Minors, he lets them go for a reason.
BBBD: I never touched them!
Edward: And how about those sheep?
BBBD: Ummm…
Edward: Quite. Now leave me, I need to talk to my “fixers”
Mr Glaurung: Sire! The pope is dead!
Edward: Yes, and? You want a bonus or something? Now your new mission is the assassination of the Duke of Pereslayvl Msistslavl Rurikovich; known as the Exceedingly Drunk. Before that you will go to Starya Russa and assassinate Bryachislav Rurikovich, the last surviving son of the Duke. He is 13 years old and already drunk. His father must be so proud.
Mr Murmurandus: Hmmm, that should not be too difficult to deal with… A slight push and it will be the end of him.
Edward: Don’t underestimate these things. Any way, you had better deal with this matter before my grandson Jocelyn dies of an enlarged liver.
Mr Glaurung: Yessir! As Good as dead sir!
In the meantime a group of envoys from the King of England and most Normans arrived at the court of the Duke of Provence.
AaM: Ummm… Hello?
THUD!!!
FaP: Hoooots!!! Crivens, the gate be closed! Ooch, me nose!
AaM: Well, yes. It would make a better impression if you noticed these things before walking up against them in a drunken stupor.
FaP: Och, ye plodder! I hae nae drunk a’that mooch! Nae more than two three wee jugs a Whisky!
AaM: True. Please don’t vomit all over the front gate.
FaP: Ach, they’ll ne’er notees! They be stupid Frenchmen, ye ken.
The Duke of Provence, a Stupid Frenchman: Excuse me, are you here to invade my Duchy?
FaP: Huh?
AaM: Umm, why would we invade this duchy, aren’t you a loyal vassal of the King of England.
The Duke of Provence: No actually I seceded from the Empire three weeks ago.
Birds tweet.
The Duke: I sent you a memo…
More birds tweet.
A muted conversation took place at the bottom of the wall.
AaM: look, we can’t give the marriage proposal now! What will people think, it will be like an endorsement of the fact that he has defected!
FaP: och, nae, it will be the edoorsmen’o’ the fakt tha’the king likes hees gurls wee an’ yoong an’ disna care owermooch where they be fra”.
AaM: I don’t think the king will be happy when we come home with the daughter of the free duke of Provence as his future wife!
FaP: He wilnae care as long as she can hold a conversation aboot Greek epigrams an’ knoos her lepidopterae. An’if he does mind, he can always hae the girl discreetly “discarded”
AaM: Oh, all right. I say up there!
The duke: Yes? You are an invasion force now?
AaM: No,. We are here with an offer. King Edward wants to marry your daughter Adelaide d’Aquitaine. If it is not too much trouble.
The Duke: Ummm. Give me a second here. How much prestige would this marriage bring me?
AaM: A lot?
The Duke: Sounds good to me, I agree!
Adelaide: DAD! The guy is, like, ancient!
The Duke: Well, he’s rich and he has the greatest library in the world.
Adelaide: Oooohhh. Does he own romantic novels?
The Duke: If not, he can buy some.
AaM: So we can tell the king?
The Duke: Yeah sure. You can take her with you right now. Shall I wrap her, urrr, I mean, she has some nice dresses…
Adelaide d”Aquitaine
The King married Adelaide d’Aquitaine
Adelaide: So. This is the bedroom?
Edward: Yes.
Adelaide: Where is the bed?
Edward: Over there, behind the piles of romance novels.
Adelaide: Oooh, Honey I think I love you!
Edward: Hmmm. How are you at Greek?
So war continued against the 112 year old Emir of Khwarizm. Who was now 113 years old. Anyway, the war continued. But finally Edwards army reconquered Baghdad.
Edward: Peace at last! I have conquered this mighty nation and now my people can go home! And me as well! I haven’t seen Agata in far too long!
FaP: Hoots, Crivens ya Betsy!
Edward: Oh. It’s you
FaP: Aye, an’ I’m mighty glad to be talkin’ to ya!
Edward: And why is that?
FaP: We be havin’ a small, wee , insignifeecant problem, ye ken.
Edward: I am not your Ken, I am your King. Now what is the problem? The whisky has run out?
FaP: Aye that too. Noo, the problem is that a coople o’mad Inquisitors hae come to London an’hae picked up, tortured an’ executed your weef.
Edward: They did what to my wife?
FaP: They stripped of her skin, burned her with irons, drew oot her tongue, snipped of her fingers an’nipples an’…
It was at this point that the Emperor Edward started to tremble.
Marshal John: Shut up. Get the Papal legate over here right now.
FaP: He be holdin’ mass to celebrate the execution o’ the heretic.
Marshal John: I am sure he will find time to come out if you set fire to the church.
Edward: No.
Marshal John: Edward, you have to act against this!
Edward: Send in Sir Rasmus “Forty with one fart”
Marshal John: Ugh. That’s nasty! He’s just had two barrels of beans!
Edward: Tell him there need be no survivors beside the Legate….
