A crowd had gathered around a royal messenger in a little town, somewhere in France. The town’s name is so difficult to pronounce, even for the Frenchmen, that nobody knows it. The villagers are of the poor mud eating sort, who fear the god and (secretly) hate the king. They have tens upon tens of dirty little children and the only way you could die in a traffic accident here is to get run over a mob of screaming little children. Some puddles of blood and limbs that someone was now missing proved that some unlucky one had suffered this horrible fate and now decorated the village with a grotesque atmosphere. The only thing that was more numerous than the children were the pigs. The most common way for the mobs of children to die around here was to get run over a ten time larger mob of free-roaming pigs. Nature had it ways. But back to the messenger:
Messenger: FOR FIVE YEARS! FRANCE’S SOLDIERS HAVE FOUGHT AGAINST THE ENGLISH PIGS…
A man in the crowd: WHAT?! You are insulting pigs right now!
Another man in the crowd: We don’t like your kind around ‘ere boy!
Messenger: FOR GOD’S SAKE PEOPLE! OKAY! ENGLISMEN ARE DOGS!
A little girl: But I like dogs…
Studio audience: Awwwwwww…
Messenger: Shut up you! THE ENGLISHMEN ARE LIKE RATS!
Someone in the crowd: I like rats I think!
Someone else: No you don’t. They’re the ones with scales and they swim in the water and the guys from the neighbouring village eat them. Those bastards!
Crowd: Oooooh! We don’t like rats in ‘ere! NONONONONO!
The messenger brightens up when the argument ends.
Messenger: FOR THREE YEARS! FRANCE’S SOLDIERS HAVE FOUGHT AGAINST THE ENGLISH *RATS*! WE HAVE GAINED MANY CITIES, BUT THE SCURVY DOGS OF ARAGON HAVE TAKEN…
The little girl (demonic voice): BUT I LIKE DOGS!
A villager: But, you see possessed little girl, dogs are bad if they have scurvy…
Possessed little girl: BURN IN HELL’S FLAMES MORTAL!
The little girl throws a fireball at the villager, who lights up in flames and turns into ash. Suddenly a bunch of people with monk robes, huge crosses, gilded (again, gold spray paint…) bibles and a guy who mumbles something in Latin and then hits himself in the head with a plank.
Inquisitor: AAH! It’s the devil! *Throws the girl with holy water, nothing happens*
Possessed little girl: MWHAHAHAHHA! NEVER TRUST THE GIFT SHOPS!
Inquisitor: Dammit! I couldn’t know that that Arabic looking guy didn’t sell real holy water. *tosses a cross at the little girl*
Possessed little girl: AAAAARGH!
The little girl deflects the cross with a slash from her teddy bear.
Possessed little girl: YOU CANNOT KILL ME MORTAL!
The inquisitor tosses a bible at the girl.
Possessed little girl: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
The bible hits the girl, nothing happens, the girl picks up the bible.
Possessed little girl: MUAHAHHAHA! THIS IS THE DIRECTORS CUT EDITION! IT’S OVERPRICED AND IT SUCKS!
Inquisitor: OH NO! I thought that it was expensive. There is only one thing that I can do!
The Inquisitor takes a book wrapped in oily and dirty clothes from his backpack.
Inquisitor: Behold! Dr. Phil’s book: “Learn to love yourself by buying my sponsors’ products!”
Crowd: *GASP*
Studio audience: Booooooo!
Inquisitor: Cover your eyes! This is too much for mere mortals to see! The feeling of self love may be overwhelming for you!
The inquisitor opens the rags and a divine light shines from the book.
Possessed little girl: AAAAAAAH! NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!
Dr. Phil’s divine voice: You must love yourself!
The possessed little girl explodes into pieces and blood and guts rains on the crowd.
Crowd: *cheers*
The inquisition people disappear to the local village pub.
Messenger: If anyone ever interrupts me again I will say “Ni”!
Crowd: NOT “Ni”!
Messenger: FOR THREE YEARS! FRANCE’S SOLDIERS HAVE FOUGHT AGAINST THE ENGLISH *RATS*! WE HAVE GAINED MANY CITIES, BUT THE SCURVY DOGS OF ARAGON HAVE TAKEN GUYENNE! OUR NOBLE FORCES ARE NOW BESIEGING THE INVADED CITY AND ARAGON ITSELF HAS BEEN ATTACKED BY OUR PUNY ALLIES. THE ASS LICKING COWARDS OF BRITTANY ARE SUNDUED BY FRENCH FORCES AND SOON WE HAVE TAKEN AWAY ALL OF THE FRENCH LAND ENGLAND STILL HOLDS IN HIS DIRTY RATLIKE HANDS!
Crowd: *Wild cheers*
Messenger: Thank you! *bows*
The messenger steps to the muddy road and is halfway across to his horse when he can see great clouds of mud in the distance.
Mob of children: WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Messenger: What is that?
Crowd: RUN FORREST RUN!
Messenger: Huh?
Mob of Children: WHAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Messenger looks at the mob which is just few meters away from him.
Messenger: HOLY SH…!
His screams drown to the stomping of hundreds little feet, after the children have gone the messenger is just a part of the grotesque décor of the village.
------------------------------------------------
1st of November 1422
Sean and Ashton are touring the battlefields with their advisor. Now they are in Guyenne overseeing the siege.
Sean: This is boring! Why can’t we fight?
Advisor: Sir, those swords are cheap plastic reproductions that are made in China. Our nation is so poor that we can’t afford to buy you real gilded swords.
Sean: *sob*
They survey the battlefield. The candy green grass around the city is littered with bodies and there is blood everywhere. If the French soldiers aren’t dead they are badly wounded and many of the soldiers miss limbs, most of the miss more than one. An unwounded soldier walks up to the kings.
He looks familiar to Ashton and Sean, but they can’t remember who he is:
Strange guy: Hey fellas!
Ashton and Sean: Who are you?
Advisor: This is Brad Pitté of Auvergne. A famous warlord and the scourge of the Aragonians!
Ashton: That name sounds familiar.
Brad: Can’t you remember me? Back in the 21st century we were friends! *starts to cry*
Sean: We can’t really remember, must be temporary amnesia.
Brad: *stops crying* Yeah. Can’t you really remember? We went to that guy’s birthday. I can’t recall his name, because I’ve been around here from the 12th century and I seem to be immortal. But anyways he invited all celebrities there. And you guys sure did drink a lot. *chuckles*
Ashton: Waitwaitwait. You know who we are? Because we can’t remember anything since three years ago. One morning we just woke up as the kings of France.
Brad: Damn, that blow must have been a hard one.
Sean: What blow?
An Englishman that lies dead next to Pitté stands up on one foot. He has no arms and one foot. There are at least two spears stuffed through his body and his head looks like a pincushion with many arrows.
Invincible Englishman: ARR!
The Englishman proceeds to kick Brad to the balls with his only foot. Brad whimpers and is unable to do nothing.
Sean: Dude!
Ashton: Awesome!
Brad dies, because the Englishman forgets to put his foot down after the ball-kicking and falls down on him and pierces him with the spears in accident.
Invincible Englishman: I didn’t mean it!
Brad *I death throes*: The name! I remember the name! The name of the guy who did this to you!
Ashton and Sean: What?
Brad: His name is *coughs up blood*… * Ungh… *dies*
Ashton: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Sean: Now we can’t ever know what happened to us!
Ashton: What’s 21st century?
Advisor: It’s a part of the time-space continuation will happen in the future.
Ashton: Oh.
A light bulb lights above Sean’s and Ashton’s heads.
Ashton: Heyyy! I feel a lot smarter right now!
Sean (British aristocrat accent): I presume that my diplomatic, administrative and military skills have grown.
Ashton: *high pitched voice* Me too! *quickly corrects to a low aristocratic tone* I do as well, dear Sean.
The advisor has gotten emotional and he dries the corners of his eyes.
Advisor (emotional voice): Thank god! It finally happened! We have better monarchs!