nope, haven't had these kind of problems. Maybe you can e-mail them to one of your devout readers who can upload them for you.
A line of true Bastards. An a-historical England AAR
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How to spot a noble...
Great and Noble Families of the Norman Empire
Due to reasons of space, only the most senior or public members of these ancient families have been listed. Many of these families haven been active in the politics of the Empire for more than 800 years.
Source: Debtor’s Peerage, Almanack de Goatherd 2003 edition.
Brougier-deLancie, Badouin Beresford. Education: Eton, M.A. Oxon, L.S.E. CEO of Brougier-DeLancie and Sons Merchant Bankers. Domicile: Deep Folds Sheep Farm, the Cottswolds. DeLancie Square, London. Motto: Felicitas est parvus ovis Calidus. Also “Le Roi Juste”Arms: A surprised looking sheep (argent) flanked by two Towers (Noir) on a field of Rouge. Works published: On the breeding of and with livestock, Why James Heriott knocked me unconscious: A defence. Hobbies: Livestock breeding, chess, checkers, cards. Clubs: Saltire, Egotists, Livestock Breeders of England (Since banned)
Jestor, Jason Leopold Franklin Morgan. Education: Harrow, Edinburgh University medical school. M.D., F.R.S.C. Domicile: Kensington, Harley street, master of surgery Guy’s Hospital, London. Motto: Whoops, that’s a bit of a mess, what? Arms: Two crossed saws, field of Rouge. Published works: “What’s this yellow thing that goes gloop, gloop?” Medicine and surgery for dummies.
Hobbies: Chemistry, fencing, vivisection. Clubs: The Scalpel, Bonesetters
Von Bek, Michael Munster Bleithardt, B.S., Ph. D. Sanitation sciences, University of Kalamazoo. Archduke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, Hereditary Lieutenant Governor of Marienburg. Protector of “His Majesty’s first Regiment of Commando’s and Engineers, RBR” (The Bucketmen.) Former Major general of the RBR. Domicile: Bekstein Castle, Mecklenburg, Heigland Manor, Essex. Motto: The Moon over Marienburg. Arms: Split Moon (argent) over tower (Blanc) on a field of noir. Personal Arms: Two spades (crossed, proper) over a bucket (argent) field of rouge Published works: A history of Sanitation. My years with the Regiment: The Memoirs of “TP Mike”
Rexus, Draco Edward Allton. Education: St John’s. LSE, M.A. Oxon. Law. Domicile Lincoln’s Inn. CEO of Rexus, Rexus, Rexus and Co. Attorneys at Law, sollicitors and family bussiness. Domicile Motto: What doesn’t exist can be made. Arms: Scroll (Blanc) and Quill (argent) Field of noir. Clubs: None, Hobbies: None.
See also: Edward Draco-Rexus
Der Kinderen, Karolus Kantecleer Kornelis Kasimir. Duke of Bristol, Marquess of Stratford. Education: Harrow, Royal Naval Acadamy. Admiral of the Fleet, former Secretary of the Navy, First Sea Lord. Domicile: The Lighthouse, Arran Coast, Ireland. Bristol Castle. Motto: With Billowing sails and strong teeth. Arms: Three anchors (argent) field of bleu. Clubs: Maritime, The Compass, Whalespotters. Hobbies: Maritime biology, ship design.
De Velasco, Juan Amorpho. Education; Collegio De Santissima Trinidad, Universidad de Madrid. Phys. Ed. Duke of Saragossa. Physical Education teacher a Collegio de Santissima Trinidad. Domicile: Castello Saragossa. Motto: Get some ball! You Ninnies! Arms: Two cricket bats, crossed, over a pigs bladder, proper, field of argent. Clubs: F Side, Yob’s Football international Publications: 1)Get some Ball! 2) Get some ball, You Ninnies! 3) Get some more ball! You ninnies! 4) Get some net!
5) Modern physical education in prep school environments (Get some ball you stupid ninnies! ) Hobbies: Cricket, football, painting
Further persons will follow
Right. After reinstalling windows and various other programs I now hope to be able to resume posting. Otherwise I can be found at Moe's Bar, getting drunk....
Great and Noble Families of the Norman Empire
Due to reasons of space, only the most senior or public members of these ancient families have been listed. Many of these families haven been active in the politics of the Empire for more than 800 years.
Source: Debtor’s Peerage, Almanack de Goatherd 2003 edition.
Brougier-deLancie, Badouin Beresford. Education: Eton, M.A. Oxon, L.S.E. CEO of Brougier-DeLancie and Sons Merchant Bankers. Domicile: Deep Folds Sheep Farm, the Cottswolds. DeLancie Square, London. Motto: Felicitas est parvus ovis Calidus. Also “Le Roi Juste”Arms: A surprised looking sheep (argent) flanked by two Towers (Noir) on a field of Rouge. Works published: On the breeding of and with livestock, Why James Heriott knocked me unconscious: A defence. Hobbies: Livestock breeding, chess, checkers, cards. Clubs: Saltire, Egotists, Livestock Breeders of England (Since banned)
Jestor, Jason Leopold Franklin Morgan. Education: Harrow, Edinburgh University medical school. M.D., F.R.S.C. Domicile: Kensington, Harley street, master of surgery Guy’s Hospital, London. Motto: Whoops, that’s a bit of a mess, what? Arms: Two crossed saws, field of Rouge. Published works: “What’s this yellow thing that goes gloop, gloop?” Medicine and surgery for dummies.
Hobbies: Chemistry, fencing, vivisection. Clubs: The Scalpel, Bonesetters
Von Bek, Michael Munster Bleithardt, B.S., Ph. D. Sanitation sciences, University of Kalamazoo. Archduke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, Hereditary Lieutenant Governor of Marienburg. Protector of “His Majesty’s first Regiment of Commando’s and Engineers, RBR” (The Bucketmen.) Former Major general of the RBR. Domicile: Bekstein Castle, Mecklenburg, Heigland Manor, Essex. Motto: The Moon over Marienburg. Arms: Split Moon (argent) over tower (Blanc) on a field of noir. Personal Arms: Two spades (crossed, proper) over a bucket (argent) field of rouge Published works: A history of Sanitation. My years with the Regiment: The Memoirs of “TP Mike”
Rexus, Draco Edward Allton. Education: St John’s. LSE, M.A. Oxon. Law. Domicile Lincoln’s Inn. CEO of Rexus, Rexus, Rexus and Co. Attorneys at Law, sollicitors and family bussiness. Domicile Motto: What doesn’t exist can be made. Arms: Scroll (Blanc) and Quill (argent) Field of noir. Clubs: None, Hobbies: None.
See also: Edward Draco-Rexus
Der Kinderen, Karolus Kantecleer Kornelis Kasimir. Duke of Bristol, Marquess of Stratford. Education: Harrow, Royal Naval Acadamy. Admiral of the Fleet, former Secretary of the Navy, First Sea Lord. Domicile: The Lighthouse, Arran Coast, Ireland. Bristol Castle. Motto: With Billowing sails and strong teeth. Arms: Three anchors (argent) field of bleu. Clubs: Maritime, The Compass, Whalespotters. Hobbies: Maritime biology, ship design.
De Velasco, Juan Amorpho. Education; Collegio De Santissima Trinidad, Universidad de Madrid. Phys. Ed. Duke of Saragossa. Physical Education teacher a Collegio de Santissima Trinidad. Domicile: Castello Saragossa. Motto: Get some ball! You Ninnies! Arms: Two cricket bats, crossed, over a pigs bladder, proper, field of argent. Clubs: F Side, Yob’s Football international Publications: 1)Get some Ball! 2) Get some ball, You Ninnies! 3) Get some more ball! You ninnies! 4) Get some net!
5) Modern physical education in prep school environments (Get some ball you stupid ninnies! ) Hobbies: Cricket, football, painting
Further persons will follow
Right. After reinstalling windows and various other programs I now hope to be able to resume posting. Otherwise I can be found at Moe's Bar, getting drunk....
Army of midgets on goats? the Emperor has made many bitter enemies......... I suppose some of them aren't goats, though.
In which we get reacquainted with old acquaintances and hence with grief
Ireland. The Emerald Isle. The armies of the Emperor Edward stand looking at the motley collection of buildings that passes for a castle around here. They are also watching Dr Jestor desperately diving in the cold, icy waters to reclaim some of his equipment.
Mike von Bek: I thought there was a very powerfull current here?
SIVI: Sleepy Irv VI: Well, that what’s admiral Der Kinderen told me. Admiral Der Kinderen Wouldn’t lie to me, now would he?
MvB: That would depend on how much he had drunk at the time.
Deus: Look sir! He’s going under!
MvB: It’s called “diving”, Lord Deus.
Velasco: Heehee! Deus can’t swim, my lord! Hence his utter ignorance in this matter!
Deus: Pshaw! Swimming is for peasants! Why would a noble lord have to be able to swim!? It is such a common pasttime, would you not agree, marshal?
MvB: I like a swim myself.
Deus: Ummm.
Mr Mac: Sir! Regret to inform you that Sir Karl Martell has passed….!
Deus: Idiot! He was supposed to live! We needed his expertise. Such as it was.
Mr Mac: Has passed the physical examanation preliminary to his questioning, I was going to say.
Deus: Eheheh….
MvB: Well, that’s good. You can take lord Deus and do your preliminary survey on him, if you wish.
Deus falls on his knees, slamming his head in the dirt, grabs MvB’s ankles and weeps.