The Papal Legate was brought before the king.
CaP: Sire! It is so good to see you, the defender of the catholic faith and the Holy Mother Church!
Edward: Cardinal Penny Cinquanta. It is not good to see you. I am not happy with the church. I am so unhappy with Holy Mother Church that I am seriously considering having her removed from parental authority. Give me one good reason why I should not have you nailed into a barrel and placed in the noon day sun.
CaP: Sire?
Edward: I told you to keep your hands of my wife, didn’t I?
CaP: I never touched her!
Edward: No, but the Inquisition did.
CaP: Bu-but you gave the church permission to capture torture and kill her if she did not repent!
Edward: Could you show me this order?
CaP: I have a copy right here!
Edward: let me see…. Edward by the grace of the dog grants permission to the Holy Church to lay hold of any person in his court or lands who is an heretic or heathen, pagan or related to Rasmus “40 with one armpit” by blood or marriage. Signed Edward, King of England
CaP: See, it is perfectly legal!
Edward: Uhuh. And the fact that it is written in Arabic doesn’t detract from the authenticity?
CaP: Well, we thought you were carried away by the gorgeous countryside and the friendliness of the people…
Edward: And the fact that the outside is inscribed with the name Ramazan Abdullah, Emir of Khwarizm. And sealed with is seal. And bearing his personal mark. And has a little picture of him, drawn by his great-great-great-great-great-grandson, three year old Ali entitled “Grandad Ramazan on his stupid camel, Pope Gerhardt”
CaP: Umm, now you mention it that does seem slightly suspicious….
Edward: I am so glad we agree about that. You may tell the pope that I will get back to him on this…
Oh, and I’d like a complete list of all the cardinals, ah and you might ask his Holiness if he wants protection for the Holy See from enemy armies?
CaP: Oh. Ehehehe…
The Cardinal left. The king strolled over to a side table. A number of young clerks were leafing through the large Almanack de Trophy-Wife, first compiled by the baron of Trophy-Wife in 1165 and quickly supplanting the more ancient but less attractively illustrated Compendium of unmarried women of noble birth in Europe. Most men bought it for the interviews. Hem hem.
Edward: I still think there is no need for me to remarry!
Richard: Well, I did not see any need for me to marry at all! So Nyahh!
Edward: Don’t be childish Richard! Here, have a Duchy.
Richard: Cool! Which one is it?
Edward: Tabriz. Four rich provinces, very few men, one orthodox and three Muslim provinces. How’s the wife?
Richard: Drunk
Edward: How’s young Jocelyn, future heir to the Duchy of Pereslayvl?
Richard: Drunk as well.
Edward: Oh dear. Not talking yet?
Richard: Oh, yes, he talks. His vocabulary is already greater than his mother’s.
Edward: Well, that’s promising at least!
Richard: Yes, where Pereslava only says Da Vodka and Da whisky and beer, young Jocelyn actually says Da Vodka, da whisky, beer, wine and gin.
Edward: Hmmm. He will make an interesting Duke of Pereslayvl.
Richard: Well his grandfather is not much different.
Edward: Ehem!
Richard: His maternal grandfather, beg pardon!
Edward: Anyway, are the ladies I sent to you to your liking?
Richard: Yes, thanks dad! Where did you find them?
Edward: I used your grandfather’s list of promising young women.
Richard: You know, some of these aren’t even in the Trophy-Wife?
Edward: Dad always had a good eye for future “developments”
Richard: What will happen to the Pope, dad?
Edward: He will probably die of natural causes….
Some days later. A messenger arrived.
AaM: Sire! The Duke of Tangiers refuses to let you marry his daughter!
Edward: Pardon? What stupidity is that?
AaM: He refuses to let you marry his daughter!
Edward: And why is that? Is my prestige insufficient? Am I not Pious enough?
AaM: No sire! It’s because you are still at war with him! I think. If 17000+ piety and 80000+ prestige are not enough, I don’t know what is!
Edward: Pardon? How much? How the hell did that happen? Did someone forge something? Get me mr Rexus! Right now! Oh, and send an army to conquer Tangiers and make peace! Get some of those lazy Iberians to do it! They’ve been sitting out this whole “War in the East” thing and it is time they did something!
Mr Rexus: Sire! You called me?
Edward: No, I had you called. I want to know why my Prestige and Piety have gone through the roof.
Mr Rexus: Ummm. I don’t know? I am just a forger, umm, simple scribe, not an advisor on spiritual and worldly matters…
Edward: Hmph. Anyone here know how this happened?
A hand went up from amongst the crowd of toadies, hangers-on and other nobles.
Sleepy Irv: Umm, I have an idea!
Edward: Splendid! Tell it to the Minister in charge of dealing with Ideas from Stupid toadies, nobles and Hangers-on. Who are you anyway; show me your STNHO number. 129, ummm, if this is correct you are a young monk of noble birth known as Irving the Somnolent the 5th.
