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    Real Strategy Requires Cunning

WingedLion14

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CAN EUROPEAN SWALLOWS CARRY COCONUTS?


[HR][/HR]
Welcome to the newest AAR on the Paradox forums, Can European Swallows Carry Coconuts?, my first attempt at an AAR. To any Monty Python or Spamalot fans out there, I will be writing a narrative comedy AAR. Just as Monty Python and Spamalot begin in England, our tale will start as William the Conqueror in 1066, shortly after installing himself as the King of England, but if another land becomes more interesting, then by all means, we will journey there!

Now, before I begin, I’ll be the first to admit that, especially at the start, I’ll be dropping a lot of references to Spamalot and other movies, plays, books, etc., and in a few instances may have cameos of characters from them, so here’s the obligatory disclaimer:
Unfortunately, I don’t own any of these characters, or else I’d be a really really rich guy, but I don’t, so I’m not.

And now, house rules/game info:
1. Humor rules, and a good story, not good gameplay, is funny. So sometimes game-wise, what I’m doing may not make sense (and, frankly, I’m not that good anyway), and sometimes, someplace else may strike my fancy. I’ll say right now, I’m not going to devote myself to the de Normandie dynasty, or even England.
2. If it’s insane, it’s probably a good idea
3. I don’t own any DLC. At all. So there will be no gameplay as Muslims, or Pagans, or fending off Aztec invasions in Switzerland…although that last one would be in the spirit of the AAR, I think.

Also, just an FYI, updates will be highly inconsistent due to school and real life. Sorry about that, but I can't really control it. I'll post whenever I have enough of a story to update.

And, of course, any and all comments are not only welcome, but appreciated and encouraged.
 

unmerged(271387)

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:rofl:
I will definatly follow this.
 

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Part I: I Guess You’d Call it Budget Cuts…

The autumn breeze chilled the evening air as the sun set over a forest in the west of England. The year was 1066, a depressing time for the Anglo-Saxon nobles of the land, who, once united under the great King Arthur of Camelot – or so the legends say – now sat, humiliated, subservient to the Norman conqueror. As the light began to dim and the crickets began to sing, a strange sound cut through the silence:

Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.

The man stood regal, excessively regal, in fact, as if he wanted to show once and for all that he was royalty. His armor glowed silver in the fading light, while the sword at his belt glinted in the autumn sunset. A solid gold crown encircled his head, calling attention away from his battle-scarred face.

He walked with a skip, his arms outstretched in front of him and his hands appeared to grasp a rope of the air. Behind him skipped a boy, no older than sixteen, holding something in his hands, banging them together to make a sound:
Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.

“Steady…steady…woooooooow,” the older man said, rearing backwards and coming to a halt. The young man behind him followed suit and ceased the banging. They had stopped between two wooden towers, decorated with the standards of the old, legendary kings of the Britons. A head appeared from the one on the left.

“Who goes there? Name yourself,” the sentry ordered.

The older man stepped forward. “I am your king, William of Normandy, lord and ruler of all. King of England, King of Scotland, and even little tiny bits of Gaul.”


The King of England, William the Conqueror, and his trusty squire.​

The guard snorted. “And I’m the emperor of Egypt, mate. Bloody hell, bugger off and leave me be.”

The younger man bowed, saying, “If I may, Mr. Sentry, he is William, Conqueror of England, Ruler of Scotland –“

“I wonder if the King of Scotland agrees with you on that one.”

“…and we’re out riding to search for the bravest and noblest knights of the realm, for only the most chivalrous may come sit at the Round Table.”

The guard laughed. “The Round Table? Since when? That’s the stuff of myths and legends.”

“Nonsense,” William scoffed. “The Knights of the Round Table were always the most chivalrous of all the kingdoms of England, the bravest knights who always answered the call of the King – and of God Almighty.”

“That’s why we’re out here, sir,” the young squire continued. “We’re riding throughout the kingdoms of the great land of England to search for the greatest and the noblest.”

“Riding, you say. I don’t suppose you’d mean on horses,” the guard returned.

The King was taken aback. “Of course, what else would we ride on, poodles?”

“You’re using coconuts!”

“Excuse me?!?!?”

The guard sighed. “You’ve got two halves of a coconut, and you’re banging them together. You ain’t got no horses.”

The king toed the ground with his left foot, his eyes wandering in the distance. “There’s been some, ah, budget cuts, you see. And the horses were the first to go – it simply cost too much to keep the stables, you understand. Stableboys’ salaries, the risk of fires, kerosene for the lamps, and hay, oh, so much hay.”

“Well, I suppose I understand that, my own lord hasn’t paid me in months. But where in the world did you find a coconut?”

“We found it.”

“In Mercia?”

“Well, technically we’re not going to call it that anymore, it’s now –“

“I don’t care. Where the bloody hell did you find a coconut? We’re in a temperate zone, coconuts grow in the tropics.”

“Uh, it traveled here.”

“Are you suggesting that coconuts migrate?”

“No, I’m suggesting coconuts just pick up and move because they don’t get along with their neighbors. I don’t know, maybe swallows carried it.”