Deus: Please, my lord, anything but that! Anything but the Irish mint diet! Forgive me Lord!
MvB: Lord Deus, I can contemplate your discomfort with supreme confidence. Now get me one of the Younger Van der Kinderen’s.
The_K jr1: Yo, Mike.
MvB: Hello Karolus! Could you inform me please why the good Dr Jestor has not yet sunk into depths of the Irish sea? Since that space is supposed to have the strongest possible currents?
The_K jr1: Well, its dead tide you see, that means that it’s neither ebbing of flooding. Which means you ain’t got much current there right now.
MvB: I see. Any chance of him finding his gear?
The K: Well, no. See those strange triangular thingies in the water?
MvB: Yes?
The_K: That’s what we in the business technically call “Man eating sharks”. I would be much surprised if the good doctor would survive this little swim.
Velasco: Umm, lord Der Kinderen, not to sound critical, but would a shark eat a man who has been eating an Irish mint diet?
MvB: Good point. Karolus?
The_K: You know, I don’t actually know. It will be a fine experiment.
The commanders of the expeditionary army sat down in the short grass to see if the sharks would bite dr Jestor and eat him.
The Duke of Ulster: Hello!? I would like to surrender my vastly outnumbered army, my land, my titles and all my wealth and become a hermit!? Hello? HELLO?
MvB: Shut up! We’re trying to see if a shark will eat dr Jestor.
Jestor: Arrrrgh, something bit me!
Suddenly the waters around Jestor cleared of sharks.
Velasco: Drat.
DoU: Hello!? Irish duke wants to surrender here! Hello!?
Deus: Maybe if we rubbed him with hot sauce or mustard?
Velasco: And how would we do that? “Stand stil why we throw these condiments on you Doctor? The sharks won’t have you otherwise?”
Deus: No, we tell him they are lotions to protect his skin against the influence of het sea.
DoU: Yoohoo! Sad pathetic little duke-man wants to surrender! YOOHOO!!!
MvB: Oh, all right. Give us all your wealth, the titles to your lands and renounce all claims of nobility and we’ll let you go and live out your life in some sad, pathetic, poverty stricken backwater.
DoU: Actually, I was thinking of leaving Ireland you know?
The County of Orsha, part of the Kingdom of Lithuania.
Drogo Rexus: And as a final question, I must ask you if your daughter is able to do Greek.
The Count of Orsha: WHAT!!? YOU DISGUSTING PERVERT!!!
SMACKK!! BAM !!!BIFFF !!!!
The County of Novgorod-Severskije.
Velasco: And of course the young lady has to enjoy Greek style and …..
The Count of Novgorod Severskijie: WHAT!!!! YOU HORRIBLE DISGUSTING PERVERT!!! I’LL FLAY YOU AND HANG YOUR SKIN OUT TO DRY ON THE RIVER BANK!!!
BAMM!! BIFFF!! SMACK!!!
The Principality of Hellas, Greece.
Father Deus: And the final and most important matter is young lady’s skill and practice at Greek.
The Prince of Hellas: ANDRA MOI ENNEPE!! HOS MALLA POLLA!
Father Deus: Ummm, was that a threat?
PoH: HEPTA POLEIS!
Deus: That was a threat, wasn’t it?
Helena of Hellas: Greek, hmmm? I have a very intriguing device here with which I can demonstrate everything I know about Greek.
Deus: Really? Jolly Good! How does it work?
Helena: Well, if you would be so kind as to bend over my hope chest…
The Palace of the Cranes, residence of the Bishop of Shirvan, pretender to the seat of Archbisshop of Azerbaijan. The court of the Golden Ass. The Emperor Edward was contemplating the advances of the armies he was nominally leading as the fought tehir way across the mountainous, dirt poor provinces. An argument was taking place outside his door.If there had been a door. So it was that Edward could hear a lot of the louder bits of the conversations. Regrettably the bits he could hear were mostly “Hoots, ya Crivens!” and “Listen you stupid Scott!” Edward patiently waited for his courtiers to stop fighting. Or to start killing each other.
FaP: Hoots, Ya Kingy!
Edward: You know, I think I will make it illegal for my pages to speak Scottish. It would make life on me and all my other courtiers considerably easier.
FaP: Ach! Why woul’ ye wann doo somethin’leek tha’? Haven’ me an’me ancestors nae been exemplarrorary servants o’ the croon?
Edward: I might be able to answer that if I had botehred to listen to your gibberish. Now, what was that whole shouting match about?
FaP: Hoots, there an’be a man oot there who claims he is master BBBD!
Edward: My word. If one wanted to impersonate someone, why him of all people! The poor man must be deranged. And utterly horribly deformed, to pull of such an impersonation.
FaP: Och nae! The lad be well set-up an’havin’ all his arms an’legs still! So he e’en go’ tha’bit wrong!
Edward: Hmmm. Did he say he was master BBBD, or did he say he was a master BBBD?
FaP; Huh?
Edward: Never mind, show in the gentleman.
A young man entered. He was, as the page had said, well set-up. He was handsome, well built, muscular and lean, his skin was clear and unmarked and his eye was bright. He had both his legs and all his fingers and was not covered in strange green mucus, his hair was mostly there, and clean, and not being used by mice as a nest.
BBBD: Greetings, my liege! I am Baldwin Benedick Brogier Delancie, Heir to the wealth and fortune of House Delancie, merchatns and purveyors!
Edward: Hmmm. Do you have any disfiguring skin diseases?
BBBD: Heavens, I hope not!
Edward: Are you an incompetent drunk?
BBBD: I hadn’t noticed, I shall see if I can give you an answer to that soon.
Edward: Hmm, this might take some getting used to. Might I ask why you are here?
BBBD: My liege, I am, as I said before, the heir to the House of Delancie. With the mysterious disappearance of my Great Uncle, I have taken over the controls of the Family enterprise and the family fortune, such as is left of it after my great uncle’s debauchery.
Edward: He’s probably drunk in a ditch somewhere.
BBBD: True, but still the matter remains I have taken over and intend to remain in control. I offer you my services and those of my house. My liege, command me!
Edward: Hmmm. I don’t need anyone to proclaim me just, I have no need of Advice in a matter of resolving law and order, I think I shall cal on you when I do have problem. In the meantime I suggest that you live healthily and do not overindulge in the same way as your great uncle.
BBBD: My lord! I am gratefull for your time and I live but to serve you!
FaP: Ya! Ach! Pfioey! Git yer ass oot of ‘ere you foot lickin” tulip!
A short time later Marshal John, prince of the realm and Grand Marshall of the Imperial Armies walked into the garden, accompanied by his loyal sidekicks, er lieutenants.
Marshal John Knelt, proferring his sword. Sire! Most Imperious brother and king! I come before you with glad tidings! Your enemies are scattered and fled before you! Their lands are yours to divest yourself of or to keep as you will! You are truly now the king of Persia!
Edward: Ah. Something has gone really badly wrong has it? And pray what has gone really badly wrong my precious younger brother?
De Saint Nylan: Stercus, stercus, stercus! Moritori Sunt!
Edward: Bad Grammar, my lord. Bad grammar.
Blunt de Holdfast: Oh, crap.
Marshal John: Well, you see, our prisoners, the Sheik of Dihistan and his staff were struck dead by a landslide and a herd of wild goats, panicked by the slide drove straight into our regiment, causing multiple injuries. I am very sorry, sire!
Edward: Really? A landslide? How unfortunate. Ah well, these things happen.
Sain Nylan: Phew!
De Holdfast: Thank God!
Edward: Almost as fortuitious as on of my guard regiments running into a really amazing group of armed pygmies mounted on goats the other day.
Marshal John: Ulp!
Edward: Have ypu ever heard the expression “Have a dog and bark yourself”?
Saint Nylan: Yes, sire?
Edward: I have a group of men here whose behaviour obviates my need for buying dogs. They bark and howl quite wonderfully. I also seem to have picked up a man who is firmly convinced we are aliens who have kidnapped him and are planning to torture him.
Marshal John: Oh.
Edward: If he continues in his present disrespectful ways, he will be proven right of course. But he will have company, at least
John, De Saint Nylan, Blunt de Holdfast: Ulp!
Edward: And I have a new, court jester. He used to be sheikh of Dihistan, but he showed up here one morning, babbling about secret passages and escapes and things. He giggles a lot. And he’s building a tower in the soup kitchen.
Marshal John: Oh. Umm. Shall we report to the duty torturer?
Edward: Hmmmm, no.
Marshal John: No?
Edward: No, I want you to take some lessons from this gentleman here.
Marshal John: Isn’t that the Marshal of Dihistan, Mohamed Murat of Fars?
Edward: No, this is my special advisor on military matters, Mark Murat of Fars
Marshal John: Oh.
Edward: With an option on promotion to Marshal if you keep acting like a goat on drugged wine.
Mark of Fars: My dear marshal, I am sure we can work together to perfection. Liquorice stick?
Marshal John: Umm, yeah sure.
Mark: Good, good. Let’s go and kick some of your lazy bum soldiers into action and do a spot of hunting, what?
Marshal John: Sounds good to me!
Sighing the emperor returned to work.
The maiden was beautiful and the dark knight was gruesome, his head covered in a helm, with a fierce noseguard, his body clad in a hauberk, his hand clasping a great sword, a fine hand-and- a-half blade. Lord Deflare looked at his companions. They were the finest, most honourable companions a man could wish for. They were the flower of the Empire, the mightiest knights alive. The dark knight and his companions, thought they outnumbered the Imperial knights, were in for a surprise.