Sleepy Irv: I prefer Sleepy Irv Jr. sire!
Edward: Okay Jr, the minister is over there. Have fun.
The Minister in charge of Dealing with Ideas from Stupid Toadies, Nobles and Hangers-on.
Sleepy Irv: No sire, I think I know what caused the massive increase in your piety and prestige!
Edward: Oh? And what do you think is the cause?
Sleepy Irv: The reconquest of Baghdad and Kirkuk from the vile infidel! It must have been a holy Crusade.
Edward: Ummm, I think I would have noticed a Holy Crusade you know. It is a bit hard to miss what with all the Papal Bulls that would show up… Not to mention the frigging great curtain that appears whenever one of these things is called…
Sleepy Irv: Well yes, there is that. But do you have a better idea?
Edward: No. So we will go with your suggestion for now. Of course, if you are wrong, there will be consequences….
Sleepy Irv: Oh. Oh dear.
Edward: Is the Duke of Tangiers defeated yet?
Marshal John: Ayup
Edward: Did he surrender his lands and title?
Marshal John: Anope
Edward: Pardon, did you say no?
Marshal John: Ayup.
Edward: And why, pray, was this rebellious cur let of the hook?
Marshal John: Considering our reputation, I thought it might be wise not to antagonize the nobles any more by annexing his lands and titles.
Edward: So. My prestige and piety are sky-high, but my reputation is worse than a fox’s in a henhouse?
Marshal John: Ayup. It’s all these wars and annexations of rebellious vassals that does it…
Edward: Anyway, since we are now at peace, it is time I went home and got myself a new wife. Apparently it is family tradition to remarry within three weeks after the death of the previous wife..
Marshal John: Umm, we’re not actually, at peace.
Edward: Pardon?
Marshal John: Actually, there’s this pile of declarations of war to deal with…
Edward: Pile?
Marshal John: Pile, yup
Edward: Of declarations of war?
Marshal John: Yup, loads of ‘em! Fun eh? Another delightful war!
Edward: John, since your notion of fun is beating to death large numbers of pagans and heathens, and your notion of delight involve a hornet’s nest with a tight hole, I don’t think you are, actually, all that good at defining the word fun. OR the word delight.
Marshal John: Yeah, but I am bloody good at hitting people with great style!
Edward: An excellent quality in a marshal. Now, who have declared war upon me?
Marshal John: The duke of Badajoz, the Duke of Holstein who rules the county of Gelre and the Tribe of Curonian.
Edward: Urgh, did the duke of Pereslayvl not deal with Curonian yet? What a wimp. Send armies to deal with that treacherous scum in Badajoz and Gelre. And no mercy! Take their lands and titles! Rebellion will not be tolerated in this Empire. Oh, and send for mr Glaurung, mr Murmurandus and my horse!
Some time later. The Russian Steppes. The count Gleb of Starya Russa sits gloomily in his gloom castle drinking gloomy Wodka from gloomy glasses while leafing through a gloomy representation of gloomy daughters of gloomy parents in gloomy mother Russia.
Count Gleb: Gloom! Gloom! Woe is me! Gloom!
The bell rang (Gloomily of course). Count Gleb got up and shuffled to the door in a posture that made sad sack look like an athletic Greek god. He opened the door a crack and peered out into the gloomy, snowdriven night.
Mr Glaurung: Good evening sir! We are representatives of the National Russian Steppes Preservation Society, sub committee for the protection of the Wlak! We were wondering if we might speak with your employer, the noble count Gleb.
Gleb: I am Gleb. But I am not noble, I am gloomy!
Mr Murmurandus: Oh dear. And why are you gloomy sir?
Gleb: Well for one this place is so plague ridden I have to open my own door, I am so poor no woman wants to marry me, and I am so unimportant that the Emperor of Byzantium does not want to kill me. And of course I am Russian and drunk.
Mr Glaurung: I thought all Russians were drunk?
Gleb: See? And now you guys are here to ask for money. And I have no money.
Count Gleb began to cry. Murmurandus looked at Glaurung, Glaurung looked at Murmurandus.
Mr Murmurandus: Well actually we are here to murder you in the name of Edward king of Byzantium. Does that make you feel better?
Count Gleb perked up. Really? You are here SENT BY THE KING OF BYZANTIUM, EDWARD DE NORMANDIE TO KILL ME, TO MURDER ME IN A MANNER MOST FOUL?
Mr Glaurung: We usually just stab cleanly into the heart, but if you want a murder most foul, we can arrange it.
Count Gleb: Haha! I caught you! My faithful servants have been hiding behind curtains and listening so now the whole world will know the perfidy of the de Normandie’s! Come forth, my faithful butler Stanislaw!
The count pointed dramatically at a large curtain. Nothing happened. A faithful butler most disappointingly failed to appear.
Count Gleb: BEHOLD; MY FAITHFUL BUTLER STANISLAW!
Nothing happened. The count walked towards the curtain and drew it aside, revealing an emaciated corpse holding a crossbow in its hand. A crossbow bolt was embedded in its left temple and emerged through its right temple.
Count Gleb: Eeeew, Yuck. Ummm BEHOLD, MY FAITHFUL CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD VASSILLEY!
Mr Murmurandus: Is that the one who is hanging from the gloomy chandelier wearing the gloomy tabbard, suspended by the gloomy rope?
Count Gleb: Urr… BEHOLD MY FAITHFUL HOUSEKEEPER?
Mr Glaurung: The one with the empty cup and the bottle marked with skull and crossbones in the musicians gallery?
Count Gleb: Oh. Very well then. How did you want to do this?
Mr Murmurandus: Seeing the state of the place, I’d think jumping of the keep would be favourite…
Count Gleb: Yeah. Sounds good to me. Hand me another drink will you? Thanks. Could you help me up the stairs here? Another drink? Yo, thanks. Just a little help to get onto the parapet here? Yes, I will take another drink, thank you. Well gentlemen, it was nice meeting you. AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!
Then the gentlemen of many parts, mostly those formerly belonging to others, travelled to Rome for a nice pilgrimage.
Several weeks later. The papal legate arrives at the court of Edward, king of England
CPC: Sire! I bear terrible news and glad tidings for your family!
King Edward was contemplating a silk robe presented to him by several merchants with a look of slight distaste.
Edward: Cardinal? What brings you here? Another heathen at my court, maybe one of my brothers or sons? A daughter? And who is granting permission this time, the Sultan of Qarakhnid? The King of the Seljuk Turks? Prester John?
CPC: Ummm. The Pope has died.
Edward: Really? What was the cause?
CPC: He was launched of the walls of the Castello d’Angelo with a catapult, having been dipped in acid, rolled through a hornets nest, skinned, emasculated, covered in Byzantine secret formula liquid fire and set alight. Then his body was trampled by a herd of pigs, eaten by them, shat out by them, the bones and shards gathered and thrown into the cesspit of the English Embassy. As if you didn’t know… (This last was added in a whisper)
Edward: Oh dear, how terrible… And who is the new Pope? Someone luckier and quicker on the uptake I hope? Less likely to encounter such an amazing series of coincidences and accidents…resulting in his unfortunate death…
CPC: The former Archbishop of Tripoli, your cousin Edmund. Who apparently has placed himself immediately under your protection… He is planning to keep far away from actions that might cause such coincidences and accidents, and the Council of Cardinals wholeheartedly agrees. They thank you for the very effective guard at all the exits and entrances of the city, their personal palaces and in their bathrooms and bedrooms, by the way…
Edward: Cousin Edmund? That means all those extensive lands in the east he laid claim to as Archbishop will revert to the crown does it not?. Dear me, dear me, what ever shall I do with them…
Oh, and please tell the cardinals they can of course count on my continued protection. Saint Peter’s is a beautiful church. It would be a shame if anything happened to it. Of course there would always be the Hagia Sophia...
CPC: The Cardinals will be delighted to hear it.
Edward: Excellent! Well, if you don’t mind, I have some work to do and lands to divide, so…
The Cardinal left. A messenger entered, followed closely by a disease-ridden wretch of a man and mesrs. Glaurung and Murmurandus attorneys at law, problems solved, no questions asked.
Edward: Gentlemen, welcome, I will attend you once I have heard this message.
AaM: Sire! I regret to inform you a war has broken out!
Edward: A war? Between whom?
AaM: Between the Kingdom of Seljuk Turks, the Beydom of Fars, the Sheikdom of Kufa, the Emirate of Isfahan, the Emirate of Hormuz, the Emirate of Luristan, the Emirate of Sistan and the Duchy of Karbala. The duke asks that you come to his aid…
BBBD: Uchehehehe! And I have come to report that if you do not call the estates general, you will be declared just! Uchehehehe, darn that was a lung!
Edward: Please don’t breathe on me… Messenger, you may tell the duke I will aid him. Go and tell Lord John I will need him and his armies. Tell Lord von Bek to stand by the roadside so the new troops may gain their manhood in the great “Moonin’ the Marienburger Ceremony”. Tell The_ K those barnacles had better be scraped of those bottoms or I will have him and his family scrape them of with his teeth!
The_K: Is there another way?
BBBD: What do I tell the Estates General, Sire?
Edward: You may tell them I am Just and you are just disgusting. And I did warn you not to mess with the cast-offs of the King of Minors, he lets them go for a reason.
BBBD: I never touched them!
Edward: And how about those sheep?
BBBD: Ummm…
Edward: Quite. Now leave me, I need to talk to my “fixers”
Mr Glaurung: Sire! The pope is dead!
Edward: Yes, and? You want a bonus or something? Now your new mission is the assassination of the Duke of Pereslayvl Msistslavl Rurikovich; known as the Exceedingly Drunk. Before that you will go to Starya Russa and assassinate Bryachislav Rurikovich, the last surviving son of the Duke. He is 13 years old and already drunk. His father must be so proud.
Mr Murmurandus: Hmmm, that should not be too difficult to deal with… A slight push and it will be the end of him.
Edward: Don’t underestimate these things. Any way, you had better deal with this matter before my grandson Jocelyn dies of an enlarged liver.
Mr Glaurung: Yessir! As Good as dead sir!
In the meantime a group of envoys from the King of England and most Normans arrived at the court of the Duke of Provence.
AaM: Ummm… Hello?
THUD!!!
FaP: Hoooots!!! Crivens, the gate be closed! Ooch, me nose!
AaM: Well, yes. It would make a better impression if you noticed these things before walking up against them in a drunken stupor.
FaP: Och, ye plodder! I hae nae drunk a’that mooch! Nae more than two three wee jugs a Whisky!
AaM: True. Please don’t vomit all over the front gate.
FaP: Ach, they’ll ne’er notees! They be stupid Frenchmen, ye ken.
The Duke of Provence, a Stupid Frenchman: Excuse me, are you here to invade my Duchy?
FaP: Huh?
AaM: Umm, why would we invade this duchy, aren’t you a loyal vassal of the King of England.
The Duke of Provence: No actually I seceded from the Empire three weeks ago.
Birds tweet.
The Duke: I sent you a memo…
More birds tweet.
A muted conversation took place at the bottom of the wall.
AaM: look, we can’t give the marriage proposal now! What will people think, it will be like an endorsement of the fact that he has defected!
FaP: och, nae, it will be the edoorsmen’o’ the fakt tha’the king likes hees gurls wee an’ yoong an’ disna care owermooch where they be fra”.
AaM: I don’t think the king will be happy when we come home with the daughter of the free duke of Provence as his future wife!
FaP: He wilnae care as long as she can hold a conversation aboot Greek epigrams an’ knoos her lepidopterae. An’if he does mind, he can always hae the girl discreetly “discarded”
AaM: Oh, all right. I say up there!
The duke: Yes? You are an invasion force now?
AaM: No,. We are here with an offer. King Edward wants to marry your daughter Adelaide d’Aquitaine. If it is not too much trouble.
The Duke: Ummm. Give me a second here. How much prestige would this marriage bring me?
AaM: A lot?
The Duke: Sounds good to me, I agree!
Adelaide: DAD! The guy is, like, ancient!
The Duke: Well, he’s rich and he has the greatest library in the world.
Adelaide: Oooohhh. Does he own romantic novels?
The Duke: If not, he can buy some.
AaM: So we can tell the king?
The Duke: Yeah sure. You can take her with you right now. Shall I wrap her, urrr, I mean, she has some nice dresses…
Adelaide d”Aquitaine
The King married Adelaide d’Aquitaine
Adelaide: So. This is the bedroom?
Edward: Yes.
Adelaide: Where is the bed?
Edward: Over there, behind the piles of romance novels.
Adelaide: Oooh, Honey I think I love you!
Edward: Hmmm. How are you at Greek?
Feedback
Rasmus40: Hmm, I think those harems were not exactly conducive of long and healthy life. Plenty of rulers killed by disgruntled wives. And Ramazan has no surviving spouse and his youngest female courtmembers are 56 and 67 respectively...
Draco Rexus: What assassination by line? ( I don't get it) As to harems, see above. As to revolts, I lived through them, but I did cheat by giving back wise everytime I got stuck with arbitrary.
Mr Glaurung: Now why would you think that?
Deflare:Yup. I don't usually assassinate my way into power, but Peresslayvl is very big and would be a total bitch to conquer hence the underhanded technique below the ribs up into the heart or lungs.. Norway is next. And I don't think Ethioapia is on the map
BBBD: The plague look is quite popular if you have enough money to entice the gold diggers to come and wait for you to die and leave your money to them...
regarding the pictures, they don't seem to want to upload, I will see if I can get them up later. I will keep you informed...
Rasmus40: Hmm, I think those harems were not exactly conducive of long and healthy life. Plenty of rulers killed by disgruntled wives. And Ramazan has no surviving spouse and his youngest female courtmembers are 56 and 67 respectively...
Draco Rexus: What assassination by line? ( I don't get it) As to harems, see above. As to revolts, I lived through them, but I did cheat by giving back wise everytime I got stuck with arbitrary.
Mr Glaurung: Now why would you think that?
Deflare:Yup. I don't usually assassinate my way into power, but Peresslayvl is very big and would be a total bitch to conquer hence the underhanded technique below the ribs up into the heart or lungs.. Norway is next. And I don't think Ethioapia is on the map
BBBD: The plague look is quite popular if you have enough money to entice the gold diggers to come and wait for you to die and leave your money to them...
regarding the pictures, they don't seem to want to upload, I will see if I can get them up later. I will keep you informed...
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Can we have a political map up please because I can't tell where boundaries etc or whats where
Sleepyirv is back! Couldn't you make him a spy or assassin or a wife-finder? Something exciting! Considering the last time we saw his dear monk father...... It probably means the guy was 113 when Jr was born.
As always, pure brilliance.
Considering the last time we saw his dear monk father...... It probably means the guy was 113 when Jr was born.As always, pure brilliance.
Hmm, Edward seems to have done well. The pope got what he deserves (by natural causes, of course), Edward inherited the new pope's lands, and he has apparently found the perfect second wife. Nifty.
Peraslavyl isn't a particularly pleasant place, is it? They definitely need some good Norman cheer. Fortunately, you seem all too happy to oblige- out of the goodness of your heart, I'm sure.
Peraslavyl isn't a particularly pleasant place, is it? They definitely need some good Norman cheer. Fortunately, you seem all too happy to oblige- out of the goodness of your heart, I'm sure.
Nice to see the empire expanding yet again. (or at least planning to)
I must say that I quite like this Richard character, he reminds me of somebody...
...but I just can't remember who.
I must say that I quite like this Richard character, he reminds me of somebody...
...but I just can't remember who.
I'm always glad to be of service, Sire...
I'm very impressed myself about the way the previous pope died...
I'm very impressed myself about the way the previous pope died...
Feedback to Feedback
Lord Boreal: The map in the previous post is a political map, everything green is mine, everything in another colour is not mine. And will probably not last long. As to knowing where everything is, I tend to use the marvelous title map made by Farquharson, though the link to it no longer seems to work. Maybe it can be posted in a sticky somewhere? Moderator anywhere?
Sleepy Irv:Actually this is Sleepy Irv V (the fifth) in line since the poor unrecognized chronicler. As for another role, you want to be an assassin, eh... That can be arranged...... Pity there's no devil smilies in this set...
Deflare: Pereslayvl is God's answer to those people who think Hell is quite nice really... The wife is good. I hope to get the pics up soon, but I still get this strange message, maybe my imageshack account is full or something...
Deus:Yes the expansion is going quite well. Other things have been less pleasant, more on that on thursday's update.
Murmurandus: Yeah, the pope... Ummm. Actually I thoughtlessly clicked away some messages and poor Agata was in the middle... But this was easier than thinking the a little careless hand of God...
Lord Boreal: The map in the previous post is a political map, everything green is mine, everything in another colour is not mine. And will probably not last long. As to knowing where everything is, I tend to use the marvelous title map made by Farquharson, though the link to it no longer seems to work. Maybe it can be posted in a sticky somewhere? Moderator anywhere?
Sleepy Irv:Actually this is Sleepy Irv V (the fifth) in line since the poor unrecognized chronicler. As for another role, you want to be an assassin, eh... That can be arranged......
Pity there's no devil smilies in this set...Deflare: Pereslayvl is God's answer to those people who think Hell is quite nice really... The wife is good. I hope to get the pics up soon, but I still get this strange message, maybe my imageshack account is full or something...
Deus:Yes the expansion is going quite well. Other things have been less pleasant, more on that on thursday's update.
Murmurandus: Yeah, the pope... Ummm. Actually I thoughtlessly clicked away some messages and poor Agata was in the middle... But this was easier than thinking the a little careless hand of God...
Well then.... my, my, my, don't things look to be progressing quite nicely. Is there anything left actually worth having?
Oh, by the by, Sire, if you are no longer in any need of my services as Chief Forger, I would like to request a transfer to the Assassination Bureau. Those guys seem to have a load more fun these days, eh?
Oh, by the by, Sire, if you are no longer in any need of my services as Chief Forger, I would like to request a transfer to the Assassination Bureau. Those guys seem to have a load more fun these days, eh?
A short Story about Succession in Russia
The Court of count Bryachyslav the Drunk, Depressed and gloomy. Starya Russa. Still plague ridden, now also in revolt. The court of Justice has gone, as has the library. The foresters have died of plague or pitchfork. The sawmill is standing forlornly next to the empty mill race. The count Bryachyslav is sitting in his gloomy and depressing castle, waiting for his bailiff.
The bailif: Sir, I regret to report we are running at a loss of –0.9 gold bars.
Count Bryachyslav: Ah, sod.
The bailif: The peasants hate you.
CB: Bugger that!
The Bailif: The nobles think you are a drunken shite.
CB: Bugger them!
The bailif: And the Popes think you are fit only for burning at the stake, for being a sodomist and a foul-mouthed drunk.
CB: The devil take them! I haven’t done anything they haven’t! Except sodomy and being foul-mouthed. What about the burghers?
The bailif: You need cities for burghers. You have no burghers.
CB: So. My father has made me lord of this $#!* hole and basically I can do nothing but sell my body to pay my debts?
The bailif: Yes.
CB: I never should have listened when that old coot offered me this place, even with an all-female court!
The bailif: Well, he didn’t lie.
CB: Yes, but they are all over 60. And ugly. And Lesbian.
The door opens. Two men walk in. They are dressed in black.
Mr Glaurung: Good afternoon. We tried to find a guard to announce us, but we couldn’t find one.
CB: Yeah they’re all dead or have defected. What do you want?
Mr Murmurandus: Anyone els here except this guy?
CB: No, Leonid is apparently my last retainer.
Mr Murmurandus: Well, we are representatives of the emperor of Byzantium. Any last wishes?
CB: Ummm, a woman and some good vodka instead of this crap?
Mr Glaurung: Oddly enough we brought a supply of both. Please excuse us while we go kill your retainer.
CB: Yeah, sure, hand me the girl.
Leonid: Ummm. What if I swear never to reveal what is going to happen here?
Mr Murmurandus: Not good enough Lenny. Mind if I call you Lenny?
Leonid: Do I have a choice?
Mr Glaurung: We could call you Leper? We passed a hospice some time ago, you would fit right in.
Lenny: Maybe there is some job I could do for The Emperor? Starve peasants, squeeze taxes out of burghers? That sort of thing?
Mr Glaurung: What! The Emperor does not sink to such levels of perfidy! His peasants are well fed, his burghers respected, with the exception of master BBBD, his churches blessed by his generosity and his noble content with their demesnes! He is a good, kind and gentle man who only wants the best for his people! And he wouldn't dream of doing anything nasty or underhanded!
Lenny: Oh. Ummm. I could cut the grass?
Mr Glaurung: And he doesn’t do drugs.
Mr Murmurandus: Hmmm. Well, we do need a third for the team what with all the assignements we’ve been getting.
Lenny: Become an assassin? But that’s horrible. I thought you said he was a good , kind man!
Mr Glaurung: Pays well. (Shakes his full purse)
Lenny: Where do I sign.
The count of Starya Russa died of alcohol poisoning. And lead poisoning, and steel poisoning and silk poisoning. But he died with a smile on his face. Oh, I forgot poison poisoning.
In the middle east the war was going fairly well. The Kings’ forces were steadily pushing back and defeating the forces of the most important enemy, the King of the Seljuk Turks. The other enemies were of course, also being driven back. This was a good thing.
After a number of pitched battles which were fairly successfull (The Battle of Baghdad 29K men under Edward the Normandie’s marshal John (martial 18) defeated and routed 33K troops under the command of Ali Ben something or other (Martial 3), who had been catapulted into command upon the sudden disappearance of the great marshal Mohemed of Fars. (Martial 15). Only 5000 or so troops managed to flee once Edward de Normandie led his elite Alexandrian Guard into combat against the rear of the Seljuk forces.
Mohemed of Fars: So. You want me to face this large army of superior troops with this motley band commanded by, besides me, a bunch of inbred maniac idiots?
King of the Seljuk Turks: Yes.
Mohemed of Fars: And for this honour you will pay me a great deal of money?
King of the Seljuk Turks: Possibly, possibly. But if you are too successful I will have to have you strangled with a silken cord.
Mohemed: And if I loose?
King: I will have you strangled with a hemp rope.
Is it surprising that Mohemed left? ( I think he defected to another court…Dihistan. How do I know? Wait and find out! )
In the meantime. Somewhere in Russia. Oh very well, the court of the Duke of Pereslayvl in Desht-I-Kipchak. Pereslayvl was conquered by the Sultanate of Qarakhnid quite some time ago. Happy now?
Duke Msisitislavl the so incredibly drunk you would not believe it: Hic! Vodka! More Vodka!
The duke at this time was hanging from a parapet and three men were looking down at him.
He was holding on with one hand and used the other to wave a large jug of vodka around gaily, quite often bringing it to his lips.
Lenny: We could step on his hands?
Mr Glaurung: We could pour boiling water over his head?
Mr Murmurandus: Hey, cool! I can see into the women’s bathroom from here!
Mr Glaurung: Really? Lemme see!
Lenny: Isn’t that the duke’s mistress? Hey Misty, is that your mistress?
Msistislav: Da! Vodka! Maria Leschina!
Murmurandus: She’s taking her dress off! She’s taking her dress off!
Mr Glaurung: She’s stepping behind the bath!
Lenny: If you lean over like this you can still see her!
SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH! Crack! Ouch! Where did that jug come from?
Msistislav: I dropped my jug!
The Court of count Bryachyslav the Drunk, Depressed and gloomy. Starya Russa. Still plague ridden, now also in revolt. The court of Justice has gone, as has the library. The foresters have died of plague or pitchfork. The sawmill is standing forlornly next to the empty mill race. The count Bryachyslav is sitting in his gloomy and depressing castle, waiting for his bailiff.
The bailif: Sir, I regret to report we are running at a loss of –0.9 gold bars.
Count Bryachyslav: Ah, sod.
The bailif: The peasants hate you.
CB: Bugger that!
The Bailif: The nobles think you are a drunken shite.
CB: Bugger them!
The bailif: And the Popes think you are fit only for burning at the stake, for being a sodomist and a foul-mouthed drunk.
CB: The devil take them! I haven’t done anything they haven’t! Except sodomy and being foul-mouthed. What about the burghers?
The bailif: You need cities for burghers. You have no burghers.
CB: So. My father has made me lord of this $#!* hole and basically I can do nothing but sell my body to pay my debts?
The bailif: Yes.
CB: I never should have listened when that old coot offered me this place, even with an all-female court!
The bailif: Well, he didn’t lie.
CB: Yes, but they are all over 60. And ugly. And Lesbian.
The door opens. Two men walk in. They are dressed in black.
Mr Glaurung: Good afternoon. We tried to find a guard to announce us, but we couldn’t find one.
CB: Yeah they’re all dead or have defected. What do you want?
Mr Murmurandus: Anyone els here except this guy?
CB: No, Leonid is apparently my last retainer.
Mr Murmurandus: Well, we are representatives of the emperor of Byzantium. Any last wishes?
CB: Ummm, a woman and some good vodka instead of this crap?
Mr Glaurung: Oddly enough we brought a supply of both. Please excuse us while we go kill your retainer.
CB: Yeah, sure, hand me the girl.
Leonid: Ummm. What if I swear never to reveal what is going to happen here?
Mr Murmurandus: Not good enough Lenny. Mind if I call you Lenny?
Leonid: Do I have a choice?
Mr Glaurung: We could call you Leper? We passed a hospice some time ago, you would fit right in.
Lenny: Maybe there is some job I could do for The Emperor? Starve peasants, squeeze taxes out of burghers? That sort of thing?
Mr Glaurung: What! The Emperor does not sink to such levels of perfidy! His peasants are well fed, his burghers respected, with the exception of master BBBD, his churches blessed by his generosity and his noble content with their demesnes! He is a good, kind and gentle man who only wants the best for his people! And he wouldn't dream of doing anything nasty or underhanded!
Lenny: Oh. Ummm. I could cut the grass?
Mr Glaurung: And he doesn’t do drugs.
Mr Murmurandus: Hmmm. Well, we do need a third for the team what with all the assignements we’ve been getting.
Lenny: Become an assassin? But that’s horrible. I thought you said he was a good , kind man!
Mr Glaurung: Pays well. (Shakes his full purse)
Lenny: Where do I sign.
The count of Starya Russa died of alcohol poisoning. And lead poisoning, and steel poisoning and silk poisoning. But he died with a smile on his face. Oh, I forgot poison poisoning.
In the middle east the war was going fairly well. The Kings’ forces were steadily pushing back and defeating the forces of the most important enemy, the King of the Seljuk Turks. The other enemies were of course, also being driven back. This was a good thing.
After a number of pitched battles which were fairly successfull (The Battle of Baghdad 29K men under Edward the Normandie’s marshal John (martial 18) defeated and routed 33K troops under the command of Ali Ben something or other (Martial 3), who had been catapulted into command upon the sudden disappearance of the great marshal Mohemed of Fars. (Martial 15). Only 5000 or so troops managed to flee once Edward de Normandie led his elite Alexandrian Guard into combat against the rear of the Seljuk forces.
Mohemed of Fars: So. You want me to face this large army of superior troops with this motley band commanded by, besides me, a bunch of inbred maniac idiots?
King of the Seljuk Turks: Yes.
Mohemed of Fars: And for this honour you will pay me a great deal of money?
King of the Seljuk Turks: Possibly, possibly. But if you are too successful I will have to have you strangled with a silken cord.
Mohemed: And if I loose?
King: I will have you strangled with a hemp rope.
Is it surprising that Mohemed left? ( I think he defected to another court…Dihistan. How do I know? Wait and find out! )
In the meantime. Somewhere in Russia. Oh very well, the court of the Duke of Pereslayvl in Desht-I-Kipchak. Pereslayvl was conquered by the Sultanate of Qarakhnid quite some time ago. Happy now?
Duke Msisitislavl the so incredibly drunk you would not believe it: Hic! Vodka! More Vodka!
The duke at this time was hanging from a parapet and three men were looking down at him.
He was holding on with one hand and used the other to wave a large jug of vodka around gaily, quite often bringing it to his lips.
Lenny: We could step on his hands?
Mr Glaurung: We could pour boiling water over his head?
Mr Murmurandus: Hey, cool! I can see into the women’s bathroom from here!
Mr Glaurung: Really? Lemme see!
Lenny: Isn’t that the duke’s mistress? Hey Misty, is that your mistress?
Msistislav: Da! Vodka! Maria Leschina!
Murmurandus: She’s taking her dress off! She’s taking her dress off!
Mr Glaurung: She’s stepping behind the bath!
Lenny: If you lean over like this you can still see her!
SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH! Crack! Ouch! Where did that jug come from?
Msistislav: I dropped my jug!
I'm damn sorry for the jug. You let the jug die? That is unacceptable! An outrage!
But I like the overkills, there should be more of them.
But I like the overkills, there should be more of them.