Suddenly a man appeared from the other guard tower. “What are you talking about?”

The left guard turned to the right guard. “Can European swallows carry coconuts?”


“Hmmmm…” The right guard stroked his chin. “An interesting question…let’s see, the force generated by gravity requires a certain amount of force to overcome, and a swallow can generate only so much force per flap, which means…hold on, let me grab paper and pencil.” He disappeared back into the tower.

The right guard looked down, stroking his chin. “Maybe not European swallows, but what about African ones?”

“Sentry, do not ignore your king. Stop babbling about swallows and tell me where I can find the lord of this estate,” the King fumed.

Suddenly the right guard returned, saying, “…which brings us to 43 flaps per minute.” He looked across at the other sentry and yelled. “Forty-three flaps per minute. There’s no way a European swallow could do that.”

“Thought so, but what about African ones.”

“Aye, they could, they’re strong beasts. But they don’t migrate, I think.”

“Will you PLEASE just tell your lord that the King of England is here to see him, and then continue on with your ludicrous discussion about swallows?!?”

“Listen, maybe you’re not getting this, stranger,” the left guard continued, “but it’s a simple measure of weight ratios – a swallow cannot carry a coconut more than twice its size. It’s simply not humanly possible.”

The king looked at his squire and sighed. “Enough is enough. Mount up and move out.” Each man stretched his right foot over an invisible horse, stretched out his hands in front of him to grab nonexistent reins, and skipped off to the tune of the coconut.

When they had gone, the right guard asked the left guard, “By the way, who was this fella you were talking swallows with?”

The left guard, turning from the window, replied, “Some sort of king I suppose.”

“Well what makes you say that?”

“First off, he ain’t covered in #$@!”

[video=youtube;liIlW-ovx0Y]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=liIlW-ovx0Y[/video]​

[HR][/HR]

Well, here's my first real post. It's kind of an introduction and an attempt to set the stage before I actually start with the gameplay. As always, comments of all kinds are appreciated and encouraged.
 

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:rofl:
I will definatly follow this.
Thanks for your support before I even made a proper update! Hope it lives up to your expectations
 

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Part II: We are the Knights of the Round Table!

Triumphantly with a large retinue the King galloped…err, coconut-ed, into court, back at his own castle overlooking the beautiful city of London. London – the greatest of all the cities in the West, second only to Rome; it was the land of opportunity, the first center of constitutionalism, the capital of an empire that would one day rule the world with a floating wall of steel…At least, that’s what it would become. Now barely 2000 men lived there, twice as many pigs, the city stench so overbearing it made the eyes of outsiders fill with tears, the streets literally paved in…well, you get the idea.

A great host gathered outside the castle to meet him, led by the five members of his great council –



in addition to his son and heir Richard, his most beautiful wife – throngs and throngs of peasants lined the streets for a glimpse of their great king - and see him they did, all six of them.

At the steps of the castle King William turned to address the horde of yawning supporters. “Friends, brethren, my gorgeous wife Padilla -”

“Matilde”

“– Matilde,” the king corrected. “and of course my son Robert –“

“Richard.”

“…I thank you for gathering to greet me upon my triumphant return home after my long journey throughout the land, seeking the bravest and most chivalrous knights of all.”

“You were gone only eight days,” the Queen said.

“And every day away from you is a hundredfold, and those eight days felt like 800, my dear Fredericka.”

“Matilde,” she rebuked.

Richard yawned. “Can I go now? I’m late for my sword-fighting lesson with Frederick Gerbodszoon.”

“Not yet my son. I have gathered the bravest and the noblest, and I cordially invite them all to join me at my very, very, very Round Table,” the King finished. Richard stifled a giggle. “Silence, my son, or you shall not go on that date with the daughter of the guy who raises our swallows.”

“Please do. I hate her; give her to William. I’d much rather you let me go to take up Aines of Aquitaine’s request to go to Phillip Capet’s Valentine’s Day Dance with her!” the young teen whined.


Aines of Aquitaine, who has asked Prince Robert to a dance. How cute.

“Again, silence, or do you want to go to summer school? Hah, didn’t think so…now, as I was saying, first, I would like to give a great thanks to my wonderful council, who, along with my wife, has ruled England while I have searched the countryside, looking for only the bravest and the noblest of all –”

“In the name of the Lord, stop it already!” the Prince-Bishop of Worcester cried. “We’ve heard this spiel enough already! Just get on with it, it’s cold outside, or have you forgotten it’s the first day of the New Year?!?!?!”


Five minutes later, everyone was sitting inside, sitting cozily around the fireplace, sipping hot chocolate, bought off the Viking Black Market. Everyone, that is, except for the first initiates into the Knights of the Round Table. After singing oaths of loyalty, fealty, non-chastity, and belting out the Knights of the Round Table Theme Song –

[video=youtube;lfGpVcdqeS0]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lfGpVcdqeS0[/video]

– they prepared to ceremonially enter the Round Table Totally-Decked-Out Luxury-Party-and-Meeting-Room Room. They were Marshal of England Mayor Lambert of Dorchester Middlesex, Harduin de Gael, Ralf de Gael, Frederick van Oosterzele, and Drogo de Brevere. Many would follow in the coming decades, but these five were the first of the New Order.

“On the count of three,” King William said, “I will open the door, and you may enter the Totally-Decked-Out-Luxury-Party-and-Meeting-Room Room for the first time.” He paused.

“One.

“Two.

“Seventeen.

“Four.

“Eh…what’s next? O, right, THREE!”

The door swung open. The five gasped. Immediately to their left stood a row of Arcade Games, including PacMan, Mrs. PacMan, and the Toy Story Claw. There was a bar on the opposite side of the room, facing the door, twenty-five feet long, and all kinds of wines, beers, liquors, martinis, and sodas any man could ever want. A door to the left of the bar had a sign over it that said, “Enter with Caution. Scenes inside may not be suitable for young children.” A massive stage with three levels of balconies, a state-of-the-art lighting and sounds system, the cast of the Big Bang Theory, and Homer Simpson.


In the middle of it all stood a table, a gorgeous table, a table made of platinum, with gold and silver decorations on the top and sides. The chairs around it were equally as beautiful, with Florentine-made leather seats, adjustable legs, and those really awesome pop-out lounge bottoms.

The place was a guy’s paradise…but it just didn’t feel right in the Round Table Totally-Decked-Out-Luxury-Party-and-Meeting-Room Room.

Finally Frederick spoke up. “It’s a square.”

[HR][/HR]

So this is the first gameplay update, and we haven't even hit pause yet! Don't worry, I will next time.

As always, please comment - suggestions, criticisms, hellos, videos, pictures of cats - it's all appreciated...well, maybe not pictures of cats, but hopefully you get my point.


EDIT: I'm having trouble getting the images to view. Can anyone recommend a site to upload to, besides ImageShack.
 
Last edited:

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I've ended up using Dropbox's Public folder, if it's any help :). It's quite fast to use and should be enough for AARing.

Very good premiere episodes, by the way :D.
 

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I've ended up using Dropbox's Public folder, if it's any help :). It's quite fast to use and should be enough for AARing.

Very good premiere episodes, by the way :D.
Thanks for your help! And thanks for reading!
 

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Part III: Wrong AAR, Peasant!

“And thus, let it be known throughout the land that all able-bodied knights and high-born men are hereby invited to compete in a tournament, a tournament in celebration of my peaceful ascension to the throne of England–”

“Peaceful, sire?” said the young squire. “I guess the Battle of Cannae was a small skirmish then.”


The “peaceful” takeover of the English throne at the Battle of Hastings​

“a chance to prove their worth, and the winners shall become members of the prestigious Knights of the Round Table, complete with access to the Totally-Decked-Out-Luxury-Party-and-Meeting-Room Room and seats among the retinues at the annual Kings’ Christmas Party in Switzerland.”

“Switzerland? Why are the Christmas parties in Switzerland, sire?”

“Well,” the King said in reply, “the pope likes partying where his Swiss Guards are close, and the Council of Guys-with-Pretty-Crowns decreed in 1032 that it would be best if we held the Christmas parties in a neutral country. Since none exist yet, and some random Oracle in Delphi said Switzerland would be a neutral country someday, so we figured, what the hell, why not.”


[HR][/HR]


“Father, when are we going to arrive at the chicken market?” The young boy William skipped along excitedly. For the first time ever, he finally had been deemed old enough to help his father when he was planning a feast, and this was the greatest feast of the generation – the Great Tournament in honor of his father’s victory the year previous.

“Easy, boy,” the King said, skipping in rhythm to the squire’s coconuts. “When we get there, we get there.” He was dressed in plate armor covered in a fur coat, wearing a Russian-style fur hat and big leather boots from Florence; the air was so cold every breath clear to all, despite the fact that winter had not yet come.

They had been travelling through the woods for six hours on “horseback,” en route to a small farm on the south coast of England where, according to the king, the kingdom’s best chickens were raised. For the feast that would open the tournament, he had, there could be nothing but the best. Just then, however, they reached a small hovel sitting next to a small farm, barely an acre in size, and horrible farmland at that. Just over the treeline was a small castle, most likely the fief of a small baron. On a bench reclined a man, about twenty years of age, reading a book.

“Hullo, mate,” William called out, “beautiful day, ain’t it?”

The man looked up. “And who would you be? And what in Marx’s name are you doing with coconuts?”

The King raised left leg and then lowered it, then raised his right, swung it around, and put it down…oh, he was acting like he was getting off a horse…anyways, he then said, “I am William, Conqueror of England, Lord and Ruler of All, King of England, and Scotland, and even little tiny bits of Gaul.”

“I didn’t vote for you.”


The king and his son are confronted by a politically active peasant…he’s crazy…but mostly harmless…I think.

“You don’t vote for kings.”

“Well, then how do you become one.”

“I am William, Conqueror of England, he who came from Normandy to claim what should have been mine by birth, a kingdom originally given to a man named Arthur, he who carried the great sword Excalibur, given to him. The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water, signifying by divine providence that Arthur and his descendants, were to carry Excalibur. THAT is why I am your king.”

“Listen, strange women lyin' in ponds distributin' swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.” The man said.

The king sighed. “Who is your lord?”

The man smirked. “We don’t have one. We’re an autonomous, Marxist collective. We have built a society not based on the exploitation of workers by those who randomly claim the right to, but on the hard work and brotherly attitude of those who were oppressed banding together for their common good.”

“That’s all fine and dandy, but that doesn’t answer my question. Who is your lord?”

“We don’t have one. I just told you.”

“In the name of God, tell me who is in charge!”

“First off, religion is stupid. The Great and Powerful Marx revealed to us in his infinite wisdom that religion is nothing but a means to keep the oppressed in line. His revelations are why we have advanced so far, and why we offer sacrifices to him every third Tuesday for a successful harvest…”

“Sounds like religion to me,” the king interrupted.

“Begone, unbeliever!” the man yelled. “From this day forth, you will be an enemy of the Comintern! Fear us! Fear us!”

The king muttered, "Bloody peasant." Unfortunately, the man heard him.

"See! See! He's already plotting my death. Look at the repression in the system! Look at it!


EDIT: As I've done in previous posts, here's the video from Monty Python and the Holy Grail:

[video=youtube;JvKIWjnEPNY]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JvKIWjnEPNY[/video]

Thanks again for reading!
 
Last edited:

Cornelius Rex

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Ni :rofl:.
 

WingedLion14

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Part IV: BURP


Thousands of knights throughout the realm gather for the chance at glory and honor and to earn a place at the Round Table.​


“Where is your father and Robert? Are they not back yet?” The prince Richard turned to see his mother climbing the last of the stairs.

The prince sighed and looked out over the side of the castle walls. Hundreds of knights stood in the light flurry outside the castle walls, banners flowing in the light wind, each attended by his retainers, some with as many as a hundred men. Thousands more falconers, minstrels, magicians, and smiths (and of course thieves, bandits, and, ahem, ladies) swarmed the surrounding town, turning the relatively small city of London into a bustling metropolis. They were all here for The Grand Tournament – a six-week long feast in honor of the King’s victory at Hastings, complete with two major feasts, a melee free-for-all, falconry challenge, grand hunt, and, of course, the joust, the cornerstone of the whole event. Every knight in the realm had come, save for those in the Duchy of York. Except, of course, for one man.

The King.

He had left two weeks prior for the annual Kings’ Christmas Party, and he had taken his son Robert with him, but they had planned to be back the day before. And yet, here they were, Christmas Eve, the night of the Tournament’s Opening Ceremonies, and still no king in sight. The sun was starting to set, they were supposed to have begun an hour ago.

“Richard, if he doesn’t return within the hour, you’re going to have to commence the celebrations,” the Queen informed him.

“O God, I don’t know whether that would be horrible or hysterical,” the prince’s younger sister Cecilia giggled.

“Silence your tongue, young lady,” the Queen scolded. “Your brother has great experience in addressing crowds – ”

“If by great crowds you mean the Kindergarteners, and if by address you mean Green Eggs and Ham, then, yes, he’s addressed great crowds.”

“Stop. Don’t embarrass him in front of his date,” the Queen ordered.

“MOM!!!!” Richard whined, his face suddenly a tomato, while his date, the young Duchess of Aquitaine, suppressed a smile. Fortunately for the prince, a herald announcing the arrival of his father and brother saved him from further embarrassment.


The prince’s date


[HR][/HR]

The King swayed, unsteady on his feet and leaning against the battlements, and prepared to address the crowd with slurred speech. Standing next to Robert, Richard leaned over and asked what took them so long.

“There’s a lot of kings, many of whom have been on their thrones for decades. Phillipe Capet is barely a man. Dad’s a bastard and installed himself on the throne last year. They both tried to look madly by out-eating, out-drinking, and out-sleeping each other.”

Richard sighed. “And I’m guessing now we’ve got a problem.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yea. He got very little sleep despite being in his room for up to twelve hours at a clip, and, well, right now, he’s pretty sober.”

“Dear Lord, how’d you handle it?”

“I didn’t. We only got here so quickly because the pope lent us two actual horses.”

Robert would’ve laughed out loud if he wasn’t being watched by hundreds of nobles. “You call that quick? And what happened to the horses, you didn’t even use the coconuts when you came back?”

“A sober man realizes you cannot ride a horse after you eat it…a drunk man, not so much.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Robert looked at him slyly. “Twice. I had to hide the coconuts at the bottom of my pack to keep him from eating those too – they’re the only two in the realm.”

“We should buy more.”

Just then, the king coughed and began. “Friends, enemies, falconers, sergeants, priests, US Marines, and Emperor Papaltine, I welcome you to the Grand Tournament of William of Normandy, King of England!” The crowd cheered, though mostly out of politeness.

Cecilia leaned over to Richard and whispered, “Who is Emperor Papaltine? Which are his banners?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

The King continued. “Over these next few hours, err….days…no, weeks. That’s it, weeks. Over these next few weeks, you’ll all experience the greatest feast throughout the kingdom. You’ll watch the greatest…<burp>…knights of the land – not the days, the nights – duel it out in minstreling competitions that will honor the great kings of old, and of course the minstrels will entertain us with their excellent swordplay, and lastly, the falconers shall conclude it all with the largest joust in Christendom.” And with that, the king fell down, flat-out drunk. Everyone gasped, then the entire crowd began to whisper.

The Queen stepped forward and seized the opportunity. “Thank you for coming. We will see you tomorrow night for the Christmas feast."

[video=youtube;4As0e4de-rI]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4As0e4de-rI[/video]

[HR][/HR]

Sorry it took so long for the update, real life got in the way. Fortunately, I still have a few more interesting updates surrounding the Great Tournament...at least, I hope they're interesting and funny...

As always, comments appreciated
 

WingedLion14

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Part V: Not Dead Yet

All the great lords of the realm…well, almost all of them, anyhow, filled the Awesomely-Great Hall of the King as they all sat down to feast. Flocks of geese, herds of goats, schools of fish, fields of wheat, the coffers of the Royal Treasury – all had been emptied to create the greatest celebration in Christendom, besides that for the election of a new pope in Rome (or any antipope, of course). Flocking to court came minstrels from throughout the realm, poets from Greece, painters and sculptors from Florence, and pop stars from Hollywood, a collection of artists rivaled only by the Academy Awards in the good ol’ US of A…wherever/whenever that was.

The King banged a coconut halve against the table; suddenly the Hall silenced, and a thousand eyes turned to the throne. He stood up and said, “Today I invite you here to thank you all for making these grand festivities, well, as grand as they were. Nowhere before had I seen such a display of cunning, courage, and music – it is a testament to the sheer awesomeness of this great land of England. But now I would like to take a step aside and embarrass…err, honor, the winners of the great joust, who shall henceforth join me among my loyal companions at the Round Table, as soon as they sing their vows of loyalty, fealty, and non-chastity. Please rise, Frederick van Oosterzele, third place in the tournament, and Turstin the Low-Born, who has shocked us all with his skill and courage as he took second place.”
The two men rose quickly by the king, gave a quick wave, and sat down just as quickly.

“And now, I present to you, the winner of the Grand Tournament, Count Geoffrey of Essex!”

Thunderous applause filled the Hall...and then so did stained glass, as the great lords got an unexpected look through the torso of Christ in the window to the beautiful landscape of England.

The voice of a man boomed from outside, “You are surrounded by the forces of the Comintern! We fight for the working classes of England, and when they hear we have captured the King and all the great lords, they too will rise up and reveal their Marxist sympathies. All is hopeless – surrender now, and you will merely be killed.” Behind him stood thousands upon thousands of disgruntled farmers and labourers.

“Well then,” the king said. “Looks like he didn’t leave us any options. We’re under siege.”


Just then, a messenger pigeon entered the hall. The King’s chancellor grabbed it, read it, and subsequently passed out. The king’s steward followed suit before the King finally got to it. “Well, then,” he said, “Looks like the Anglo-Saxon Duke of York wants the crown. We’re at war.”

[HR][/HR]

“Bring out yer dead,” the dead collector cried out, dragging a wagon up the street. “Bring out yer dead.”

“I got one,” a man said, dragging a stiff behind him. He was old, very old, and obviously had died recently of some disease, as his skin was yellowed and wrinkled.

“Thank you, ye good sir,” the collector said, handing him a coin. He continued up the street, continuing to fill the bustling streets with cries of “Bring out yer dead.”

“Here’s one,” another passerby said.

“I’m not dead,” the dead man replied.

“Yea, he says he’s not dead.”

“Yes he is.”

“No I’m not.”

The man shoved the “dead” man behind him a little. “He will be pretty soon, can’t you see?”

“Why don’t you ask him? I can’t take non-dead people, not with the three-way war going on.”

“I feel happy. I feel happy.” The dead man got up and gestured to a passing minstrel, who began to play. “I am not dead yet,” he began to sing. “I can dance and I can sing, I am not dead yet, I can do the Highland Fling. I am not dead yet, no need to go to bed. No need to call the doctor ‘cause I’m NOT YET DEAD!”


Not Dead Fred​

Some passerbys joined in. “He is not dead yet, that’s what the geezer said, no he’s not dead yet, that man is off his head. You sick bastard, why you bringing him in for dead? He’s not dead yet, clearly, can’t you see?

Suddenly a laborer with a shovel ran over and whacked the man in the back of the head. The crowd gasped, and somebody yelled out. “Well now he’s dead, ‘cause you whacked him on the head!”

“Sure, now he’s dead, you just bashed his head in!”

“You should die, you bastard, killing an innocent man like that!”

“You homicidal bastard, now he’s really dead!”

“Who are you, you knave, who sent him to his grave?”

“Here’s my card, I’m a psychologist, I’ll help you manage your anger, sir.”

The man swung at the psychologist, then stopped himself and said. “My name is Lancelot. I’m big and strong and hot…hehe, that rhymes…Occasionally I just, I dunno, do things I really should not, I don’t know why, I just love to fight.


Lancelot’s got a little secret…​


The dead collector came to his defense and said, “O, I’d love to join the army and become a knight, but I don’t like to fight. I’m rather scared I may simply run away when we go into battle.

Lancelot said, “Just like my namesake, I’ll be right with you through and through and through, through it all. Say, what’s your name?”

“Robin.”

“Stick with me, Robin, and I’ll show you what to do. Well, what are we waiting for, LET’S GO!”

The onlookers began a chorus, “Oh, we’re off to war, ‘cause we’re not yet dead. We’ll all enlist in the knights that Willie led!” And began to follow the two down the block.

The dead man who Lance had just walloped got up and following, singing, “I’m coming too, my name’ll be Sir Fred, I’ll be the musician, ‘cause I’m not yet dead!”

And so they all marched through the streets on their way to London, singing, “Oh we’re not yet dead, to London there we go, to enlist instead, to try and earn some dough, and so although we should’ve stayed in bed, we’re going off to war, because we’re not yet dead.”

LANCE: To kill, I will, it gives me such a thrill!

ROBIN: To sing, and dance, and (looking nervously at Lancelot) keep an eye on Lance.

The dead leaped from the wagon and joined in: “We’re going off to war, we’ll have girlfriends by the score, be shot by Michael Moore, ‘cause we’re NOT YET – ”

The dead all fell, dead once again. Everyone else looked at each other, shrugged, and finished the song. “DEAD!!!!”

[HR][/HR]

[HR][/HR]

(in military cadence)

“Oh, I don’t know, but it’s been said,”
“OH, I DON’T KNOW, BUT IT’S BEEN SAID!”

“We’re off to war, we’re not yet dead!”
WE’RE OFF TO WAR, WE’RE NOT YET DEAD!”

“Become a knight and you’ll go far,”
“BECOME A KNIGHT AND YOU’LL GO FAR!”

“In suspenders and a bra!”
“IN SUSPENDERS AND A…bra? Huh, Lance?”

[video=youtube;HLgQMtquS6Y]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HLgQMtquS6Y[/video]

[HR][/HR]

Thanks for reading! As always, I encourage everybody to comment - what you like, what you don't like, pictures of cats, whatever. And please watch the video on at least this one, it's a great scene
 

Clophiroth

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Genius, just genius!
 

WingedLion14

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Amazing! I do wonder if we will see screenshots tho...
Thanks for reading!

And don't worry, you will see screenshots. What happened was, when I started playing, I screenshotted important events in-game, intending to do a more serious AAR for my first one. But then when I started writing, this came to my head, and the events I wrote about are very different than the screenshots. So, for now, the only two I've had a use for were the council and the Duchess of Aquitaine.


But don't worry, there will be more...
 

ArcadePerfect

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I have no idea what's going on but I'm subbing anyway
 

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I have no idea what's going on but I'm subbing anyway
Thanks for subscribing! I hope this next update clears some things up for you...and then confuses you again B)
 

WingedLion14

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Jul 17, 2013
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Part VI: How ‘Bout a Threesome?

It had been five months since that snow-filled day, when the peasant Marxist Comintern, led by Orderic Balliol, had laid siege to the King’s Court, when the Duke of York attempted to overthrow the King and restore an Anglo-Saxon (himself, naturally) to the throne. For months, great hosts had criss-crossed the land, plundering the stores of peasants, raiding the castles of nobles, and turning monasteries into military headquarters. The whole realm stood on edge as the civil war played out.

Of course, you couldn’t tell that by the weather; instead, the mildest spring in centuries had melted from the frozen claws of winter, and even Aines of Aquitaine, Richard’s on-again-off-again gal pal, declared that the English countryside that year surpassed even the beautiful streets of Paris.

On the 15th of April, however, all Britons, Normans and Anglo-Saxons alike, held their breaths, as the fate of the realm hung in the balance, as the armies of the Duke and the King, each roughly 2500 men strong, pitched tent just five miles apart in the fields of Lancaster. Battle seemed imminent.

“No, Sire, I think it’s a fundamentally horrendous idea to challenge the Duke, mano e mano. I understand he outnumbers us by 200 men, but if the plan goes awry, we’ll lose it all, and these things usually end up in pitched battle anyway, with accusations of cheating and treachery. And to top it all off, there’s a Marxist army in the area, nobody knows exactly where, and reports say he has 10,000 men,” the Marshall argued. I think our best chance lies with a quick raid tonight, then flight.

“He’s right, father,” the young Richard said, “I mean, our coconut cavalry are the best in the land, but he’s got actual horses, and the battlefield isn’t in our favor. Let us flee, then, and let the damn Yorkists and the Marxists fight it out.”

The King laughed. “Retreat? Nonsense. Squire, send the messenger swallow issuing the challenge. Tell him to meet in that guy’s farmhouse. Yea, the one with the flames coming out of it…oh, I see. Let’s do the one next store then.”

The following morning, the Duke crossed four cornfields with his army, all 2392 knights and men-at-arms, and set up camp outside the agreed-upon farmhouse; the King’s army had already done likewise. Clad in his finest armor, carrying his shield and his ancestral sword, passed down for five generations and said to have been made by the same blacksmith who had forged Excalibur, he strolled into the house, ready for battle.

The King stood, donning a red cape, a lavish crown on his head, and Excalibur on his hip, he didn’t appear ready for a fight at all; in fact, he didn’t even have on any armor!

“Greetings, my insolent Duke,” the King said. “Are you ready for war?” He gestured to a table to his left. The Duke, of course, looked.

Sitting on the table was a board, with alternating black and red squares, with two sets of pieces – one crafted out by the finest carpenter in France, the other carved from Ghana’s most expensive ivory. Sixteen pieces each, eight identical, three pairs, and a man and his wife.

Chess.


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Almost five thousand held their breaths outside the farmhouse as the two men dualed in the gentlemen’s game inside. Every few minutes or so, a crier emerged from the house, shouting updates.”

“The King has moved the queen three spaces to C4, eliminating the Duke’s pawn!”

“The Duke has put the King in check with a rook!”

“The King has moved the king to B3 and captured the Duke’s knight!”

With every update, each army reacted in turn, depending on the news.

Halfway through, the army of Orderic arrived, but instead of ambushing the two, they simply joined in the waiting, as Orderic entered the farmhouse to watch the game, to see whom he would be fighting against.

Six hours later, the two men sat, focusing intently on the board, plotting on victory, each with only 4 pieces remaining; the King had his king, the queen, a pawn, and a knight; the Duke had his king, two rooks, and two bishops. You could hear a pin drop in the room, the silence was so deafening, while the two men traded move for move. Sweat covered the King’s brow as he plotted victory, while the Duke bathed in so much sweat he shivered from the cold bath (he was dressed for hand-to-hand combat, not a chess match).

Finally, the king moved his pawn to the end of the board, upgrading the piece. “Checkmate.”

The Duke scanned up and down the board. What about…no, the first queen’s got ‘em…how about…no, the knight has those two covered…Oh, crap, it is. “Damn this, you cheater!” He arose in anger, flipping the board, and drew his sword.

The King stood up, drew Excalibur, and backed away slowly. “We had a deal, I win, you renounce your claim and return to York; you win, and you get the throne, and I return to Normandy.”

“Bah, I’m the one who’s dressed for battle, old man. And I’ve got you, your daughter, your prince, and his girlfriend from Aquitaine, all right here. And I outnumber you outside. Now, give up the throne or nobody leaves here alive!” The Duke’s men jumped to guard the doors.

Suddenly Orderic jumped in. “King William, I hate you utterly, but I despise traitors even more. Give me Somerset, and we’ll come to your aid.”

“Yes, please, thanks!” the King stammered, looking for a way out. “Just get us out of this bloody mess!”

Orderic grabbed the sledgehammer strapped to his back, smashed open the farmhouse wall, and shouted, “Fellow Marxists, we’ve allied with the King against the treacherous Duke! To arms, men, to arms!” One of the Duke’s guard jumped on him, and the battle erupted.


It was the fiercest fighting of the century, even more so than the Battle of Hastings.


The rest of the battle was a blur. The girl Aines screamed as three Anglo-Saxon rebels seized her, then sobbed in the corner, covered in blood, Richard lying in the dirt nearby, broken beer bottle in hand. Horses whinnied, men shouted, begged for mercy, got it (or not) and were captured (or killed), coconuts clapped, officers tried to yell orders over the roar of combat. And to top it all off, a thunderstorm had suddenly appeared, the most vicious in a century, and several men – all Yorkists – experienced lightning as their last sensation. The local river flooded, the farmhouse and the woods caught fire, a Cyclops was said to smash Lancelot’s head in (remember him?), causing Robin to drop dead in fear, wetting his pants one last time, while Sir Fred the not-dead musician composed a song about it (it became a top 10 hit on Medieval-Tunes). For years to come, the peasantry talked of the Battle of the Witches.


The minstrel and his band performing the song of Lancelot and Robin at the annual Medieval Tunes Awards in Constantinople

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Three weeks later, the King stood, back at court, in his Awesomely-Great Hall of the King, in front of all the loyal nobles of the realm and the Marxist army, without whom the King would never have emerged victorious.


“Orderic, I hereby grant to you the Duchy of Somerset, to be ruled in however you see fit,” the King finished. He gestured to the kneeling man to stand up. “You may have a few words.”

The newly-appointed Duke stood. “Today is a great day for our cause, gentlemen, for now I announce to you the creation of the People’s Merchant Republic of Somerset; to ease the transition from a cause into a nation, I will serve as the first Doge, and all Doges will serve for life. And remember, we have the first stronghold, from where we will spread the revolution. This generation, Somerset; our children will get a kingdom, and our grandchildren will control all of Christendom! So Marx has written, so it will be!” The Comintern peasant army cheered.


“Uhh, yea, sure, Viva la revolucion and all that jazz, that’s nice,” the King mumbled, urging the Doge out of the way. “And now, I present to you, my son Richard, for your bravery in battle, attacking three of the rebel Duke’s guards with nothing but a broken glass bottle, to defend the lady Aines. For this, my son, you shall receive the Duchy of York, for you and our offspring to rule for generations…and, if the lady Aines shall agree, hers too, for I propose to you two that you become betrothed, and marry in two years, when you both shall come of age.”


The prince fainted while his future bride broke down in tears of joy, and the King brought the ceremony to a close and the party began.

Hours later, after an evening filled with dancing, revelry, drinking games, and lavish feasts, the King sat alone. Of everybody, he was the only one who had not become drunk, deciding instead to merely drink Coca-Cola…or was it Pepsi?...anyway, he had a cold, so he was taking medicine, and the doctor said alcohol screws with the medicine. Probably not, the King thought, but, eh, he decided not to risk it.

Suddenly a bright flash appeared in front of him, and five kids, about the same age as Richard, three guys and two girls, appeared. The one on the left had jet-black hair and sea-green eyes, wearing an orange T-shirt and blue jeans; next to him stood a girl, slightly shorter with blond hair and storm-grey eyes, like Athena in The Odyssey, wearing a blouse and jean-shorts, a black brimmed-hat with an interlocking NY on it tied around a belt loop. Alongside them were a teenage guy dressed like Indiana Jones, a girl, a couple of years younger, obviously his sister, and a short, creepy-looking young guy wearing an aviator jacket. The blond-hair grey-eyed girl was wearing a blue pack. Of course, five kids just appearing in his Awesomely-Great Hall of the King, so his reaction was pretty standard, I’d say: he screamed like a little girl.

“Who are you people?!?!?”

The guy with the orange shirt said, “Whoa, dude, chill? Don’t you remember us? We’ve come to return it, just as we said.”

“Return wha-a-att?!? I’ve never seen you people before!”

The blonde girl looked at the King intently, frowned, and then turned to the guy with the aviator jacket and the other girl before turning back to the throne. “What year is it, Your Majesty?”

“Uh, ten, uh, ten sixty, uhm, <gulp>, sixty-eight, Anno Dom-min-domine,” the King stammered.

She turned back to the other two. “You idiots! Wrong year!” Turning back to the king she apologized. The other girl chanted something in a language he didn’t understand, another bright flash filled the room, and they were gone.

“What the hell was that?!?!?” The king reached for a drink.


Umm, who are these people?​
[HR][/HR]

Well now I've reached the end of what I've played, so once I play some more, I'll update some more!

As always, all comments are appreciated. Thanks for reading! Oh, and remember, anything that's copyrighted I don't actually own, unfortunately.
 

WingedLion14

Major
54 Badges
Jul 17, 2013
617
229
  • Crusader Kings II
  • Victoria 2: Heart of Darkness
  • Victoria 2: A House Divided
  • Crusader Kings II: Conclave
  • Hearts of Iron IV: La Resistance
  • Stellaris
  • Hearts of Iron IV: Cadet
  • Crusader Kings II: Reapers Due
  • Europa Universalis IV: Rights of Man
  • Stellaris: Leviathans Story Pack
  • Cities: Skylines - Natural Disasters
  • Hearts of Iron IV: Together for Victory
  • Crusader Kings II: Monks and Mystics
  • Crusader Kings III
  • Europa Universalis IV: Mandate of Heaven
  • Hearts of Iron IV: Death or Dishonor
  • Stellaris: Synthetic Dawn
  • Hearts of Iron IV: Expansion Pass
  • Stellaris: Humanoids Species Pack
  • Stellaris: Apocalypse
  • Cities: Skylines - Parklife Pre-Order
  • Cities: Skylines - Parklife
  • Stellaris: Distant Stars
  • Cities: Skylines Industries
  • Crusader Kings II: Holy Fury
  • Crusader Kings II: Horse Lords
  • Europa Universalis IV: Common Sense
  • Crusader Kings II: Way of Life
  • Europa Universalis IV: El Dorado
  • Cities: Skylines
  • Victoria 2
  • Crusader Kings III: Royal Edition
  • For the Motherland
  • Crusader Kings II: Charlemagne
  • Imperator: Rome
  • Crusader Kings II: Legacy of Rome
  • Stellaris: Megacorp
  • Crusader Kings II: The Old Gods
  • Crusader Kings II: The Republic
  • Crusader Kings II: Sons of Abraham
  • Crusader Kings II: Sunset Invasion
  • Crusader Kings II: Sword of Islam
  • Europa Universalis IV: Art of War
  • Europa Universalis IV: Wealth of Nations
  • Crusader Kings II: Jade Dragon
  • Europa Universalis IV: Cossacks
  • Hearts of Iron III
  • Hearts of Iron III: Their Finest Hour
  • Semper Fi
so just an update I just got a chance to play a few more years, so you'll be getting some updates pretty soon (hopefully)

in the meantime, here's a picture of the King's Capital, which I renamed in-game to Camelot: