Mmmm, looks like Edward is becoming a bit soft lately. Guess it's time to bring the torturers back in... 
A line of true Bastards. An a-historical England AAR
- Thread starter Dead William
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Sire and Spirits of our departed Sires:
I must humbly beg forgiveness for dear Dirko.... he, ah, occasionally forgets to fully think through his write ups when laying claims. Think of it as a form of "Target Fixation". He is currently being counseled by the Family Fathers about this, and I do promise that he shall not let such an occurance happen again.
I must humbly beg forgiveness for dear Dirko.... he, ah, occasionally forgets to fully think through his write ups when laying claims. Think of it as a form of "Target Fixation". He is currently being counseled by the Family Fathers about this, and I do promise that he shall not let such an occurance happen again.
Your most humble and obiedent servant,
Draco Rexus
Senior Partner of Rexus, Rexus, Rexus, Rexus and Mephistopheles
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BBBD:
I do hope you mean the building and not the person
Deus:
There is a deep and needed reason for the debasement of the Rexus talent. I will get to that later...
And I tremble in fear when I think what master BBBD might do once he enters a building full of innocent virgins. Oh, and nuns.
SleepyIrv:
Sheep? Nobody here but us goats.
Murmurandus:
Ummm, do you really want Mr Mac to be waiting for you if poor Murmurandus returns from Pereslayvl? Just think about that...
BBBD:
I do hope you mean the building and not the person
Deus:
There is a deep and needed reason for the debasement of the Rexus talent. I will get to that later...
And I tremble in fear when I think what master BBBD might do once he enters a building full of innocent virgins. Oh, and nuns.
SleepyIrv:
Sheep? Nobody here but us goats.
Murmurandus:
Ummm, do you really want Mr Mac to be waiting for you if poor Murmurandus returns from Pereslayvl? Just think about that...
Draco Rexus said:
By Ouijah board and PBMSP:
Dear mr Rexus,
We, the dead Kings of England, are gratified to hear that this matter is taken so seriously by the senior partners of your firm. We hope you realise that maintaining the good name of the De Normandie family is paramount to the continued existence of the empire and failure to maintain this good name or further attempts to blacken it, will result in a visit by our currnet "Sollicitors at large" St Micheal and Saint George.
Written and sealed by
Robert de Mowbray, Lord High Chancellor (deceased). Founder of the London School of Law and Enforcement.
For their most commanding and Christian majesties
William de Normandie
Guy de Normandie
Gerald De Normandie
From Sea to Shining Sea: Van der Kinderen's Guide to Navigation and Shellfish
The Irish Sea. The third fleet, commanded by Admiral of the West Coast and the Irish sea and the Islands in Between; Lord Karolus Kantecleer Kaspar Koenraad der Kinderen was sailing at a fair clip through the choppy waves. The second fleet, commanded by Korneel Karolus Koenraad Kaspar der Kinderen, Admiral of the Flanders Coast and the first fleet, commanded By Kaspar Kantecleer Kristoffel Koert Krijn Kornelis der Kinderen, Lord High Admiral of the Combined fleets and all the Coasts and Waters of his most imperial majesty the manifold king and Heir to the Caesars Edward the Magnificent. (yup, that’s the title) were following in his wake. Karolus was acknowledged as the most able navigator of the family and considered a fine naval commander and seaman. Korneel was an able administrator and fine leader of men. Lord Kaspar was directionally challenged, had the geographical knowledge of a dried dog turd and had discovered the North Pole while sailing for the Canaries. He had been a drinking buddy of King Gerald.
Lord Karolus, commanding the third fleet, looked with faint interest at the three men who were hanging over the railing of his flagship. The innovation that had allowed the formation of a standing navy had bred a group of hardy senior officers used to the ravages of the sea, who could with equanimity at the horrible effects of seasickness on well-fed, well padded army commanders.
Lord Deus: Urghh!
Lord Velasco: Urrghhhh!
Lord Sleepy Irv VI: Urrgh!
Lord Karolus The_K2: You all right chaps?
Lord Deus: Urgh!!
Karolus: Maybe you’d like a nice fat roasted capon? With some dark brown sauce and fresh crusty bread?
SLIV: Mmmmmphh!! Brrraaaaafffrrrrr!!!
The_K2: You Velasco old son of a Velasco? With the lovely juices dripping out and one of those meat puddings you like so much?
Velasco: Aaarrrghhh!!! Uggsstrll!!
The_K 2: Deus, another spotted dick or maybe a herring-head pudding?
Deus: Aaaggh!!
The_K2 : I must say old bean, I was a bit surprised to hear that you three had been placed in command of these amphibious landings what with your total lack of knowledge of such manners and violent motion sickness. Buttered scone?
Velasco: The emperor has great faith in us! BAAAAAARFFFF!!!!!
Deus: We are greatly honoured! VOMIIIITTT!!!!
SIVI: Arrghh!! I wanna go home!!
The second fleet Admiral Korneel der Kinderen was giving a banquet for his high ranking and honoured guests, the dukes of Oxford, Warwick, Gloucester and Norfolk. At least, the admiral was eating his banquet and his crew was happily munching away on choice foods not originally meant for them while the dukes were hanging disconsolately over the railing, green-tinged and discombobulated.
The_K3: Are you certain gentlemen that you will not have some of this wonderful poached salmon? No? Then let me tell you a tale of some of my culinary discoveries in far off lands. In the lands of the Norsemen, there is a dish of fish. It is buried in the ground for several months while wrapped in rotting seaweed and terrible unsanitary spices and then dug up and served with rotted salty fish sauce and birch bark salad. Also they eat the meat of exploded rotting beached whales. Did I ever tell you about my trip to the islands in the north where the inhabitants don’t believe herring is any good unless it has turned completely green and furry with mould? Herring and onion stew, my lords?
The collected dukes: BAAARRRFFF!!!
On the first fleet the Lord High Admiral was following the strange green trail in the water his sons had told him was an algae rich current leading to the Emerald Isle.
The province of Dihistan, capital province of the Mad Sheik of Dihistan. The great fort of Dihistan is currently under siege by the army under command of Marshal John de Normandie, ably assisted by the Lords Anonymous, Hugo de Saint Nylan and Frederick De Holdfast.
Marshal John: All right! Let’s try this again! We have a huge and impatient army and you have a small and very hungry garrison. If you surrender now, I will give you my personal guarantee that none of your citizens will be harmed and that all the soldiers may leave as long as they swear never to lift a weapon against the rightful ruler of this land, Edward the Magnificent, Emperor of Byzantium and King of the Christians!
Barking Mad Achmed, Chancellor of Dihistan: Aarrrfff!! Arf Arf ! Bark Yip Yip!
Marshal John: Umm. Yes. Anyone else in there who can talk to me?
Howling Mad Mohamed, Steward of Dihistan: ARROOOOOO!
Marshal John: Anyone in there capable of holding an understandable conversation?
Suspicious Conspiracy Theorist Harfiz, Spymaster of Dihistan: You just want to kill us all and conquer our nation! It is a conspiracy to get us to open our gates and destroy our faith and culture! You are working for the Evil Masters of the World! You serve Havard, Mr T and the Horrible Stroph1 and the murderous cantankerous invisible one they call the Lord of Durham! You serve the Catknight in all his evil incarnations and are the servitor of the Yogi and the exaltor of Prufrock and a follower of the Evil One that is known only as The Director! Evil! Evil! Evil! Fie on you! May Heagarty take your soul to hell and feed you to Corpulent Bavarians! Evil! Evil! Evil! Ah’an Brach Chtulhu ai’aia’!
Marshal John: Ummm, yes I suppose that was indeed understandable even if it was not comprehensible… Tell me Lord de Holdfast, why is it so difficult to capture a castle commanded by these incompetent madmen?
Holdfast: We think it has to do with the fact that their sheik has the second sight. He knows exactly when and where we will attack. He also has the third sight, which means he can look into our tents at will and has embarrassing information on most of our men which he threatens to tell their wives and sweethearts.
Marshal John: Really. Well I suppose that means we will just have to do this the hard way. Any chance of finding the secret passageway out of that place and tracing it back?
De Saint Nylan: Well there’s all these signs pointing to that large hatch in the middle of the camp which says Secret Entrance to Fort of Dihistan here, but since it is written in English I think we may safely conclude that that isn’t it.
Marshal John: Uhuh. Very well. Step up the bombardment. And tell the men no one will believe what the Mad Sheik says regarding their actions involving goats, sheep chickens and small pet turtles named Allan. Let’s just hope we can capture this place before Marshal Mohamed captures the Fort at Qwivir and we have to start over again.
The Palace at Baghdad. King Edward sits in the Queens Gallery while Queen Adelaide is knitting a shawl of some kind and reading a trashy romance called “Knights on white Chargers”.
Adelaide: Darling!
Edward: Yes dear?
Adelaide: I’d like some more romance novels!
Edward: We can hardly reach the bed for romance novels dear. Maybe if you first returned some of them to the library?
Adelaide: Don’t we have servants for that?
Edward: Well, yes, but they refuse to clean the Royal bedchamber since the Third Royal Bedchamber incident.
Adelaide: Royal Bedchamber incidents? What are you talking about?
Edward: The first one was in the Reign of Guy the Great, when a page accidentally was impaled while dusting. The second was in the reign of Gerald the Glorious when an unsuspecting page was smothered in perfumed ladies underwear. The Third incident occurred some years ago, when a page was crushed by a seminal work on the tenth book of Aristotle. Since then only the Royal Bucket Regiment has dared enter to do the most basic cleaning.
Adelaide: So you are saying I can’t have romance novels?!
Edward: No romance novels until you clean up dear. Sorry.
Adelaide: Awwww. Now I’m depressed.
Dihistan. Marshal John is standing in the Palace. Several officers report to give him the most recent information.
De Saint Nylan: We have captured almost the entire garrison and most of the senior officers and executive staff.
De Holdfast: We have also found several herds of perfumed goats, several large chests of gold and a stack of incriminating letters written by the King of Minors.
Marshal John: Nothing out of the ordinary then. Any new lines in the letters?
De Holdfast: No, the usual guff about England being a Dark Tower of Evil ruled by an Evil all-seeing eye and the might of the many and small being able to bring down the great and few and the redistribution of wealth to the nobility from the coffers of the Emperor. The only difference is that the Sheikh has written various prophecies on the letters.
Marshal John: Really? What kind of prophecies?
De saint Nylan: Mad ones sir! Listen to this one: “And the world shall be filled by many small beeps and they shall eat and crap and sleep and be called Tamara Got You”
De Holdfast: Or this one: “For lo and behold, a great beast will arise in small beeps and he will be Pony Kong”
De Siant Nylan: “And it shall be a time of great disarray and the ears of men will grow metal and their trousers will shake with the power of Nokja Maybe less”
Marshal John: Yes, yes, I get the point. Mad as a Russian dagger dancer. Now did we catch the Sheikh?
De Saint Nylan: Ummm. No. He got away. Through a tunnel.
Marshal John: Drat! I thought we had all the tunnels covered?
De Saint Nylan: All except the one marked Secret Tunnel, do not enter that came out in the middle of our camp…
Marshal John: Oh. Edward is not going to be pleased with this guys. Maybe we should start looking for a job in catering.
De Holdfast: Um. We could just say that he escaped through a tunnel so cunningly hidden we could not find it until we had made a very exhaustive search of the interior of the palace?
Marshal John: What, and lie to our monarch?
De Saint Nylan: Well, if it’s a choice between lying to our king or lying on the rack, I think I know what I would choose…
Marshal John: True, Edward has developed a cruel streak since he was so wounded… I think gentlemen, that a little white lie might not be out of place here…
The camp of Mohamed of Fars, great Marshal of Dihistan. Qwivir. A messenger arrives.
AAM: Hello! I am a messenger with the Avernite free Messenger Service! Have I the honour of addressing the honourable Mohamed Murat of Fars, former Marshal of Dihistan?
Mohamed: Oh dear. The sheikh has named his tea pot to be marshal again? Or is it his hamster this time?
AAM: No sir, I am afraid that there is no sheikh of Dihistan anymore. Dihistan has fallen to the armies of marshal John of Normandie. Sorry.
(OOC: Actually to two anonymous armies, but this fitted better into the story)
Mohamed: Durn it! I almost conquered Qwivir too! Well did the Sheikh get away?
AAM: The sheikh got away. Nobody knows how. Ehem.
Mohamed: Probably through the secret passage that exited in the middle of the enemy camp and was marked secret passage in large letters in English.
AAM: Uhhh….
Mohamed: Thought so. Mettermrck! Tell your men the war is over. I am going to Baghdad to pledge allegiance to Edward the Magnificent.
AAM:Pardon? Pledge allegiance? You have just been fighting a terrible war against him! You are one of his mightiest enemies!
Mohamed: Yah. Should make a good ally too, don’t you think?
The Palace of the Emperor Edward in Baghdad. The Emperor was sitting in his study looking at the ever increasing pile of paper in front of him. Most of them were requests for money filed by bishops, archbishops and priests across the empire asking for help in converting the heathen.
Edward: CARDINAL CINQUANTA PENNY! FRONT AND DOUBLE!
FaP: Hoots ya conker! Dinna ye knoo tha’the Cardinal hae left for the Vatican in Rome for to ta’k to the Pope?
Edward: No he hasn’t, he’s gone to the Vatican all night song and dance club on Rome street.
FaP: Oooo? Is that soooo? I woulna knooo.
Edward: Have you gone more insane than you already were? Anyway you have two inches to get that degenerate dress wearing pulpit dancer in here, other wise I’ll order the pole dancing nuns out of the Cathedral. And I don’t care how successful they are at drawing in the crowds!
FaP: Hoots and begorah! A hard man you be! All them pretty ladies thrown oot on their pretty fannies!
Some time later. The cardinal had been collected from his table in the Vatican (All night drinking! Girls Girls Girls!)
CCP: Sire! You sent for me?
Edward: Ah, cardinal! I am indeed desirous for your company and elucidation of on a variety of points.
CCP: After Mother Church, I serve only you sire!
Edward: Uhuh! Then maybe you can explain to me why I am getting these very high, possibly ridiculously high, bills from your people for the conversion of the heathens and the heretics of my newly conquered provinces?
CCP:Sire? There is no price to high for the conversion of the heretics and the saving of souls!
Edward: Really? Well I would agree to that in principle, it is the task and duty of every ruler to lead his people to enlightenment and on the path to the true faith. However I think you and yours are asking for a little too much from me.
CCP: Sire, I must warn you such talk might lead to serious consequences if it gets out! The pope might not look kindly upon this! It is almost heresy and certainly sceptical!
Edward: True, but could you explain why it requires almost 5000 golden Great Sovereigns to pay for the conversion of the province of Qazwin? That much money would be enough to give every man woman and child in Qazwin enough to live in luxury for the rest of their lives…
CCP: Ummmm…
Edward: I see. You told the Qazwinnites they would live in the lap of luxury if they converted, didn’t you? How about the case of Euphrates? I have here a detailed list of the expenditure by the bishop of Euphrates, Eilwin of Bar. Let’s see… Five barrels of ice cooled wine from the Rhine land every night, sixteen whole oxen, twelve geese stuffed with saffron, pepper, cloves and raspberries. Orange stuffed ducks from Peking. Elephant roast from the Indian Court of Prester John. Fresh Crab meat from the Irish sea. And a palace to enjoy these delicacies in. And who, by the way, is Mistress Nightingale? She has to be something special, since she’s down here for no less than 100 marks a night… Oh, and twelve shillings per annum to pay three old hermits to go preach to the people.
CCP: Ummm. There must be some mistake there. Might I inquire as to how this obviously fraudulent and forged document came into your possession?
Edward: By accident. A messenger from the Bishop Eilwin to you unfortunately was waylaid by unknown robbers, fled, accidentally fell down a ravine breaking several bones, accidentally tore all his clothes of his body in a thorny patch on which a number of whips had been hung out to dry, accidentally rolled through a brushfire into a boiling tar pit, crawled out, was overcome by the fumes and tripped, fell down a sink hole and accidentally landed ass first on nest of wild hornets. Luckily some of my soldiers were nearby to rescue this letter and bury his remains.
CCP: A terrible accident.
Edward: Indeed. By the way, could you clarify this entry: Kickbacks to Cardinal Legate Cinquanta Penny to cover my a$$: 1500 Sovereigns?
CCP: Ummm….
Edward: Well since they all converted, I will allow it this once. But I will no longer tolerate this corruption by the church! Do you understand?
CCP: Yes Sire! Sorry sire! It will never happen again sir!
Edward: See that it doesn’t. Now, can anyone tell me why all the maids in my palace are squealing?
The Irish Sea. The third fleet, commanded by Admiral of the West Coast and the Irish sea and the Islands in Between; Lord Karolus Kantecleer Kaspar Koenraad der Kinderen was sailing at a fair clip through the choppy waves. The second fleet, commanded by Korneel Karolus Koenraad Kaspar der Kinderen, Admiral of the Flanders Coast and the first fleet, commanded By Kaspar Kantecleer Kristoffel Koert Krijn Kornelis der Kinderen, Lord High Admiral of the Combined fleets and all the Coasts and Waters of his most imperial majesty the manifold king and Heir to the Caesars Edward the Magnificent. (yup, that’s the title) were following in his wake. Karolus was acknowledged as the most able navigator of the family and considered a fine naval commander and seaman. Korneel was an able administrator and fine leader of men. Lord Kaspar was directionally challenged, had the geographical knowledge of a dried dog turd and had discovered the North Pole while sailing for the Canaries. He had been a drinking buddy of King Gerald.
Lord Karolus, commanding the third fleet, looked with faint interest at the three men who were hanging over the railing of his flagship. The innovation that had allowed the formation of a standing navy had bred a group of hardy senior officers used to the ravages of the sea, who could with equanimity at the horrible effects of seasickness on well-fed, well padded army commanders.
Lord Deus: Urghh!
Lord Velasco: Urrghhhh!
Lord Sleepy Irv VI: Urrgh!
Lord Karolus The_K2: You all right chaps?
Lord Deus: Urgh!!
Karolus: Maybe you’d like a nice fat roasted capon? With some dark brown sauce and fresh crusty bread?
SLIV: Mmmmmphh!! Brrraaaaafffrrrrr!!!
The_K2: You Velasco old son of a Velasco? With the lovely juices dripping out and one of those meat puddings you like so much?
Velasco: Aaarrrghhh!!! Uggsstrll!!
The_K 2: Deus, another spotted dick or maybe a herring-head pudding?
Deus: Aaaggh!!
The_K2 : I must say old bean, I was a bit surprised to hear that you three had been placed in command of these amphibious landings what with your total lack of knowledge of such manners and violent motion sickness. Buttered scone?
Velasco: The emperor has great faith in us! BAAAAAARFFFF!!!!!
Deus: We are greatly honoured! VOMIIIITTT!!!!
SIVI: Arrghh!! I wanna go home!!
The second fleet Admiral Korneel der Kinderen was giving a banquet for his high ranking and honoured guests, the dukes of Oxford, Warwick, Gloucester and Norfolk. At least, the admiral was eating his banquet and his crew was happily munching away on choice foods not originally meant for them while the dukes were hanging disconsolately over the railing, green-tinged and discombobulated.
The_K3: Are you certain gentlemen that you will not have some of this wonderful poached salmon? No? Then let me tell you a tale of some of my culinary discoveries in far off lands. In the lands of the Norsemen, there is a dish of fish. It is buried in the ground for several months while wrapped in rotting seaweed and terrible unsanitary spices and then dug up and served with rotted salty fish sauce and birch bark salad. Also they eat the meat of exploded rotting beached whales. Did I ever tell you about my trip to the islands in the north where the inhabitants don’t believe herring is any good unless it has turned completely green and furry with mould? Herring and onion stew, my lords?
The collected dukes: BAAARRRFFF!!!
On the first fleet the Lord High Admiral was following the strange green trail in the water his sons had told him was an algae rich current leading to the Emerald Isle.
The province of Dihistan, capital province of the Mad Sheik of Dihistan. The great fort of Dihistan is currently under siege by the army under command of Marshal John de Normandie, ably assisted by the Lords Anonymous, Hugo de Saint Nylan and Frederick De Holdfast.
Marshal John: All right! Let’s try this again! We have a huge and impatient army and you have a small and very hungry garrison. If you surrender now, I will give you my personal guarantee that none of your citizens will be harmed and that all the soldiers may leave as long as they swear never to lift a weapon against the rightful ruler of this land, Edward the Magnificent, Emperor of Byzantium and King of the Christians!
Barking Mad Achmed, Chancellor of Dihistan: Aarrrfff!! Arf Arf ! Bark Yip Yip!
Marshal John: Umm. Yes. Anyone else in there who can talk to me?
Howling Mad Mohamed, Steward of Dihistan: ARROOOOOO!
Marshal John: Anyone in there capable of holding an understandable conversation?
Suspicious Conspiracy Theorist Harfiz, Spymaster of Dihistan: You just want to kill us all and conquer our nation! It is a conspiracy to get us to open our gates and destroy our faith and culture! You are working for the Evil Masters of the World! You serve Havard, Mr T and the Horrible Stroph1 and the murderous cantankerous invisible one they call the Lord of Durham! You serve the Catknight in all his evil incarnations and are the servitor of the Yogi and the exaltor of Prufrock and a follower of the Evil One that is known only as The Director! Evil! Evil! Evil! Fie on you! May Heagarty take your soul to hell and feed you to Corpulent Bavarians! Evil! Evil! Evil! Ah’an Brach Chtulhu ai’aia’!
Marshal John: Ummm, yes I suppose that was indeed understandable even if it was not comprehensible… Tell me Lord de Holdfast, why is it so difficult to capture a castle commanded by these incompetent madmen?
Holdfast: We think it has to do with the fact that their sheik has the second sight. He knows exactly when and where we will attack. He also has the third sight, which means he can look into our tents at will and has embarrassing information on most of our men which he threatens to tell their wives and sweethearts.
Marshal John: Really. Well I suppose that means we will just have to do this the hard way. Any chance of finding the secret passageway out of that place and tracing it back?
De Saint Nylan: Well there’s all these signs pointing to that large hatch in the middle of the camp which says Secret Entrance to Fort of Dihistan here, but since it is written in English I think we may safely conclude that that isn’t it.
Marshal John: Uhuh. Very well. Step up the bombardment. And tell the men no one will believe what the Mad Sheik says regarding their actions involving goats, sheep chickens and small pet turtles named Allan. Let’s just hope we can capture this place before Marshal Mohamed captures the Fort at Qwivir and we have to start over again.
The Palace at Baghdad. King Edward sits in the Queens Gallery while Queen Adelaide is knitting a shawl of some kind and reading a trashy romance called “Knights on white Chargers”.
Adelaide: Darling!
Edward: Yes dear?
Adelaide: I’d like some more romance novels!
Edward: We can hardly reach the bed for romance novels dear. Maybe if you first returned some of them to the library?
Adelaide: Don’t we have servants for that?
Edward: Well, yes, but they refuse to clean the Royal bedchamber since the Third Royal Bedchamber incident.
Adelaide: Royal Bedchamber incidents? What are you talking about?
Edward: The first one was in the Reign of Guy the Great, when a page accidentally was impaled while dusting. The second was in the reign of Gerald the Glorious when an unsuspecting page was smothered in perfumed ladies underwear. The Third incident occurred some years ago, when a page was crushed by a seminal work on the tenth book of Aristotle. Since then only the Royal Bucket Regiment has dared enter to do the most basic cleaning.
Adelaide: So you are saying I can’t have romance novels?!
Edward: No romance novels until you clean up dear. Sorry.
Adelaide: Awwww. Now I’m depressed.
Dihistan. Marshal John is standing in the Palace. Several officers report to give him the most recent information.
De Saint Nylan: We have captured almost the entire garrison and most of the senior officers and executive staff.
De Holdfast: We have also found several herds of perfumed goats, several large chests of gold and a stack of incriminating letters written by the King of Minors.
Marshal John: Nothing out of the ordinary then. Any new lines in the letters?
De Holdfast: No, the usual guff about England being a Dark Tower of Evil ruled by an Evil all-seeing eye and the might of the many and small being able to bring down the great and few and the redistribution of wealth to the nobility from the coffers of the Emperor. The only difference is that the Sheikh has written various prophecies on the letters.
Marshal John: Really? What kind of prophecies?
De saint Nylan: Mad ones sir! Listen to this one: “And the world shall be filled by many small beeps and they shall eat and crap and sleep and be called Tamara Got You”
De Holdfast: Or this one: “For lo and behold, a great beast will arise in small beeps and he will be Pony Kong”
De Siant Nylan: “And it shall be a time of great disarray and the ears of men will grow metal and their trousers will shake with the power of Nokja Maybe less”
Marshal John: Yes, yes, I get the point. Mad as a Russian dagger dancer. Now did we catch the Sheikh?
De Saint Nylan: Ummm. No. He got away. Through a tunnel.
Marshal John: Drat! I thought we had all the tunnels covered?
De Saint Nylan: All except the one marked Secret Tunnel, do not enter that came out in the middle of our camp…
Marshal John: Oh. Edward is not going to be pleased with this guys. Maybe we should start looking for a job in catering.
De Holdfast: Um. We could just say that he escaped through a tunnel so cunningly hidden we could not find it until we had made a very exhaustive search of the interior of the palace?
Marshal John: What, and lie to our monarch?
De Saint Nylan: Well, if it’s a choice between lying to our king or lying on the rack, I think I know what I would choose…
Marshal John: True, Edward has developed a cruel streak since he was so wounded… I think gentlemen, that a little white lie might not be out of place here…
The camp of Mohamed of Fars, great Marshal of Dihistan. Qwivir. A messenger arrives.
AAM: Hello! I am a messenger with the Avernite free Messenger Service! Have I the honour of addressing the honourable Mohamed Murat of Fars, former Marshal of Dihistan?
Mohamed: Oh dear. The sheikh has named his tea pot to be marshal again? Or is it his hamster this time?
AAM: No sir, I am afraid that there is no sheikh of Dihistan anymore. Dihistan has fallen to the armies of marshal John of Normandie. Sorry.
(OOC: Actually to two anonymous armies, but this fitted better into the story)
Mohamed: Durn it! I almost conquered Qwivir too! Well did the Sheikh get away?
AAM: The sheikh got away. Nobody knows how. Ehem.
Mohamed: Probably through the secret passage that exited in the middle of the enemy camp and was marked secret passage in large letters in English.
AAM: Uhhh….
Mohamed: Thought so. Mettermrck! Tell your men the war is over. I am going to Baghdad to pledge allegiance to Edward the Magnificent.
AAM:Pardon? Pledge allegiance? You have just been fighting a terrible war against him! You are one of his mightiest enemies!
Mohamed: Yah. Should make a good ally too, don’t you think?
The Palace of the Emperor Edward in Baghdad. The Emperor was sitting in his study looking at the ever increasing pile of paper in front of him. Most of them were requests for money filed by bishops, archbishops and priests across the empire asking for help in converting the heathen.
Edward: CARDINAL CINQUANTA PENNY! FRONT AND DOUBLE!
FaP: Hoots ya conker! Dinna ye knoo tha’the Cardinal hae left for the Vatican in Rome for to ta’k to the Pope?
Edward: No he hasn’t, he’s gone to the Vatican all night song and dance club on Rome street.
FaP: Oooo? Is that soooo? I woulna knooo.
Edward: Have you gone more insane than you already were? Anyway you have two inches to get that degenerate dress wearing pulpit dancer in here, other wise I’ll order the pole dancing nuns out of the Cathedral. And I don’t care how successful they are at drawing in the crowds!
FaP: Hoots and begorah! A hard man you be! All them pretty ladies thrown oot on their pretty fannies!
Some time later. The cardinal had been collected from his table in the Vatican (All night drinking! Girls Girls Girls!)
CCP: Sire! You sent for me?
Edward: Ah, cardinal! I am indeed desirous for your company and elucidation of on a variety of points.
CCP: After Mother Church, I serve only you sire!
Edward: Uhuh! Then maybe you can explain to me why I am getting these very high, possibly ridiculously high, bills from your people for the conversion of the heathens and the heretics of my newly conquered provinces?
CCP:Sire? There is no price to high for the conversion of the heretics and the saving of souls!
Edward: Really? Well I would agree to that in principle, it is the task and duty of every ruler to lead his people to enlightenment and on the path to the true faith. However I think you and yours are asking for a little too much from me.
CCP: Sire, I must warn you such talk might lead to serious consequences if it gets out! The pope might not look kindly upon this! It is almost heresy and certainly sceptical!
Edward: True, but could you explain why it requires almost 5000 golden Great Sovereigns to pay for the conversion of the province of Qazwin? That much money would be enough to give every man woman and child in Qazwin enough to live in luxury for the rest of their lives…
CCP: Ummmm…
Edward: I see. You told the Qazwinnites they would live in the lap of luxury if they converted, didn’t you? How about the case of Euphrates? I have here a detailed list of the expenditure by the bishop of Euphrates, Eilwin of Bar. Let’s see… Five barrels of ice cooled wine from the Rhine land every night, sixteen whole oxen, twelve geese stuffed with saffron, pepper, cloves and raspberries. Orange stuffed ducks from Peking. Elephant roast from the Indian Court of Prester John. Fresh Crab meat from the Irish sea. And a palace to enjoy these delicacies in. And who, by the way, is Mistress Nightingale? She has to be something special, since she’s down here for no less than 100 marks a night… Oh, and twelve shillings per annum to pay three old hermits to go preach to the people.
CCP: Ummm. There must be some mistake there. Might I inquire as to how this obviously fraudulent and forged document came into your possession?
Edward: By accident. A messenger from the Bishop Eilwin to you unfortunately was waylaid by unknown robbers, fled, accidentally fell down a ravine breaking several bones, accidentally tore all his clothes of his body in a thorny patch on which a number of whips had been hung out to dry, accidentally rolled through a brushfire into a boiling tar pit, crawled out, was overcome by the fumes and tripped, fell down a sink hole and accidentally landed ass first on nest of wild hornets. Luckily some of my soldiers were nearby to rescue this letter and bury his remains.
CCP: A terrible accident.
Edward: Indeed. By the way, could you clarify this entry: Kickbacks to Cardinal Legate Cinquanta Penny to cover my a$$: 1500 Sovereigns?
CCP: Ummm….
Edward: Well since they all converted, I will allow it this once. But I will no longer tolerate this corruption by the church! Do you understand?
CCP: Yes Sire! Sorry sire! It will never happen again sir!
Edward: See that it doesn’t. Now, can anyone tell me why all the maids in my palace are squealing?
Last edited:
Secret passage that exited in the middle of the enemy camp and was marked secret passage in large letters in English.
Damn splendid update. I espescially liked the references or hints to various movies and books.
Keep up the good work!
Damn splendid update. I espescially liked the references or hints to various movies and books.
Keep up the good work!
Sire, ahhhaa....not that I would ever say anything bad about your glorious and just reign.
Just that though your subjects in the North know fanny as a term for ass or bottom, the ah ... subjects in Australia a county south of Baghdad, it refers to a women's ah... hoo-hoo dilly.
Not that I mind the young lads at the Vatican showing their hoo-hoo dilly's just thought I would let you know.
Excellent update *grovel, grovel*
Just that though your subjects in the North know fanny as a term for ass or bottom, the ah ... subjects in Australia a county south of Baghdad, it refers to a women's ah... hoo-hoo dilly.
Not that I mind the young lads at the Vatican showing their hoo-hoo dilly's just thought I would let you know.
Excellent update *grovel, grovel*
BBBD said:
The office of the Emperor's Enforcers
Re: Fanny throwing
Dear Master BBBD,
Thank you for having drawn our attention to this fact, even though it was all ready known to us, (First use in English, not Arabic-Australian, in the manner you describe in the early 1700's ummm, someone turn of the Tardis) we appreciate your input. However, after considerable testing on nuns of various ages, we have found that it is allmost impossible to make them land on the so eloquently named "hoo-hoo dilly's". We will therefore keep to the more accustomed usage of the term to mean the "well rounded posterior of a young woman", as per the King's Gerald's Dictionary. Which, of course, is the seminal work on all terms involving body parts. Once again, thank you for your input. Please report to the duty torturer when next you visit.
Horace P. Lologist, Head of the sub-sub-sub department of Anachronistic questions.
OOC: Yeah, I know the term, but like I said, the other meaning is more usual. Thanks for the feedback, DW>
In which is chronicled the search for a wife.
The Irish Sea. September 1209. A drizzly as the mighty armies of the Dukes of England were landing, supported by the crack troops from the Emperor Edward’s personal demesnes in England. The various units were commanded by trusted servants of the Imperial Throne. Most of those servants were aal to glad to be on firm ground again. A meeting was taking place in a commandeered castle belonging to one of the local nobles allready subject to the might of Edward The Magnificent. It was chaired by the aged but still vigorous Grnad Master of the Most Honourable Order of the Bucket and Spade, retired Grand Commander of the Royal Bucket Regiment and Grand Inspector of the King’s Armies in Scotland and England, Lord Michael von Bek, Count of Droitwich. Great men from all over the Western European parts of the Empire were gathered to discuss weighty matters, especially the invasion of Ireland now underway.
MvB: Right.Who has the mustard? Deus? I know you had it! I can see some mustard on your sausage!
Deus: No it isn’t! That’s ummm, saffron sauce!
MvB: I can smell the mustard from here, son. Just hand it over.
Deus: But it’s my mustard! I looted, I mean paid for it myself!
MvB: Hand me that mustard now son, or I’ll have young Velasco here feed you some of his mother’s travel stew.
Velasco: There is nothing wrong with my mother’s travel stew! It has great character!
MvB: Son, I am speaking from a plethora of experience here when I say to you that the smell from your mother’s travel stew invokes memories of the Great Parisian Sewer Revolt of ’03. Now, I want a word with the Quartermaster general. Get me Karl Martell!
KM: Sir!
MvB: Ah, Sir Karl! Good to see you! Now, a word with you about the provisioning of this expedition?
KM: Sir! Yes Sir!
MvB: At ease, sir Karl. Now, please explain to me why no food whatsoever was packed for the men and officers on this expedition, which has resulted in the fact that we are now forced to live of the horrible proceeds of the land?
KM: I was assured that Irish hospitality and Cuisine was more than able to feed the army sir!
MvB: Uhuh. Who issued those assurances, sir Karl?
KM: The Irish Tourist Board sir!
MvB: I see. Which explains why we are eating such folkloric dishes as Mint and sheep, sheep and mint, mint and ox, minted herbal tea, minted sheep stew, minted milk and minted wine? Not to mention mint beer and mint ale?
KM: Yes sir! Regional specialty sir!
MvB: No sir Karl, the regional specialty are minted sheeps eyes in light sauce of minted sheeps brain.
KM: Yes Sir!
MvB: You realise that several of our men have resorted to eating grass rather than ingesting another mouthful of the local cuisine?
KM: Wat de boer niet kent dat vreet ‘ie niet Sir!
MvB: What? What was that supposed to be!? Are you insulting me? Get me Mr Mac junior, I think it is time he ahd a little word with sir Karl!
KM: Dutch Colloquialism sir! They won’t eat what they don’t know sir! I suggest whipping them sir!
MvB: No, sir karl, I think it has more to do with the fact that an entire regiment has been hospitalized by Dr Jestor because of Mint burns on their palates and tongue after eating a simple stew. Not only that, they prefer the food in the hospital and some have even inflicted minor injuries upon themselves to remain in Dr Jestor’s care.
Velasco: My Word! They must be desperate!
Deus: Voluntarily staying in Jestor’s care….
Jestor: I heard that ! There is absolutely nothing wrong with the care and treatments I provide for my patients. By the way, has anyone seen the Auger I use for trepanations and the Waterpump for enemas? They seem to be missing from the infirmary and tomorrow I start the annual physical examinations of the officer corps.
MvB: Really? Dear me, how time flies… Ummm. I say, what is that floating down there, isn’t that a pump?
Jestor: My equipment! Jiminy Cricket! Runs out screaming.
MvB: Right. Which of you idiots forgot to weigh that thing down?
SIVI: I did sir! Also I regret to inform to say that Dr Jestor is running towards, what Admiral Korneel der Kinderen at least, describes as “the most dangerous current on the Irish coast”.
MvB: He did? Dear me. What an unpleasant thing to hear… Maybe we should get the opinion of some other sea captains? Lord Deus, would you please schedule a meeting? No hurry.
Deus: The day after tomorrow, sir?
MvB: That will do fine. Now. Sir Karl. Hmmm. Anyone see where Sir Karl went?
Velasco: I think he left after tasting the minted breakfast sausage.
MvB: You know, I always wondered why the Emperor’s ancestors didn’t conquer Ireland sooner, but after tasting the food and experiencing the weather I must admit I can see why they were reluctant to add the title of King of Ireland to their list of honours.
Baghdad, The palace of the Emperor Edward. The great Throne room. On the mighty Imperial Throne that once had been warmed by the bums of Persian emperors, Edward de Normandie was brooding. Adelaïde had died in childbirth, and politics demanded, though he himself did not look forward to it, that he remarry. He needed to consolidate his rule in his eastern and near eastern lands and for that purpose had to marry a member of the nobilty from those lands. His choice at the moment was limited by his own peculiar taste in women. He wanted education of the highest order. Regrettably, despite this encouragement, most parents still considered their daughters wel educated if they could sing, dance, write and read a little and were properly submissive. Still he had found a number of young women in the Guide de Trophy Wife, though that unsavoury publication did tned to dwell unfortunately upon physical appearance. The list was being whittled down by his expert “Wife testers”, learned scholars from all over Europe and the Middle East whose job it was to track down and personally interview each prospective candidate with a series of interviews on the classics, arabian medicine, modern literature and mathematics and music. Rhetoric and Logic were of less importance. Still, the search was an uphill struggle. Now the Emperor awaited the arrival of his great and victorious marshal, John de Normandie. Though it might be several weeks still before John would arrive, seeing as he was putting down revolts and defeating minor regiments of Seljuk Turks. Edward was really looking forward to that meeting…
The province of Tabaristan. A small encampment of English, or at least Norman Empire soldiers. The commanding officers are sitting around a small fire, roasting a piece of camel.
Marshal John: So. Explain to me again what happened?
De Holdfast: OK. As far as I have been able to piece it together, the high-ranking prisoners were being guarded by a number of our elite troops.
De Saint Nylan: Lord Besseldrin’s Third Of Moronic Wessex Peasant Foot.
De Holdfast: Yeah, the Weird Feathers. Anyway, they were guarding the prisoners and then this huge army of midgets mounted on goats invaded the camp, stampeded the horses, kidnapped the company cook and freed the prisoners.
Marshal John: I see. Any idea who was commanding them?
De Saint Nylan: Umm, no.
Marshal John: Any idea where they took them?
De Holdfast: No.
Marshal John: Any idea why they took them?
De Saint Nylan: No.
Marshal John: Any ideas at all?
De Holdfast: No, I mean, yes
Marshal John: And what might your ideas be? Power to the people, might makes right, survival of the Fittest?
De Holdfast: We tell the emperor that the prisoners were killed in a landslide which swept away their bodies and landed a herd of wild goats into the guards midst, which herd of wild goats in turn caused the injuries to the guards that would otherwise be difficult to explain.
Marshal John: You mean the head-but bruises, the eaten boots and the incapacitation caused by goatly gas evacuation?
De Saint Nylan: Exactly sir!
Marshal John: Great. Now we have to hope my brother is drunk or drugged, or we are not going to get away with this. Who am I kidding, we’ll be sweeping floors in the dungeon with our tongues for the next ten years. While mr Mac gets medieval on ous ass…
The Palace of the Emperor Edward in Baghdad. The Court of the Elephant, near the fountain of the White Dromedary. Edward is sitting with his wounded feet dangling in the waters. A number of elite guards stand watching the three men by the fountain. An old man, barely able to carry the empty scabbard at his side, a tall, dignified middle aged near eastern gentleman of distinguished appearance, and of course, the Emperor Edward, dangling his feet in the water.
Edward: So. You are Mohamed of Fars
Mohamed: Mohamed Murat of Fars, yes.
Edward: Murat? I seem to recall I have some of you relatives hanging around here…
Mohamed: In the dungeon I hope, they are and awfully untrustworthy lot.
Edward: Umm, this is your family, remember?
Mohamed: Yes, so I should know them better than anybody, right?
Edward: True, true. Now, what can I do for you? Impalement, death by burning, flaying alive?
Mohamed: Nah, I was thinking along the lines of joining your court, fullfilling some important function and helping put down revolts and stuff.
Edward: Indeed. I see a few problems with that.
Mohamed: Really? What kind of problems?
Edward: Well, firstly you used to be the top general for one of my enemies.
Mohamed: Yeah, so I can be top general for your too.
Edward: I already have a top general.
Mohamed: Been performing well lately, has he?
Edward: Hmmm. Then there’s the little fact of your religion.
Mohamed: Mhmmm. Well Mekka and Medina fell almost a century ago, so I think it might be said that my religion is definitely on the loosing side. I see no hardship in converting.
Edward: And of course you come accompanied by a slew of old men who are supposed to be your bodyguard, commanded by an ancient man who, despite his near-eastern appearance, is called Heinrich Mettermrck.
Mohamed: Well, yeah. You can have them killed, I don’t mind.
Mettermrck: Ummm. We could resign and become farmers or something? No problem.
Edward: Oh, very well. But all of you convert, hear? Now leave me alone, I’ve got to think.
The office of the Chancellor in Charge of finding a Girl who knows Greek for the Emperor, the most honourable and Christian lord bishop of Durham, Lord Durham for short.
Lord Durham: Right. So who have we got so far?
Junior Investigator Velasco Jr: We have a number of options so far, my lord. The first is the daughter of the Duke of Lower Lorraine, Ermingard. She is supposed to be quite good at languages.
Lord Durham sighed: No Velasco, she is mad and speaks in tongues. NEXT!
Drogo Rexus: Then there’s Lady Elisabeth of Lancashire, daughter of the duke of Lancashire.
Lord Durham: Yes, I admit that her Greek is very good, but she’s three years older than the Emperor. NEXT!!
Father Deus Prior of the Order of the Unending Blessing of St Ginevralda of the Sacred Goat: Then of course there’s Lady Katherine, Dowager-Duchess of Steiermark.
Lord Durham: One monkey, two monkeys, three monkeys, who cares. SHE’S THE EMPEROR’S FRIGGIN” SISTER, YOU DOPE!
Father Deus: Ah, yes. Um. Lady Olga Rurikovich of Kiev?
Lord Durham: Dead.
Velasco: Lady Nadira of Shiraz?
Lord Durham: Dead.
Drogo Rexus: Lady Penelope of Thunderbird?
Lord Durham: Doll.
Father Deus: Ummm, Lady Margeret of Essex?
Lord Durham: His daughter? You are actually suggesting the Emperor marries his daughter? Right, that tears it! You lot have two inches to find a suitable wife for the Emperor or I will call in mr Mac junior! His father asked me to see he got plenty of experience and you are a prime opportunity, waiting to happen! MOVE!!!
OOC: All those wonderfull pictures I have and none of them work
The Irish Sea. September 1209. A drizzly as the mighty armies of the Dukes of England were landing, supported by the crack troops from the Emperor Edward’s personal demesnes in England. The various units were commanded by trusted servants of the Imperial Throne. Most of those servants were aal to glad to be on firm ground again. A meeting was taking place in a commandeered castle belonging to one of the local nobles allready subject to the might of Edward The Magnificent. It was chaired by the aged but still vigorous Grnad Master of the Most Honourable Order of the Bucket and Spade, retired Grand Commander of the Royal Bucket Regiment and Grand Inspector of the King’s Armies in Scotland and England, Lord Michael von Bek, Count of Droitwich. Great men from all over the Western European parts of the Empire were gathered to discuss weighty matters, especially the invasion of Ireland now underway.
MvB: Right.Who has the mustard? Deus? I know you had it! I can see some mustard on your sausage!
Deus: No it isn’t! That’s ummm, saffron sauce!
MvB: I can smell the mustard from here, son. Just hand it over.
Deus: But it’s my mustard! I looted, I mean paid for it myself!
MvB: Hand me that mustard now son, or I’ll have young Velasco here feed you some of his mother’s travel stew.
Velasco: There is nothing wrong with my mother’s travel stew! It has great character!
MvB: Son, I am speaking from a plethora of experience here when I say to you that the smell from your mother’s travel stew invokes memories of the Great Parisian Sewer Revolt of ’03. Now, I want a word with the Quartermaster general. Get me Karl Martell!
KM: Sir!
MvB: Ah, Sir Karl! Good to see you! Now, a word with you about the provisioning of this expedition?
KM: Sir! Yes Sir!
MvB: At ease, sir Karl. Now, please explain to me why no food whatsoever was packed for the men and officers on this expedition, which has resulted in the fact that we are now forced to live of the horrible proceeds of the land?
KM: I was assured that Irish hospitality and Cuisine was more than able to feed the army sir!
MvB: Uhuh. Who issued those assurances, sir Karl?
KM: The Irish Tourist Board sir!
MvB: I see. Which explains why we are eating such folkloric dishes as Mint and sheep, sheep and mint, mint and ox, minted herbal tea, minted sheep stew, minted milk and minted wine? Not to mention mint beer and mint ale?
KM: Yes sir! Regional specialty sir!
MvB: No sir Karl, the regional specialty are minted sheeps eyes in light sauce of minted sheeps brain.
KM: Yes Sir!
MvB: You realise that several of our men have resorted to eating grass rather than ingesting another mouthful of the local cuisine?
KM: Wat de boer niet kent dat vreet ‘ie niet Sir!
MvB: What? What was that supposed to be!? Are you insulting me? Get me Mr Mac junior, I think it is time he ahd a little word with sir Karl!
KM: Dutch Colloquialism sir! They won’t eat what they don’t know sir! I suggest whipping them sir!
MvB: No, sir karl, I think it has more to do with the fact that an entire regiment has been hospitalized by Dr Jestor because of Mint burns on their palates and tongue after eating a simple stew. Not only that, they prefer the food in the hospital and some have even inflicted minor injuries upon themselves to remain in Dr Jestor’s care.
Velasco: My Word! They must be desperate!
Deus: Voluntarily staying in Jestor’s care….
Jestor: I heard that ! There is absolutely nothing wrong with the care and treatments I provide for my patients. By the way, has anyone seen the Auger I use for trepanations and the Waterpump for enemas? They seem to be missing from the infirmary and tomorrow I start the annual physical examinations of the officer corps.
MvB: Really? Dear me, how time flies… Ummm. I say, what is that floating down there, isn’t that a pump?
Jestor: My equipment! Jiminy Cricket! Runs out screaming.
MvB: Right. Which of you idiots forgot to weigh that thing down?
SIVI: I did sir! Also I regret to inform to say that Dr Jestor is running towards, what Admiral Korneel der Kinderen at least, describes as “the most dangerous current on the Irish coast”.
MvB: He did? Dear me. What an unpleasant thing to hear… Maybe we should get the opinion of some other sea captains? Lord Deus, would you please schedule a meeting? No hurry.
Deus: The day after tomorrow, sir?
MvB: That will do fine. Now. Sir Karl. Hmmm. Anyone see where Sir Karl went?
Velasco: I think he left after tasting the minted breakfast sausage.
MvB: You know, I always wondered why the Emperor’s ancestors didn’t conquer Ireland sooner, but after tasting the food and experiencing the weather I must admit I can see why they were reluctant to add the title of King of Ireland to their list of honours.
Baghdad, The palace of the Emperor Edward. The great Throne room. On the mighty Imperial Throne that once had been warmed by the bums of Persian emperors, Edward de Normandie was brooding. Adelaïde had died in childbirth, and politics demanded, though he himself did not look forward to it, that he remarry. He needed to consolidate his rule in his eastern and near eastern lands and for that purpose had to marry a member of the nobilty from those lands. His choice at the moment was limited by his own peculiar taste in women. He wanted education of the highest order. Regrettably, despite this encouragement, most parents still considered their daughters wel educated if they could sing, dance, write and read a little and were properly submissive. Still he had found a number of young women in the Guide de Trophy Wife, though that unsavoury publication did tned to dwell unfortunately upon physical appearance. The list was being whittled down by his expert “Wife testers”, learned scholars from all over Europe and the Middle East whose job it was to track down and personally interview each prospective candidate with a series of interviews on the classics, arabian medicine, modern literature and mathematics and music. Rhetoric and Logic were of less importance. Still, the search was an uphill struggle. Now the Emperor awaited the arrival of his great and victorious marshal, John de Normandie. Though it might be several weeks still before John would arrive, seeing as he was putting down revolts and defeating minor regiments of Seljuk Turks. Edward was really looking forward to that meeting…
The province of Tabaristan. A small encampment of English, or at least Norman Empire soldiers. The commanding officers are sitting around a small fire, roasting a piece of camel.
Marshal John: So. Explain to me again what happened?
De Holdfast: OK. As far as I have been able to piece it together, the high-ranking prisoners were being guarded by a number of our elite troops.
De Saint Nylan: Lord Besseldrin’s Third Of Moronic Wessex Peasant Foot.
De Holdfast: Yeah, the Weird Feathers. Anyway, they were guarding the prisoners and then this huge army of midgets mounted on goats invaded the camp, stampeded the horses, kidnapped the company cook and freed the prisoners.
Marshal John: I see. Any idea who was commanding them?
De Saint Nylan: Umm, no.
Marshal John: Any idea where they took them?
De Holdfast: No.
Marshal John: Any idea why they took them?
De Saint Nylan: No.
Marshal John: Any ideas at all?
De Holdfast: No, I mean, yes
Marshal John: And what might your ideas be? Power to the people, might makes right, survival of the Fittest?
De Holdfast: We tell the emperor that the prisoners were killed in a landslide which swept away their bodies and landed a herd of wild goats into the guards midst, which herd of wild goats in turn caused the injuries to the guards that would otherwise be difficult to explain.
Marshal John: You mean the head-but bruises, the eaten boots and the incapacitation caused by goatly gas evacuation?
De Saint Nylan: Exactly sir!
Marshal John: Great. Now we have to hope my brother is drunk or drugged, or we are not going to get away with this. Who am I kidding, we’ll be sweeping floors in the dungeon with our tongues for the next ten years. While mr Mac gets medieval on ous ass…
The Palace of the Emperor Edward in Baghdad. The Court of the Elephant, near the fountain of the White Dromedary. Edward is sitting with his wounded feet dangling in the waters. A number of elite guards stand watching the three men by the fountain. An old man, barely able to carry the empty scabbard at his side, a tall, dignified middle aged near eastern gentleman of distinguished appearance, and of course, the Emperor Edward, dangling his feet in the water.
Edward: So. You are Mohamed of Fars
Mohamed: Mohamed Murat of Fars, yes.
Edward: Murat? I seem to recall I have some of you relatives hanging around here…
Mohamed: In the dungeon I hope, they are and awfully untrustworthy lot.
Edward: Umm, this is your family, remember?
Mohamed: Yes, so I should know them better than anybody, right?
Edward: True, true. Now, what can I do for you? Impalement, death by burning, flaying alive?
Mohamed: Nah, I was thinking along the lines of joining your court, fullfilling some important function and helping put down revolts and stuff.
Edward: Indeed. I see a few problems with that.
Mohamed: Really? What kind of problems?
Edward: Well, firstly you used to be the top general for one of my enemies.
Mohamed: Yeah, so I can be top general for your too.
Edward: I already have a top general.
Mohamed: Been performing well lately, has he?
Edward: Hmmm. Then there’s the little fact of your religion.
Mohamed: Mhmmm. Well Mekka and Medina fell almost a century ago, so I think it might be said that my religion is definitely on the loosing side. I see no hardship in converting.
Edward: And of course you come accompanied by a slew of old men who are supposed to be your bodyguard, commanded by an ancient man who, despite his near-eastern appearance, is called Heinrich Mettermrck.
Mohamed: Well, yeah. You can have them killed, I don’t mind.
Mettermrck: Ummm. We could resign and become farmers or something? No problem.
Edward: Oh, very well. But all of you convert, hear? Now leave me alone, I’ve got to think.
The office of the Chancellor in Charge of finding a Girl who knows Greek for the Emperor, the most honourable and Christian lord bishop of Durham, Lord Durham for short.
Lord Durham: Right. So who have we got so far?
Junior Investigator Velasco Jr: We have a number of options so far, my lord. The first is the daughter of the Duke of Lower Lorraine, Ermingard. She is supposed to be quite good at languages.
Lord Durham sighed: No Velasco, she is mad and speaks in tongues. NEXT!
Drogo Rexus: Then there’s Lady Elisabeth of Lancashire, daughter of the duke of Lancashire.
Lord Durham: Yes, I admit that her Greek is very good, but she’s three years older than the Emperor. NEXT!!
Father Deus Prior of the Order of the Unending Blessing of St Ginevralda of the Sacred Goat: Then of course there’s Lady Katherine, Dowager-Duchess of Steiermark.
Lord Durham: One monkey, two monkeys, three monkeys, who cares. SHE’S THE EMPEROR’S FRIGGIN” SISTER, YOU DOPE!
Father Deus: Ah, yes. Um. Lady Olga Rurikovich of Kiev?
Lord Durham: Dead.
Velasco: Lady Nadira of Shiraz?
Lord Durham: Dead.
Drogo Rexus: Lady Penelope of Thunderbird?
Lord Durham: Doll.
Father Deus: Ummm, Lady Margeret of Essex?
Lord Durham: His daughter? You are actually suggesting the Emperor marries his daughter? Right, that tears it! You lot have two inches to find a suitable wife for the Emperor or I will call in mr Mac junior! His father asked me to see he got plenty of experience and you are a prime opportunity, waiting to happen! MOVE!!!
OOC: All those wonderfull pictures I have and none of them work
Splendid. Wives, Wives, Wives -- can't live with em, can't live without them. :rofl:
Finally a chapter about women and then there are no pictures...
Anyways, great update as ever...
Anyways, great update as ever...
Ah milord, I have my third daughter here, lovely lass with huge....tracts of land.
Never mind the warts or the scars......oh and she is a bit cross eyed.
But she speaks greek like a demon, possessed in fact.
But she is a young architect, wants to build a tower of some sort.
Any offers?
Never mind the warts or the scars......oh and she is a bit cross eyed.
But she speaks greek like a demon, possessed in fact.
But she is a young architect, wants to build a tower of some sort.
Any offers?
I feel like an ancient man of Near-Eastern appearance. Interesting see myself in a story, well sort of.
Interesting see myself in a story, well sort of.
Deflare said:Sire? Have you forgotten your poor Portuguese servant, trapped in the cold, cold court of the Duke Peraslayvl? What was our fate, may I ask?
The Palace of the Emperor Edward,
The Vice Chancelery of Plausible Deniability, Denials and Outright Lies,
Re: Portuguese Servant, Pereslayvl, Fate of.
Dear Sir, madam,
The Emperor, nor his staff has any knowledge of any servants being send to the Duchy of Pereslayvl. We are afraid someone must have made use of the Emperor's good name to perpetrate a foul and disreputable fraud. We suggest you contact either master Brouges-Delancie, merchant and Bon-vivant or Mr D. Rexus of Rexus, Rexus, Rexus and Mephistopheles. Please do not aske to see the Emperor of camp outside the palace.
Spokesmen for the allegedly existing Chancelor of Plausible Deniability, etc, etc
T. B. Liar
G. W. Hsub
I'm very glad you didn't make me rescue that useless lot On the other hand I can't wait to hear how they will mess up the next assasination attempt
Your loyal servant
Rasmus40
On the other hand I can't wait to hear how they will mess up the next assasination attempt Your loyal servant
Rasmus40
Ah, the hardships of finding a bride for the Emperor. It beats cleaning the dungeon floors with one's tongue, eh?
Right. I have been having major problems uploading. Anything longer than 12-14 lines just gets chopped and won't upload. Now I know my laborious colouring takes time, but I used to be able to update before I got kicked off. Anyone else having this problem? ( I have two updates ready, just need to get the things on in a reasonable length! ) DW