“FOUL KNIGHTS! UNHAND THAT MAIDEN INTO MY CUSTODY AND GIVE YOURSELVES OVER TO THE JUSTICE OF THE EMPIRE!”
There was some muttering from behind him.
Lenny: Hey! Why do you always get the girl? She’s a babe and she looks like she’s a goer. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, Know what I mean?
Lord Boreal: Yeah, I mean you got that entire castle of unlawfully restrained nymphomaniac nobles’ daughters last week! We get this one!
Deflare: Look, guys, the fact that I keep in shape and you lot are not dissimilar in shape to a barrel has nothing to do with this, but the ladies just prefer me. Which is why you were stuck with the pox-marked stable lads with Satyriasis. Or in the case of Mr Glaurung, one ot the horses with pox and Satyriasis.
Mr Glaurung: Shut up! Anyway, all the more reason why this fair maiden should be fairly considered to be property of all of us, not just one guy who whispers in her ear that all the rest of us have the pox!
Murmurandus: But we do all have the pox!
Mr Glaurung: Yes, but they don’t know that!
Lenny: Quite right! We should go in and rescue the lady from those hooligans and acquanit her with real British Hospitality.
Murmurandus: We are? I thought we were going to get her to rumble in the sack? Besides, You’re Russian!
Deflare: Look guys, those guys in dark, obligatory bad-guy armour are coming closer. I suggest we decide what we do with the lady later on, ok?
Lord Boreal: You don’t think that what were doing is against the laws of Chivalry, do you?
Mr Glaurung: Umm, I think the laws of chivalry mostly cover what kind of arms you may bear. All that stuff about serving your lady was written in Romantic poetry and crap like that.
Murmurandus: Which they haven’t invented yet around here, so lets go beat us up some black knights!
The Norman knights met the balck knights in the middle of a small, muddy clearing. The dismounted men carried swords and maces and fought with silent and determined ferocity. Sword met sword and sword met shield. The superior training and ability of the Normans soon began to tell as the dark knights fell back and faltered. One went down, then another. The Normans, now equal in number, held an even higher hand than at the start of the game. Deflare was facing the leader of the black knights, a man of formidable appearance, easily six foot tall, well-muscled and obviously well trained. The man lunged carefully, luringly. Deflare did not react, recognizing a feint. The two men had a healthy respect for each other’s abilities and circled warily. It was at this point that Lenny stabbed the black knight in the back through a chink in his armour.
Deflare: That wasn’t very chivalrous, you know.
Lenny: Well, yeah. I still have to get my English knighthood. So sue me.
Deflare: Oh, I’m not complaining. But you might want to work on your delivery. “TAKE THAT FOR USING A POISONED SWORD, YOU EVIL CUR!” Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a lady who needs my attention.
Lenny: Hmpph! Better not keep her all to yourself or Boreal is going to skin you in a delicate place.
Deflare strode towards the trembling, black-haired beauty standing alone in the shade of a great fir. He sheathed hsi sword and took his helm of his sweaty hair, smiling in his most disarmingly boyish manner.
The maiden: Oh, my lord! You and your friends are so brave and mighty. I am but a poor, innocent young maiden of the Russian countryside, and I have never been so vilely treated!
Deflare: My lady, we would have risked torture and dishonour before leaving a delicate flower such as yourself in such a dire situation.
Murmurandus: Translation: It’s been three whole days since he last got laid.
The maiden: My lord, I am so grateful! I will do anything that lies within my power to repay you! And Your noble friends.
Mr Glaurung: Yes!
Deflare: My Lady, your safety and gratitude are enough reward for us noble knights of the Empire! Would that there was more that I could do for you!
Lord Boreal: Always a good line that. Nine out of ten times he’ll have her dress on the grass within an inch.
The maiden: My lord, I am sore frightened still and those beasts tore my dress. I would feign hold on to a man of true and good character! I still tremble with fear and loathing and agony at what might have been had you not been here! And your noble friends.
Murmurandus: Damn, I think he’s using sign language to tell her we’ve all got pox but him!
Deflare: My Lady! Let me hold you that you might forget the fears in the gentle arms of a knight true to his vows and that your trembling might be abated.
Mr Glaurung: Good thing she doesn’t know all his vows involve drinking more at the next kegger and getting the Sherriff of Nottingham’s daughter into his bed or something.
The maiden: Oh, sir knight! If I could, might impose upon thee like that I would be most gratefull!
The lady flowed into Deflares arms like a silken flag, with cat like grace she laid her arms around his neck and buried her pale face in his neck.
Mr Glaurung, Murmurandus, Lenny and Lord Boreal: D@##n, he’s done it again!
Deflare was surprised at the ladies eagernes. Her silken tongue was caressing the side of hjs neck while her tiny white teeth were nipping, giving him sensations he hadn’t felt for a whole three days. Then she progressed upwards, licking his ear. Deflare tightened his grip around her slender midriff and waist.
Deflare: My lady, you are truly an amazing woman. Might I humbly ask what is your name?
The maiden: BAAAHHHH!!!!
Deflare woke up. The sheep that had been sharing the cell with them was licking his ear, and he was holding it uncomfortably close. Lenny was sniggering.
Mr Glaurung: Having fun yet? Whispering sweet nothings?
Murmurandus: I still think that the Prince was a bit rude putting the sheep in here with us!
Lenny: Well, it refused Master BBBD, and you know how close he has grown to the Prince.
Lord Boreal: Well, yes, but it hardly improves the fragrance in here to have a flatulent sheep as well as Deflare.
Deflare: I heard that!
Lord Boreal: Amazing, with that sheeps tongue buried in your ear. Anyway, I just hope Lord Rasmusson will deliver our letter to the Emperor, so he can get us out of here.
Mr Glaurung: Not bloody likely! He’ll probably leave us in here to rot even after the brat Jocelyn inherits the place!
Lord Boreal True.
Murmurandus: True.
Lenny: True.
Deflare: True
The Sheep: Baahhha!
Boreal: Leave the sheep alone and go back to sleep Deflare.
I am not going to use colours at the first post, I might add them later if my connection seems stable...
Ireland. The Emerald Isle. The armies of the Emperor Edward stand looking at the motley collection of buildings that passes for a castle around here. They are also watching Dr Jestor desperately diving in the cold, icy waters to reclaim some of his equipment.
Mike von Bek: I thought there was a very powerfull current here?
SIVI: Sleepy Irv VI: Well, that what’s admiral Der Kinderen told me. Admiral Der Kinderen Wouldn’t lie to me, now would he?
MvB: That would depend on how much he had drunk at the time.
Deus: Look sir! He’s going under!
MvB: It’s called “diving”, Lord Deus.
Velasco: Heehee! Deus can’t swim, my lord! Hence his utter ignorance in this matter!
Deus: Pshaw! Swimming is for peasants! Why would a noble lord have to be able to swim!? It is such a common pasttime, would you not agree, marshal?
MvB: I like a swim myself.
Deus: Ummm.
Mr Mac: Sir! Regret to inform you that Sir Karl Martell has passed….!
Deus: Idiot! He was supposed to live! We needed his expertise. Such as it was.
Mr Mac: Has passed the physical examanation preliminary to his questioning, I was going to say.
Deus: Eheheh….
MvB: Well, that’s good. You can take lord Deus and do your preliminary survey on him, if you wish.
Deus falls on his knees, slamming his head in the dirt, grabs MvB’s ankles and weeps.
Deus: Please, my lord, anything but that! Anything but the Irish mint diet! Forgive me Lord!
MvB: Lord Deus, I can contemplate your discomfort with supreme confidence. Now get me one of the Younger Van der Kinderen’s.
The_K jr1: Yo, Mike.
MvB: Hello Karolus! Could you inform me please why the good Dr Jestor has not yet sunk into depths of the Irish sea? Since that space is supposed to have the strongest possible currents?
The_K jr1: Well, its dead tide you see, that means that it’s neither ebbing of flooding. Which means you ain’t got much current there right now.
MvB: I see. Any chance of him finding his gear?
The K: Well, no. See those strange triangular thingies in the water?
MvB: Yes?
The_K: That’s what we in the business technically call “Man eating sharks”. I would be much surprised if the good doctor would survive this little swim.
Velasco: Umm, lord Der Kinderen, not to sound critical, but would a shark eat a man who has been eating an Irish mint diet?
MvB: Good point. Karolus?
The_K: You know, I don’t actually know. It will be a fine experiment.
The commanders of the expeditionary army sat down in the short grass to see if the sharks would bite dr Jestor and eat him.
The Duke of Ulster: Hello!? I would like to surrender my vastly outnumbered army, my land, my titles and all my wealth and become a hermit!? Hello? HELLO?
MvB: Shut up! We’re trying to see if a shark will eat dr Jestor.
Jestor: Arrrrgh, something bit me!
Suddenly the waters around Jestor cleared of sharks.
Velasco: Drat.
DoU: Hello!? Irish duke wants to surrender here! Hello!?
Deus: Maybe if we rubbed him with hot sauce or mustard?
Velasco: And how would we do that? “Stand stil why we throw these condiments on you Doctor? The sharks won’t have you otherwise?”
Deus: No, we tell him they are lotions to protect his skin against the influence of het sea.
DoU: Yoohoo! Sad pathetic little duke-man wants to surrender! YOOHOO!!!
MvB: Oh, all right. Give us all your wealth, the titles to your lands and renounce all claims of nobility and we’ll let you go and live out your life in some sad, pathetic, poverty stricken backwater.
DoU: Actually, I was thinking of leaving Ireland you know?
The County of Orsha, part of the Kingdom of Lithuania.
Drogo Rexus: And as a final question, I must ask you if your daughter is able to do Greek.
The Count of Orsha: WHAT!!? YOU DISGUSTING PERVERT!!!
SMACKK!! BAM !!!BIFFF !!!!
The County of Novgorod-Severskije.
Velasco: And of course the young lady has to enjoy Greek style and …..
The Count of Novgorod Severskijie: WHAT!!!! YOU HORRIBLE DISGUSTING PERVERT!!! I’LL FLAY YOU AND HANG YOUR SKIN OUT TO DRY ON THE RIVER BANK!!!
BAMM!! BIFFF!! SMACK!!!
The Principality of Hellas, Greece.
Father Deus: And the final and most important matter is young lady’s skill and practice at Greek.
The Prince of Hellas: ANDRA MOI ENNEPE!! HOS MALLA POLLA!
Father Deus: Ummm, was that a threat?
PoH: HEPTA POLEIS!
Deus: That was a threat, wasn’t it?
Helena of Hellas: Greek, hmmm? I have a very intriguing device here with which I can demonstrate everything I know about Greek.
Deus: Really? Jolly Good! How does it work?
Helena: Well, if you would be so kind as to bend over my hope chest…
The Palace of the Cranes, residence of the Bishop of Shirvan, pretender to the seat of Archbisshop of Azerbaijan. The court of the Golden Ass. The Emperor Edward was contemplating the advances of the armies he was nominally leading as the fought tehir way across the mountainous, dirt poor provinces. An argument was taking place outside his door.If there had been a door. So it was that Edward could hear a lot of the louder bits of the conversations. Regrettably the bits he could hear were mostly “Hoots, ya Crivens!” and “Listen you stupid Scott!” Edward patiently waited for his courtiers to stop fighting. Or to start killing each other.
FaP: Hoots, Ya Kingy!
Edward: You know, I think I will make it illegal for my pages to speak Scottish. It would make life on me and all my other courtiers considerably easier.
FaP: Ach! Why woul’ ye wann doo somethin’leek tha’? Haven’ me an’me ancestors nae been exemplarrorary servants o’ the croon?
Edward: I might be able to answer that if I had botehred to listen to your gibberish. Now, what was that whole shouting match about?
FaP: Hoots, there an’be a man oot there who claims he is master BBBD!
Edward: My word. If one wanted to impersonate someone, why him of all people! The poor man must be deranged. And utterly horribly deformed, to pull of such an impersonation.
FaP: Och nae! The lad be well set-up an’havin’ all his arms an’legs still! So he e’en go’ tha’bit wrong!
Edward: Hmmm. Did he say he was master BBBD, or did he say he was a master BBBD?
FaP; Huh?
Edward: Never mind, show in the gentleman.
A young man entered. He was, as the page had said, well set-up. He was handsome, well built, muscular and lean, his skin was clear and unmarked and his eye was bright. He had both his legs and all his fingers and was not covered in strange green mucus, his hair was mostly there, and clean, and not being used by mice as a nest.
BBBD: Greetings, my liege! I am Baldwin Benedick Brogier Delancie, Heir to the wealth and fortune of House Delancie, merchatns and purveyors!
Edward: Hmmm. Do you have any disfiguring skin diseases?
BBBD: Heavens, I hope not!
Edward: Are you an incompetent drunk?
BBBD: I hadn’t noticed, I shall see if I can give you an answer to that soon.
Edward: Hmm, this might take some getting used to. Might I ask why you are here?
BBBD: My liege, I am, as I said before, the heir to the House of Delancie. With the mysterious disappearance of my Great Uncle, I have taken over the controls of the Family enterprise and the family fortune, such as is left of it after my great uncle’s debauchery.
Edward: He’s probably drunk in a ditch somewhere.
BBBD: True, but still the matter remains I have taken over and intend to remain in control. I offer you my services and those of my house. My liege, command me!
Edward: Hmmm. I don’t need anyone to proclaim me just, I have no need of Advice in a matter of resolving law and order, I think I shall cal on you when I do have problem. In the meantime I suggest that you live healthily and do not overindulge in the same way as your great uncle.
BBBD: My lord! I am gratefull for your time and I live but to serve you!
FaP: Ya! Ach! Pfioey! Git yer ass oot of ‘ere you foot lickin” tulip!
A short time later Marshal John, prince of the realm and Grand Marshall of the Imperial Armies walked into the garden, accompanied by his loyal sidekicks, er lieutenants.
Marshal John Knelt, proferring his sword. Sire! Most Imperious brother and king! I come before you with glad tidings! Your enemies are scattered and fled before you! Their lands are yours to divest yourself of or to keep as you will! You are truly now the king of Persia!
Edward: Ah. Something has gone really badly wrong has it? And pray what has gone really badly wrong my precious younger brother?
De Saint Nylan: Stercus, stercus, stercus! Moritori Sunt!
Edward: Bad Grammar, my lord. Bad grammar.
Blunt de Holdfast: Oh, crap.
Marshal John: Well, you see, our prisoners, the Sheik of Dihistan and his staff were struck dead by a landslide and a herd of wild goats, panicked by the slide drove straight into our regiment, causing multiple injuries. I am very sorry, sire!
Edward: Really? A landslide? How unfortunate. Ah well, these things happen.
Sain Nylan: Phew!
De Holdfast: Thank God!
Edward: Almost as fortuitious as on of my guard regiments running into a really amazing group of armed pygmies mounted on goats the other day.
Marshal John: Ulp!
Edward: Have ypu ever heard the expression “Have a dog and bark yourself”?
Saint Nylan: Yes, sire?
Edward: I have a group of men here whose behaviour obviates my need for buying dogs. They bark and howl quite wonderfully. I also seem to have picked up a man who is firmly convinced we are aliens who have kidnapped him and are planning to torture him.
Marshal John: Oh.
Edward: If he continues in his present disrespectful ways, he will be proven right of course. But he will have company, at least
John, De Saint Nylan, Blunt de Holdfast: Ulp!
Edward: And I have a new, court jester. He used to be sheikh of Dihistan, but he showed up here one morning, babbling about secret passages and escapes and things. He giggles a lot. And he’s building a tower in the soup kitchen.
Marshal John: Oh. Umm. Shall we report to the duty torturer?
Edward: Hmmmm, no.
Marshal John: No?
Edward: No, I want you to take some lessons from this gentleman here.
Marshal John: Isn’t that the Marshal of Dihistan, Mohamed Murat of Fars?
Edward: No, this is my special advisor on military matters, Mark Murat of Fars
Marshal John: Oh.
Edward: With an option on promotion to Marshal if you keep acting like a goat on drugged wine.
Mark of Fars: My dear marshal, I am sure we can work together to perfection. Liquorice stick?
Marshal John: Umm, yeah sure.
Mark: Good, good. Let’s go and kick some of your lazy bum soldiers into action and do a spot of hunting, what?
Marshal John: Sounds good to me!
Sighing the emperor returned to work.
The maiden was beautiful and the dark knight was gruesome, his head covered in a helm, with a fierce noseguard, his body clad in a hauberk, his hand clasping a great sword, a fine hand-and- a-half blade. Lord Deflare looked at his companions. They were the finest, most honourable companions a man could wish for. They were the flower of the Empire, the mightiest knights alive. The dark knight and his companions, thought they outnumbered the Imperial knights, were in for a surprise.
“FOUL KNIGHTS! UNHAND THAT MAIDEN INTO MY CUSTODY AND GIVE YOURSELVES OVER TO THE JUSTICE OF THE EMPIRE!”
There was some muttering from behind him.
Lenny: Hey! Why do you always get the girl? She’s a babe and she looks like she’s a goer. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, Know what I mean?
Lord Boreal: Yeah, I mean you got that entire castle of unlawfully restrained nymphomaniac nobles’ daughters last week! We get this one!
Deflare: Look, guys, the fact that I keep in shape and you lot are not dissimilar in shape to a barrel has nothing to do with this, but the ladies just prefer me. Which is why you were stuck with the pox-marked stable lads with Satyriasis. Or in the case of Mr Glaurung, one ot the horses with pox and Satyriasis.
Mr Glaurung: Shut up! Anyway, all the more reason why this fair maiden should be fairly considered to be property of all of us, not just one guy who whispers in her ear that all the rest of us have the pox!
Murmurandus: But we do all have the pox!
Mr Glaurung: Yes, but they don’t know that!
Lenny: Quite right! We should go in and rescue the lady from those hooligans and acquanit her with real British Hospitality.
Murmurandus: We are? I thought we were going to get her to rumble in the sack? Besides, You’re Russian!
Deflare: Look guys, those guys in dark, obligatory bad-guy armour are coming closer. I suggest we decide what we do with the lady later on, ok?
Lord Boreal: You don’t think that what were doing is against the laws of Chivalry, do you?
Mr Glaurung: Umm, I think the laws of chivalry mostly cover what kind of arms you may bear. All that stuff about serving your lady was written in Romantic poetry and crap like that.
Murmurandus: Which they haven’t invented yet around here, so lets go beat us up some black knights!
The Norman knights met the balck knights in the middle of a small, muddy clearing. The dismounted men carried swords and maces and fought with silent and determined ferocity. Sword met sword and sword met shield. The superior training and ability of the Normans soon began to tell as the dark knights fell back and faltered. One went down, then another. The Normans, now equal in number, held an even higher hand than at the start of the game. Deflare was facing the leader of the black knights, a man of formidable appearance, easily six foot tall, well-muscled and obviously well trained. The man lunged carefully, luringly. Deflare did not react, recognizing a feint. The two men had a healthy respect for each other’s abilities and circled warily. It was at this point that Lenny stabbed the black knight in the back through a chink in his armour.
Deflare: That wasn’t very chivalrous, you know.
Lenny: Well, yeah. I still have to get my English knighthood. So sue me.
Deflare: Oh, I’m not complaining. But you might want to work on your delivery. “TAKE THAT FOR USING A POISONED SWORD, YOU EVIL CUR!” Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a lady who needs my attention.
Lenny: Hmpph! Better not keep her all to yourself or Boreal is going to skin you in a delicate place.
Deflare strode towards the trembling, black-haired beauty standing alone in the shade of a great fir. He sheathed hsi sword and took his helm of his sweaty hair, smiling in his most disarmingly boyish manner.
The maiden: Oh, my lord! You and your friends are so brave and mighty. I am but a poor, innocent young maiden of the Russian countryside, and I have never been so vilely treated!
Deflare: My lady, we would have risked torture and dishonour before leaving a delicate flower such as yourself in such a dire situation.
Murmurandus: Translation: It’s been three whole days since he last got laid.
The maiden: My lord, I am so grateful! I will do anything that lies within my power to repay you! And Your noble friends.
Mr Glaurung: Yes!
Deflare: My Lady, your safety and gratitude are enough reward for us noble knights of the Empire! Would that there was more that I could do for you!
Lord Boreal: Always a good line that. Nine out of ten times he’ll have her dress on the grass within an inch.
The maiden: My lord, I am sore frightened still and those beasts tore my dress. I would feign hold on to a man of true and good character! I still tremble with fear and loathing and agony at what might have been had you not been here! And your noble friends.
Murmurandus: Damn, I think he’s using sign language to tell her we’ve all got pox but him!
Deflare: My Lady! Let me hold you that you might forget the fears in the gentle arms of a knight true to his vows and that your trembling might be abated.
Mr Glaurung: Good thing she doesn’t know all his vows involve drinking more at the next kegger and getting the Sherriff of Nottingham’s daughter into his bed or something.
The maiden: Oh, sir knight! If I could, might impose upon thee like that I would be most gratefull!
The lady flowed into Deflares arms like a silken flag, with cat like grace she laid her arms around his neck and buried her pale face in his neck.
Mr Glaurung, Murmurandus, Lenny and Lord Boreal: D@##n, he’s done it again!
Deflare was surprised at the ladies eagernes. Her silken tongue was caressing the side of hjs neck while her tiny white teeth were nipping, giving him sensations he hadn’t felt for a whole three days. Then she progressed upwards, licking his ear. Deflare tightened his grip around her slender midriff and waist.
Deflare: My lady, you are truly an amazing woman. Might I humbly ask what is your name?
The maiden: BAAAHHHH!!!!
Deflare woke up. The sheep that had been sharing the cell with them was licking his ear, and he was holding it uncomfortably close. Lenny was sniggering.
Mr Glaurung: Having fun yet? Whispering sweet nothings?
Murmurandus: I still think that the Prince was a bit rude putting the sheep in here with us!
Lenny: Well, it refused Master BBBD, and you know how close he has grown to the Prince.
Lord Boreal: Well, yes, but it hardly improves the fragrance in here to have a flatulent sheep as well as Deflare.
Deflare: I heard that!
Lord Boreal: Amazing, with that sheeps tongue buried in your ear. Anyway, I just hope Lord Rasmusson will deliver our letter to the Emperor, so he can get us out of here.
Mr Glaurung: Not bloody likely! He’ll probably leave us in here to rot even after the brat Jocelyn inherits the place!
Lord Boreal True.
Murmurandus: True.
Lenny: True.
Deflare: True
The Sheep: Baahhha!
Boreal: Leave the sheep alone and go back to sleep Deflare.
I am not going to use colours at the first post, I might add them later if my connection seems stable...
Yes, I see the lot of you haven't improved a bitMurmurandus said:Ah, back in great style...
This AAR is starting to be more and more about sheep and less and less about CK
Sheep are popular!
Whos chest I was looking? My memory seems to fail me. There's so much of them.
Chests that is not sheep!
Whos chest I was looking? My memory seems to fail me
. There's so much of them.Chests that is not sheep!
Now that I can catch my breath and my sides don't hurt as much, my hats off to you, DW, that was an update worth the strange looks my co-workers are shooting in my direction right now!
Great update DW, wow I am VD free at last all the sheep will be mine .....or suffer the consequences.
You truely are a just and noble leader!
You truely are a just and noble leader!
Things were going so well, too... I hate it when nifty stories like that suddenly turn out to be dreams. Stupid sheep.
Cheer up Deflare, at least you had the dream, my poor Drogo got himself pummelled trying to find our illustrious Emperor a new bride!
Of many things and strange desires- Well, many things at any rate
In a hole in the ground there lived a Russian. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a Russian hole, and that meant discomfort. The Russian hole was wet, but not filled with the ends of worms, since the inhabitants had eaten them all. And they would have killed, yes killed, for an oozy smell. I shall let you imagine the actual smell. Then there was the hole during a rainstorm. And the hole in a dry spell. And the worst was the hole in winter. Actually, there was something to eat (sheep) and something to sit on (sheep again). Additionally, the Russian had the disadvantage of having companions. Not thirteen dwarves and a rather supercilious wizard, no, that at least would have been food for a story, no Leonid’s companions were a Portuguese with a growing mutton obsession, a madman who called himself “The whispering wind” who could fart the entire Norman anthem. And did. Hence, the wish for an oozy smell. Another madman, who spent most of his time glaring at the others. Especially the sheep. The final member of the miss-matched company was an annoyingly cheerful young man who insisted everything would be allright and that at least the growing number of sheep were providing food, seating and insulation, and the smell was secondary to that. Now in the normal stage of narrative causality, the four men would escape in some daring manner. Knowing the calibre of het escape plan that would be thought up by these particular four men, it would fail anyway. And it would just be embarrassing. I say, sod to narrative causality. So lets go elsewhere.
The Irish country side. A motley collection of great British nobles sat gloomily on a hill in the middle of the Emerald Isles. It was raining. Hard. Previously it had been raining a little. Before that, there had been a light drizzle and before that, oh , surprise, it had been hailing. The hillside smelled of crushed mint, as did the adjacent valley. The very waters of the streams exuded the strong, minty smell. A man was diving into the streams at random, apparently looking for something.
MvB: Right. So we’ve been sitting here for the past year, waiting until our beloved emperor remembers that we are, in fact, here.
Velasco: Indeed.
MvB: And until that time, we are the victims of every Irishman with a ladle and pot. And a very large pile of mint.
Deus: At least we got away from the sea. Mint fish stew might be the worst dish in the world.
Mr Mac: Yeah, but it’s really terrible that a man of my skill can’t find employment here. All you have to do is threaten to feed them minted fish with mint sauce and they confess to anything.
Deus: True. I’d confess to anything to if that were the threat. If they guaranteed that I’d not spend my prison time in Ireland at any rate.
Velasco: You know, I have been digging in this hillside and many others, but I haven’t found a single emerald. They should call it the Goey Wet clay Isle.
Deus: Or the Minty Fresh Breath Isle.
Mr Mac: Or the Sodding Soaked Isle.
Dr Jestor: I FOUND IT! I FOUND IT!
MvB: I must admit I was very impressed by your ability to convince dr Jestor that rivers flow upstream in Ireland, Admiral Der Kinderen.
The_K: Uh, they don’t?
The_K2: Have another drink that. I wonder what he’s found this time?
Velasco: A rusty sword.
Deus: Karl Martell’s head.
There was a hopeful, watchful, silence.
MvB: It looks like another rusty sword. I shudder to think what he might intend to use it for.
The_K: Probably something invasive.
MvB: I know why it’s called the Emerald Isle.
Velasco: Yes, my lord?
MvB: It’s the mold.
Deus: Could very well be the mold. It is sort of greenish grey. It would probably be quite bright in the sun. If there were any sun.
Karolus der Kinderen: I say, is it me or is the rain letting up?
All: It’s you.
Meantime, in a country far, far away.
Edward, Emperor of Byzantium: AARRHG!
Spymaster Jocelyn: ( Is it me or has this program a limited number of names?) Yes, cousin Edward?
Edward: What did I just trip over?
Spymaster Jocelyn: I think it’s one of those towers of Babel your new courtiers keep building.
Edward: It’s four inches high!
Jocelyn: Well, they’re not very good at building them, and they’re dirt poor, so they take loans to build them.
Edward: I see. What kind of money are we talking about?
Jocelyn: Several hundred punds. Per loan.
Edward: Uhuh. And who lends them these sums, considering that they are insane and have no income?
Jocelyn: We do.
Edward: WHAT!?
Jocelyn: We also supply the building materials, through a Danish company. The Little Egotistical Greedy Oik company. They charge 20 pounds for a one inch block.
Edward: We give these people loans so they can line the pockets of some Danish merchants? Somehow that doesn’t fit my vision of an economically sound realtionship.
Jocelyn:They are a subsidiary of International Lombard Rip-offs ltd., which is a subsidiary of International Jewish Moneylenders Cost Piety Saving and Loans Inc, ltd, which is a subsidiary daughter of Fugger-Augsburg Theatrical Productions, which is a part of Scottish National Kiltwearing Maniac Insurance, which is wholy owned by International Norman Monarchs Inc.
Edward: Huh?
Jocelyn: They’re paying you with the money you lend them.
Edward: Ah. Which leaves the question why said towers have to be build right in front of my throne. And why is a man in a turban sniffing my crotch?
Jocelyn: He’s insane?
Edward: You’re meaning being only someone insane would sniff my crotch?
Jocelyn: Uhm…
Edward: Oh, look, now he’s pissing against my throne. Maybe I should have him put down…
Grand Inquisitor and Papal Legate Cardinal Archbishop Penny Cinquanta: HERETIC!! EVIL HERETIC!! HARBORER OF EVIL HERETICS!!
Edward, looking around in some confusion: Umm, do you mean me?
PC: HE’S EVIL!! YOU ARE EVIL!! YOU ARE ALL EVIL!!! HERETICS!!! BURN!!!
Edward: Yes. Well. I think we have established that we are heretics and evil. Now, could we get to the reason for these aspersions?
PC: HERETIC!!! EVIL!!! BURN!! BURN!!! BURN SOME MORE!!!
Edward: Oh, good grief.
PC: HERETIC!!! EVIL!!! DEVIL WORSHIPPER!! NECROMANCER (JON)!!! BURN!!!
Edward: If you don’t start making sense soon, I shall be forced to order my guards to use extreme violence.
PC: BURN!!! HERETIC!!! BURN!!! HERETIC!!!
Edward: Captain, if you please, kindly remove some of the good cardinal’s appendages. You may start with the ones the church says he doesn’t need. Use a fruit knife, they’re nice and blunt.
PC: Umm. There are a large number of heretics living at your court spreading the false beliefs of Islam?
Edward: Ah. You are referring to those gentlemen and ladies who are engaged upon building various towers of Babel, attempt to kill each other and generally making the palace a more exciting place to live in?
PC: Uhm, yes?
Edward: I see. Well, I see no reason for preventing you from enacting whatever sick fantasies a professional celibate could think up to do with a bunch of geriatric madmen.
PC: You know your majesty, you take all the joy out of these tasks.
Jocelyn: Yeah, Edward, you are a spoilsport.
Edward: I do my best.
FaP: Hoots! Kingy! Your Red-hattedness! M!
Edward: Oh, good grief. What is it now?
FaP: One o’yer kids hae ben ridin’ recklessly wild thru the woods, ye ken. Edmund, ye ken.
Edward: Edmund, yes, I ken, I mean, I know. Tell him to knock it off, or I’ll knock him off.
FaP: Ooch! Sech tender parenting? Canna ye see tha the puir wee lad is asking for some fatherly attention?
Edward: He’s my nephew. He’s fifteen years old. Tell him that if he does it again, I’ll clip him ‘round the earhole. And make him personal assistant to you.
PC: I say! That’s a bit grim! Youthly spirit and all!
Edward: Oh, go torture some heretic. Oh, and ask my nephew where he found a wood in this frigging desert!
AAM: SIRE!!
Edward: What? What’s up today? Everybody just barges in without knocking,
Jocelyn: There’s no door, you know.
Edward: Shut up, screaming loudly and demanding, I am the king you know!
AAM: Sorry Sire! Important news! Pigs have been discovered in Île de France!
Edward: Discovered doing what? Riding Tricycles?
AAM: Ummm, no just discovered. Umm, look, I just carry messages, I don’t do philosophy!
Edward: I am surrounded by idiots!
Some mad Arab: AROOOOO!!!!
Edward: And madmen. If you’ll excuse me, I will take him for a walk.
PC: But sire, it is 49°C in the shade!
Edward: Didn’t you know? Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noon-day sun?
In a hole in the ground there lived a Russian. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a Russian hole, and that meant discomfort. The Russian hole was wet, but not filled with the ends of worms, since the inhabitants had eaten them all. And they would have killed, yes killed, for an oozy smell. I shall let you imagine the actual smell. Then there was the hole during a rainstorm. And the hole in a dry spell. And the worst was the hole in winter. Actually, there was something to eat (sheep) and something to sit on (sheep again). Additionally, the Russian had the disadvantage of having companions. Not thirteen dwarves and a rather supercilious wizard, no, that at least would have been food for a story, no Leonid’s companions were a Portuguese with a growing mutton obsession, a madman who called himself “The whispering wind” who could fart the entire Norman anthem. And did. Hence, the wish for an oozy smell. Another madman, who spent most of his time glaring at the others. Especially the sheep. The final member of the miss-matched company was an annoyingly cheerful young man who insisted everything would be allright and that at least the growing number of sheep were providing food, seating and insulation, and the smell was secondary to that. Now in the normal stage of narrative causality, the four men would escape in some daring manner. Knowing the calibre of het escape plan that would be thought up by these particular four men, it would fail anyway. And it would just be embarrassing. I say, sod to narrative causality. So lets go elsewhere.
The Irish country side. A motley collection of great British nobles sat gloomily on a hill in the middle of the Emerald Isles. It was raining. Hard. Previously it had been raining a little. Before that, there had been a light drizzle and before that, oh , surprise, it had been hailing. The hillside smelled of crushed mint, as did the adjacent valley. The very waters of the streams exuded the strong, minty smell. A man was diving into the streams at random, apparently looking for something.
MvB: Right. So we’ve been sitting here for the past year, waiting until our beloved emperor remembers that we are, in fact, here.
Velasco: Indeed.
MvB: And until that time, we are the victims of every Irishman with a ladle and pot. And a very large pile of mint.
Deus: At least we got away from the sea. Mint fish stew might be the worst dish in the world.
Mr Mac: Yeah, but it’s really terrible that a man of my skill can’t find employment here. All you have to do is threaten to feed them minted fish with mint sauce and they confess to anything.
Deus: True. I’d confess to anything to if that were the threat. If they guaranteed that I’d not spend my prison time in Ireland at any rate.
Velasco: You know, I have been digging in this hillside and many others, but I haven’t found a single emerald. They should call it the Goey Wet clay Isle.
Deus: Or the Minty Fresh Breath Isle.
Mr Mac: Or the Sodding Soaked Isle.
Dr Jestor: I FOUND IT! I FOUND IT!
MvB: I must admit I was very impressed by your ability to convince dr Jestor that rivers flow upstream in Ireland, Admiral Der Kinderen.
The_K: Uh, they don’t?
The_K2: Have another drink that. I wonder what he’s found this time?
Velasco: A rusty sword.
Deus: Karl Martell’s head.
There was a hopeful, watchful, silence.
MvB: It looks like another rusty sword. I shudder to think what he might intend to use it for.
The_K: Probably something invasive.
MvB: I know why it’s called the Emerald Isle.
Velasco: Yes, my lord?
MvB: It’s the mold.
Deus: Could very well be the mold. It is sort of greenish grey. It would probably be quite bright in the sun. If there were any sun.
Karolus der Kinderen: I say, is it me or is the rain letting up?
All: It’s you.
Meantime, in a country far, far away.
Edward, Emperor of Byzantium: AARRHG!
Spymaster Jocelyn: ( Is it me or has this program a limited number of names?) Yes, cousin Edward?
Edward: What did I just trip over?
Spymaster Jocelyn: I think it’s one of those towers of Babel your new courtiers keep building.
Edward: It’s four inches high!
Jocelyn: Well, they’re not very good at building them, and they’re dirt poor, so they take loans to build them.
Edward: I see. What kind of money are we talking about?
Jocelyn: Several hundred punds. Per loan.
Edward: Uhuh. And who lends them these sums, considering that they are insane and have no income?
Jocelyn: We do.
Edward: WHAT!?
Jocelyn: We also supply the building materials, through a Danish company. The Little Egotistical Greedy Oik company. They charge 20 pounds for a one inch block.
Edward: We give these people loans so they can line the pockets of some Danish merchants? Somehow that doesn’t fit my vision of an economically sound realtionship.
Jocelyn:They are a subsidiary of International Lombard Rip-offs ltd., which is a subsidiary of International Jewish Moneylenders Cost Piety Saving and Loans Inc, ltd, which is a subsidiary daughter of Fugger-Augsburg Theatrical Productions, which is a part of Scottish National Kiltwearing Maniac Insurance, which is wholy owned by International Norman Monarchs Inc.
Edward: Huh?
Jocelyn: They’re paying you with the money you lend them.
Edward: Ah. Which leaves the question why said towers have to be build right in front of my throne. And why is a man in a turban sniffing my crotch?
Jocelyn: He’s insane?
Edward: You’re meaning being only someone insane would sniff my crotch?
Jocelyn: Uhm…
Edward: Oh, look, now he’s pissing against my throne. Maybe I should have him put down…
Grand Inquisitor and Papal Legate Cardinal Archbishop Penny Cinquanta: HERETIC!! EVIL HERETIC!! HARBORER OF EVIL HERETICS!!
Edward, looking around in some confusion: Umm, do you mean me?
PC: HE’S EVIL!! YOU ARE EVIL!! YOU ARE ALL EVIL!!! HERETICS!!! BURN!!!
Edward: Yes. Well. I think we have established that we are heretics and evil. Now, could we get to the reason for these aspersions?
PC: HERETIC!!! EVIL!!! BURN!! BURN!!! BURN SOME MORE!!!
Edward: Oh, good grief.
PC: HERETIC!!! EVIL!!! DEVIL WORSHIPPER!! NECROMANCER (JON)!!! BURN!!!
Edward: If you don’t start making sense soon, I shall be forced to order my guards to use extreme violence.
PC: BURN!!! HERETIC!!! BURN!!! HERETIC!!!
Edward: Captain, if you please, kindly remove some of the good cardinal’s appendages. You may start with the ones the church says he doesn’t need. Use a fruit knife, they’re nice and blunt.
PC: Umm. There are a large number of heretics living at your court spreading the false beliefs of Islam?
Edward: Ah. You are referring to those gentlemen and ladies who are engaged upon building various towers of Babel, attempt to kill each other and generally making the palace a more exciting place to live in?
PC: Uhm, yes?
Edward: I see. Well, I see no reason for preventing you from enacting whatever sick fantasies a professional celibate could think up to do with a bunch of geriatric madmen.
PC: You know your majesty, you take all the joy out of these tasks.
Jocelyn: Yeah, Edward, you are a spoilsport.
Edward: I do my best.
FaP: Hoots! Kingy! Your Red-hattedness! M!
Edward: Oh, good grief. What is it now?
FaP: One o’yer kids hae ben ridin’ recklessly wild thru the woods, ye ken. Edmund, ye ken.
Edward: Edmund, yes, I ken, I mean, I know. Tell him to knock it off, or I’ll knock him off.
FaP: Ooch! Sech tender parenting? Canna ye see tha the puir wee lad is asking for some fatherly attention?
Edward: He’s my nephew. He’s fifteen years old. Tell him that if he does it again, I’ll clip him ‘round the earhole. And make him personal assistant to you.
PC: I say! That’s a bit grim! Youthly spirit and all!
Edward: Oh, go torture some heretic. Oh, and ask my nephew where he found a wood in this frigging desert!
AAM: SIRE!!
Edward: What? What’s up today? Everybody just barges in without knocking,
Jocelyn: There’s no door, you know.
Edward: Shut up, screaming loudly and demanding, I am the king you know!
AAM: Sorry Sire! Important news! Pigs have been discovered in Île de France!
Edward: Discovered doing what? Riding Tricycles?
AAM: Ummm, no just discovered. Umm, look, I just carry messages, I don’t do philosophy!
Edward: I am surrounded by idiots!
Some mad Arab: AROOOOO!!!!
Edward: And madmen. If you’ll excuse me, I will take him for a walk.
PC: But sire, it is 49°C in the shade!
Edward: Didn’t you know? Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noon-day sun?
Welcome Grim Pagan. Now there's a useful name. Where were you when I started this thing?
Sorry for the long, long wait, but I have been working on another AAR in a totally different style, buried family, been ill and have, I admit it, neglected this board. I shall make up for it. I hope my loyal readers, and the others too, will return. Only a few more chapters, and then it will be te end of the Norman Empire...
So I will now open a poll:
What should Dead William do?
A) Get Lost
B) Export this game and continue in EUII
C) Manipulate the savegame and then continue in EU II
D) Start another humorous AAR in CK
E) See What he can do with EU, Vicky or HOI2 (Not Vicki, please not Vicki!)
F) Just write anything he pleases
Please note that like all good governments I will take note of your answers and then use them to twist into the answer I want.
And now for something at least slightly different: This one is for my great aunt, Anne. May God rest her soul. No one else could possibly handle her.
The Emperor Edward was working on routine matters. The problem of Empires was that though great decions had to be occassionally made, they could be made for the entire Empire. Routine just grew bigger with every province he conquered. The current routine concerned the wool trade, the cloth trade and the import of alum from his Byzantine possessions. It was dull and boring, but large amounts of his revenue came from the cloth and wool trade, so this routine has his full attentention. But it was still dull.
After about an hour he stood up with some difficulty, and using the two crutches he had with difficulty become accustomed too, carefully manouevred himself to the edge of the garden and then out into the cloistered walk. With infinite care and considerable pain he traversed the cloister and opened the door into the Garden of the House of God, the more private garden of the episcopal palace. He sat down on the shadowed side of the fountain that played gently in the center. Edward felt old. He had survived two wives and several of his children, he had two badly damaged legs and a mostly useless left arm, wore two dental plates and lately his stomach and heart were troubling him. As he felt now, he was certain he would not last out the year. He knew that his orders to find him a new wife were likely to result in a young widow if he actually decided to go through with it. And the prospective brides were not really promising. One of his Bride testers had been offered to test a young lady’s ability at Greek in a manner that had quite shocked the bishop of Durham, though not the young tester himself. Edward had sniggered upon reading that, which had caused a coughing fit. He just hoped he would not die before he saw the culmination of Operation Dead, Dead, Dead, Russkie. There had been singularly little news dfrom the east in the last few weeks. Edward felt old, ill, depressed and severely wounded. It didn’t help that he was old, ill, depressed and severely wounded. It made The added responsibilities of his ever increasing personal demesne had stressed him greatly and he felt that his end was near and galloping nearer with indecent haste. Edward sighed. It was at this time that he heard a conversation. Unwilling to face anyone, the Emperor sank into the shadows and let the coolth of the fountain’s vapour play over his face. The people in the courtyard had to be fairly important officials, other wise they would not dare enter the place. And Edward felt no desire whatsoever to have a nice, bracing talk about politics. Despite his ailments his ears and hearing were still quite good, and he quickly reconized the dry, legal delivery of het Elder D. Rexus, a man much disappointed in his offspring.
D. Rexus: No.
Edward strained his ears and wondered if his old skills at lip reading and listening through the noise of the clattering water were still good enough to eavesdrop.
The second voice was female and slightly snippy. For some reason Edward imagined her as freckled, spindly and red-haired. “Grandfather, I cannot see why you persist in idiotically promoting my moronic brothers and cousins, who, if I may remind you, are not exactly being a success on the labourmarket, to positions of trust in the firm, nor do I understand why you seek to place as many of these raging incompetents in the Royal administration!”
D. Rexus: “As you very well know a certain amount of nepotism is inevitable in these cases. And your brothers and cousins have done fairly well.”
The girls voice rang out, scornfully and without the muted obedience that well bred young women were supposed to display: “Hah! Drogo barely escaped the murderous hands of some stupid Russian count, Dirko and Darko are hopeless morons and Dumbo has the wit of an incipient madman!”
D. Rexus: “Yes, all true. They have, however, one major advantage over you my dear.”
The girlish voice rose high in scorn: “Oh, yes, they are superior males! HAH!”
D. Rexus: “The Emperor is just not interested in female courtiers. All of his main advisors are male, an event which has not occurred in hundreds of years. I do not think you could have any position at the court except maybe as mistress to some noble, the Emperor being who he is and uninterested in relationships outside wedlock.”
The girl’s voice rose in even greater scorn, if such a thing was possible: “Oh, the great Emperor! The mighty Emperor! Edward the Lame! He can’t even write decent Aramaic poetry and his translations of Aristotle are pitiful! PITIFUL! His analysis of the fourth chapter is sickening in it’s inaccuracy, no self respecting scholar would allow so many glaring errors to continue!”
D. Rexus: “Yes, well, I cannot deny that he is lame. But I contend that his bad poetry is not a lack of Aramaic, merely a lack of talent. And it does not detract from the fact that he is the Emperor.”
Edward leaned back into the shadows even further, smiling. He always enjoyed the old lawyer’s discomfort when one of his grandsons had managed to mess up a simple mission or had done something of truly monumentally stupid proportions. It sounded like the young lady was able to make her grandfather squirm.
She spoke up again: “If he was any sort of real man, he would be done with the entire lot of morons you have been sending him, trucking them of to the farthest reaches of the realm, to disappear or be killed! Instead he gives them positions of trust and importance!”
It was quiet for a bit.
D. Rexus: “To disappear or be killed… Hmmm, I am sensing a pattern here.”
A loud sniff declared the young lady’s disdain for any patterns discerned by her grandfather. “Pshaw! A very simple pattern , visible to all, if it was devised by that moronic, posing simpleton who is Emperor!”
An hiss of breath escaped the old lawyer’s lips: “Be silent! Do you realize that the Emperor has spies everywhere? He could have you flayed and skinned and served at our annual family baquet if he wished without us ever finding out!”
This time the reply was almost a snort: “Pshaw! The old fool doesn’t even know his Steward, his own son, is having an affair! Everybody knows that! And the old fool even had the gall to put the woman next to Princess Blanche! The misstress was so embarrased she stopped seeing the prince for a whole week and the princess kicked the prince so hard he could not walk for a week! And even then he couldn’t do much!”
Edward could almost see the mortification on the elderly lawyer’s face now. The little, almost unnoticeable, tic in his left eyelid when things started to get dangerous. The slight movement of the adam’s apple, the trembling of the little finger, all the signs.
D. Rexus: “Deirdre, for heaven’s sake, please, be quiet! If the Emperor hears of your treason, he’ll have us all on the rack!”
Edward smiled to himself. Deirdre. Well, now he knew for certain that this was the rambunctious but highly intelligent third granddaughter of the elderly lawyer and by far the most interesting.Moving as silently as possible he slipped out of the shadows. He felt almost young again as he stepped up behind the young girl, his footfalls masked by the patter of the fountain. His memory flashed back to his father’s instructions on walking softly, though Gerald had had other occassions in mind. Deirdre assumed that her grandfather’s sudden paleness was a result of her latest treasonous remark.
Deirdre Rexus: “Hah! The old fool can’t even hold his own people in check! There are three dukes on the edge of revolt in Germany, and he hasn’t done anything about them! HAH! So much for your great all-knowing God-Emperor! He couldn’t be Emperor of a sand dune!”
Edward: “Five dukes, actually. They will swiftly return to worshipful loyalty once they realise my Flemish armies and the French dukes are still utterly loyal and quite willing to go to war. I think the miniature solid gold axe, sword, and imitation hangman’s ropes I sent to each of them might have helped, but you can’t beat a good army, I always say.”
Edward had a fine view of the old man’s face as he tried manfully to think of a strategy that would salvage at least something from the wreckage his granddaughter’s far too free tongue had caused to be washed up on the previously calm sandy beaches of his life. He also saw the young woman’s neck grow deathly pale and the swift, almost instinctive movement of her right hand to her girdle, where her ornamental dagger hung.
Sorry for the long, long wait, but I have been working on another AAR in a totally different style, buried family, been ill and have, I admit it, neglected this board. I shall make up for it. I hope my loyal readers, and the others too, will return. Only a few more chapters, and then it will be te end of the Norman Empire...
So I will now open a poll:
What should Dead William do?
A) Get Lost
B) Export this game and continue in EUII
C) Manipulate the savegame and then continue in EU II
D) Start another humorous AAR in CK
E) See What he can do with EU, Vicky or HOI2 (Not Vicki, please not Vicki!)
F) Just write anything he pleases
Please note that like all good governments I will take note of your answers and then use them to twist into the answer I want.
And now for something at least slightly different: This one is for my great aunt, Anne. May God rest her soul. No one else could possibly handle her.
The Emperor Edward was working on routine matters. The problem of Empires was that though great decions had to be occassionally made, they could be made for the entire Empire. Routine just grew bigger with every province he conquered. The current routine concerned the wool trade, the cloth trade and the import of alum from his Byzantine possessions. It was dull and boring, but large amounts of his revenue came from the cloth and wool trade, so this routine has his full attentention. But it was still dull.
After about an hour he stood up with some difficulty, and using the two crutches he had with difficulty become accustomed too, carefully manouevred himself to the edge of the garden and then out into the cloistered walk. With infinite care and considerable pain he traversed the cloister and opened the door into the Garden of the House of God, the more private garden of the episcopal palace. He sat down on the shadowed side of the fountain that played gently in the center. Edward felt old. He had survived two wives and several of his children, he had two badly damaged legs and a mostly useless left arm, wore two dental plates and lately his stomach and heart were troubling him. As he felt now, he was certain he would not last out the year. He knew that his orders to find him a new wife were likely to result in a young widow if he actually decided to go through with it. And the prospective brides were not really promising. One of his Bride testers had been offered to test a young lady’s ability at Greek in a manner that had quite shocked the bishop of Durham, though not the young tester himself. Edward had sniggered upon reading that, which had caused a coughing fit. He just hoped he would not die before he saw the culmination of Operation Dead, Dead, Dead, Russkie. There had been singularly little news dfrom the east in the last few weeks. Edward felt old, ill, depressed and severely wounded. It didn’t help that he was old, ill, depressed and severely wounded. It made The added responsibilities of his ever increasing personal demesne had stressed him greatly and he felt that his end was near and galloping nearer with indecent haste. Edward sighed. It was at this time that he heard a conversation. Unwilling to face anyone, the Emperor sank into the shadows and let the coolth of the fountain’s vapour play over his face. The people in the courtyard had to be fairly important officials, other wise they would not dare enter the place. And Edward felt no desire whatsoever to have a nice, bracing talk about politics. Despite his ailments his ears and hearing were still quite good, and he quickly reconized the dry, legal delivery of het Elder D. Rexus, a man much disappointed in his offspring.
D. Rexus: No.
Edward strained his ears and wondered if his old skills at lip reading and listening through the noise of the clattering water were still good enough to eavesdrop.
The second voice was female and slightly snippy. For some reason Edward imagined her as freckled, spindly and red-haired. “Grandfather, I cannot see why you persist in idiotically promoting my moronic brothers and cousins, who, if I may remind you, are not exactly being a success on the labourmarket, to positions of trust in the firm, nor do I understand why you seek to place as many of these raging incompetents in the Royal administration!”
D. Rexus: “As you very well know a certain amount of nepotism is inevitable in these cases. And your brothers and cousins have done fairly well.”
The girls voice rang out, scornfully and without the muted obedience that well bred young women were supposed to display: “Hah! Drogo barely escaped the murderous hands of some stupid Russian count, Dirko and Darko are hopeless morons and Dumbo has the wit of an incipient madman!”
D. Rexus: “Yes, all true. They have, however, one major advantage over you my dear.”
The girlish voice rose high in scorn: “Oh, yes, they are superior males! HAH!”
D. Rexus: “The Emperor is just not interested in female courtiers. All of his main advisors are male, an event which has not occurred in hundreds of years. I do not think you could have any position at the court except maybe as mistress to some noble, the Emperor being who he is and uninterested in relationships outside wedlock.”
The girl’s voice rose in even greater scorn, if such a thing was possible: “Oh, the great Emperor! The mighty Emperor! Edward the Lame! He can’t even write decent Aramaic poetry and his translations of Aristotle are pitiful! PITIFUL! His analysis of the fourth chapter is sickening in it’s inaccuracy, no self respecting scholar would allow so many glaring errors to continue!”
D. Rexus: “Yes, well, I cannot deny that he is lame. But I contend that his bad poetry is not a lack of Aramaic, merely a lack of talent. And it does not detract from the fact that he is the Emperor.”
Edward leaned back into the shadows even further, smiling. He always enjoyed the old lawyer’s discomfort when one of his grandsons had managed to mess up a simple mission or had done something of truly monumentally stupid proportions. It sounded like the young lady was able to make her grandfather squirm.
She spoke up again: “If he was any sort of real man, he would be done with the entire lot of morons you have been sending him, trucking them of to the farthest reaches of the realm, to disappear or be killed! Instead he gives them positions of trust and importance!”
It was quiet for a bit.
D. Rexus: “To disappear or be killed… Hmmm, I am sensing a pattern here.”
A loud sniff declared the young lady’s disdain for any patterns discerned by her grandfather. “Pshaw! A very simple pattern , visible to all, if it was devised by that moronic, posing simpleton who is Emperor!”
An hiss of breath escaped the old lawyer’s lips: “Be silent! Do you realize that the Emperor has spies everywhere? He could have you flayed and skinned and served at our annual family baquet if he wished without us ever finding out!”
This time the reply was almost a snort: “Pshaw! The old fool doesn’t even know his Steward, his own son, is having an affair! Everybody knows that! And the old fool even had the gall to put the woman next to Princess Blanche! The misstress was so embarrased she stopped seeing the prince for a whole week and the princess kicked the prince so hard he could not walk for a week! And even then he couldn’t do much!”
Edward could almost see the mortification on the elderly lawyer’s face now. The little, almost unnoticeable, tic in his left eyelid when things started to get dangerous. The slight movement of the adam’s apple, the trembling of the little finger, all the signs.
D. Rexus: “Deirdre, for heaven’s sake, please, be quiet! If the Emperor hears of your treason, he’ll have us all on the rack!”
Edward smiled to himself. Deirdre. Well, now he knew for certain that this was the rambunctious but highly intelligent third granddaughter of the elderly lawyer and by far the most interesting.Moving as silently as possible he slipped out of the shadows. He felt almost young again as he stepped up behind the young girl, his footfalls masked by the patter of the fountain. His memory flashed back to his father’s instructions on walking softly, though Gerald had had other occassions in mind. Deirdre assumed that her grandfather’s sudden paleness was a result of her latest treasonous remark.
Deirdre Rexus: “Hah! The old fool can’t even hold his own people in check! There are three dukes on the edge of revolt in Germany, and he hasn’t done anything about them! HAH! So much for your great all-knowing God-Emperor! He couldn’t be Emperor of a sand dune!”
Edward: “Five dukes, actually. They will swiftly return to worshipful loyalty once they realise my Flemish armies and the French dukes are still utterly loyal and quite willing to go to war. I think the miniature solid gold axe, sword, and imitation hangman’s ropes I sent to each of them might have helped, but you can’t beat a good army, I always say.”
Edward had a fine view of the old man’s face as he tried manfully to think of a strategy that would salvage at least something from the wreckage his granddaughter’s far too free tongue had caused to be washed up on the previously calm sandy beaches of his life. He also saw the young woman’s neck grow deathly pale and the swift, almost instinctive movement of her right hand to her girdle, where her ornamental dagger hung.
Oh dear, one of the few good offspring I have is about to do something really stupid.... proving that the apple really doesn't fall that far from the tree, eh? Whatever she does, I truly hope the Emperor has some mercy on her young foolishness.
Oh, my vote is B, C, or E, leaning toward C... but whatever you do, have fun with it!!
Oh, my vote is B, C, or E, leaning toward C... but whatever you do, have fun with it!!
your sense of humor is catching,so whatever you do have fun with it. and make sure your loyal fans know about it.
But LEGO? :rofl:
But LEGO? :rofl: