Stabbed my fate. Actually, by Berenguer.
The Myriadigamous Adventures of King Knud
As told with many pictures. And few words.
(the quality is low because there's a lot of them. pictures that is. the low quality of the words is all my fault though.)
1345 - 1346
Sweet mother of mercy, I've been struck!
Now that I think about that, is struck really the proper tense, or have I been stroked?
Listen, you bloody fool, I'm running away with a sword in my gizzard. This is not the time to be delivering messages.
Reinforcements. Wonderful. They should arrive just in time for me to get brutally murdered.
I just lost three-quarters of my personal bodyguard to a Spaniard with an itchy scalp.
Why do I even have a gizzard? Did one of my ancestors screw a chicken or something?
Knut is halfway to Cordoba by now. That bloody coward sure wasted no time in running away. I should-
Wait. That's me that's halfway to Cordoba.
We're not withdrawing. This is not a defeat.
We're, uh, stategically redeploying our troops out of a combat zone.
Almeria's on the move, but I don't think they'll arrive in time.
What to do, what to do. . .
Agh. I was going to say something pithy about reversing the tide with a well-timed surge, but I think I'll just sit here in agony.
If Aracena is allowed to relieve the siege at Niebla, the civil war could broaden.
I've got no choice but to get up off my deathbed and head back into the breach.
Bugger me with Satan's spiniest flaming trident
This is a nightmare. I'm replaying all the worse episodes of the life and times of Knud and Valdemar Knýtling.
Can things get any worse?
As told with many pictures. And few words.
(the quality is low because there's a lot of them. pictures that is. the low quality of the words is all my fault though.)
1345 - 1346
Sweet mother of mercy, I've been struck!
Now that I think about that, is struck really the proper tense, or have I been stroked?
Listen, you bloody fool, I'm running away with a sword in my gizzard. This is not the time to be delivering messages.
Reinforcements. Wonderful. They should arrive just in time for me to get brutally murdered.
I just lost three-quarters of my personal bodyguard to a Spaniard with an itchy scalp.
Why do I even have a gizzard? Did one of my ancestors screw a chicken or something?
Knut is halfway to Cordoba by now. That bloody coward sure wasted no time in running away. I should-
Wait. That's me that's halfway to Cordoba.
We're not withdrawing. This is not a defeat.
We're, uh, stategically redeploying our troops out of a combat zone.
Almeria's on the move, but I don't think they'll arrive in time.
What to do, what to do. . .
Agh. I was going to say something pithy about reversing the tide with a well-timed surge, but I think I'll just sit here in agony.
If Aracena is allowed to relieve the siege at Niebla, the civil war could broaden.
I've got no choice but to get up off my deathbed and head back into the breach.
Bugger me with Satan's spiniest flaming trident
This is a nightmare. I'm replaying all the worse episodes of the life and times of Knud and Valdemar Knýtling.
Can things get any worse?
Some questions are best left unasked. Things can get worse, and it's always darkest before it gets really dark. There's plague! There's defeat! There's the estates general! There's killing every bad guy and still losing a battle! There's provinces in the middle east! Of course it can get worse, and it does. Don't miss the next exciting episode as the adventures of Knud Knýtling continue!
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