Prologue – Born to Be King
History has shown us that some men are born great. However, history can't be trusted as far as you can throw it as it has a tendency to shove under the rug of life the real people of greatness. Yes, those utter bastards that lie, stab, and cheat their way up the social ladder for no other reason than obtaining total power over those beneath them. Not forgetting the large wads of cash and the pick of the totty. This is the story of one such family, who can be called complete bastards in every meaning of the word.
Bamburgh Castle, Ralph the Liar’s Day
“That bastard!” Edmund groaned. “That bloody, callous bastard!”
“I thought you were the bastard, my lord,” his companion interjected.
“Shut up, Percy, that’s not the point! I am his eldest son, and what does he do to me? He sends me all the way up here, wherever here is, ‘to hold the north’. As if it needs to be held… We all know why he sent me here.”
“Why is that, my lord?”
“It is so I would not stand in the way of his legitimate sons. That old bastard is now afraid that I will repeat what he did and become the King. I mean, why did he have to invade England at all? This is the most dreary, gray, cheerless place in Europe, and my father picks it to be his new kingdom. I could have been lying on the beach in Normandy, spending time with the playful girls of Rouen – but now I am stuck here in Northumberland, right across the border from some claymore-wielding maniacs whose idea of play is to run around completely naked and covered in blue paint while screaming insanely. Fortune has farted in my general direction.”
“Well, it could be worse…”
“No it couldn’t, Percy. Well, I am not going to take it lying down…”
“Yes, you are not on a beach in Normandy…”
“Shut up, Percy. I’ll show my bastard father, I’ll show them all! I’ll prove that I can be a man and a King!”
“But you are a man, my lord.”
“Yes, but how shall it be proved?”
“Well, you could drop your pants…” Percy’s suggestion was cut short as Edmund bapped him on the head.
“I think you would make a fine King, my lord,” a servant interjected.
“Ah,” Edmund looked at the servant with a smile. “And what is your name, little fellow?”
“Baldrick, my lord.”
“Ah, then I shall call you… Baldrick!”
“And I shall call you my lord, my lord.”
“I like the cut of your jib, young Baldrick. How would you like to be my squire?”
Baldrick knelt. “I swear my fealty to you, my lord.”
“Excellent, young Baldrick. You shall not regret it. For do you know who has the fastest brain in the land?”
“Prince Edmund, Duke of Northumberland,” Baldrick replied without hesitation.
“Who is the boldest swordsman in the land?” Edmund continued, looking at Percy sternly.
“Oh don’t tell me, it’s that knight from Evreux…” Percy started.
“PRINCE…” Edmund spoke sternly.
“Prince Edmund, Duke of Northumberland,” Baldrick replied.
“…Duke of Northumberland,” Percy echoed quickly, nodding.
“Precisely,” Edmund continued. “Or as I shall be known from now on – the Black… Vegetable!”
“Um, my lord,” Baldrick whispered. “Wouldn’t something like ‘the Black Adder’ sound better?”
“No wait,” Edmund shook his head, looking into the distance dramatically. “I have a better idea. I shall be known as – the Black… Adder!”
---------------------------------
This is my new AAR. I am playing the 1066 Expanded scenario and the latest beta, with just a little editing whence the Duke of Northumberland is now Edmund, eldest (but bastard) son of King William. This is a new writing style for me, and of course I could not hope to match the great Rowan Atkinson, hence I shall borrow where I can and attempt to stay true to the Blackadder spirit.
The main goal of Edmund (or his descendants) is, of course, to become King of England, as they were meant to be. In the meantime, time shall be passed by killing Scots, Irish, Frenchies, and any others standing in the way of English greatness. And, of course, hatching (and perhaps even executing) a multitude of cunning plans.
I am also hoping to make this AAR a somewhat cooperative effort. Hence, should any of my readers have a cunning plan for Edmund, they are free to share it with him, he may just decide to try it.
History has shown us that some men are born great. However, history can't be trusted as far as you can throw it as it has a tendency to shove under the rug of life the real people of greatness. Yes, those utter bastards that lie, stab, and cheat their way up the social ladder for no other reason than obtaining total power over those beneath them. Not forgetting the large wads of cash and the pick of the totty. This is the story of one such family, who can be called complete bastards in every meaning of the word.
Bamburgh Castle, Ralph the Liar’s Day
“That bastard!” Edmund groaned. “That bloody, callous bastard!”
“I thought you were the bastard, my lord,” his companion interjected.
“Shut up, Percy, that’s not the point! I am his eldest son, and what does he do to me? He sends me all the way up here, wherever here is, ‘to hold the north’. As if it needs to be held… We all know why he sent me here.”
“Why is that, my lord?”
“It is so I would not stand in the way of his legitimate sons. That old bastard is now afraid that I will repeat what he did and become the King. I mean, why did he have to invade England at all? This is the most dreary, gray, cheerless place in Europe, and my father picks it to be his new kingdom. I could have been lying on the beach in Normandy, spending time with the playful girls of Rouen – but now I am stuck here in Northumberland, right across the border from some claymore-wielding maniacs whose idea of play is to run around completely naked and covered in blue paint while screaming insanely. Fortune has farted in my general direction.”
“Well, it could be worse…”
“No it couldn’t, Percy. Well, I am not going to take it lying down…”
“Yes, you are not on a beach in Normandy…”
“Shut up, Percy. I’ll show my bastard father, I’ll show them all! I’ll prove that I can be a man and a King!”
“But you are a man, my lord.”
“Yes, but how shall it be proved?”
“Well, you could drop your pants…” Percy’s suggestion was cut short as Edmund bapped him on the head.
“I think you would make a fine King, my lord,” a servant interjected.
“Ah,” Edmund looked at the servant with a smile. “And what is your name, little fellow?”
“Baldrick, my lord.”
“Ah, then I shall call you… Baldrick!”
“And I shall call you my lord, my lord.”
“I like the cut of your jib, young Baldrick. How would you like to be my squire?”
Baldrick knelt. “I swear my fealty to you, my lord.”
“Excellent, young Baldrick. You shall not regret it. For do you know who has the fastest brain in the land?”
“Prince Edmund, Duke of Northumberland,” Baldrick replied without hesitation.
“Who is the boldest swordsman in the land?” Edmund continued, looking at Percy sternly.
“Oh don’t tell me, it’s that knight from Evreux…” Percy started.
“PRINCE…” Edmund spoke sternly.
“Prince Edmund, Duke of Northumberland,” Baldrick replied.
“…Duke of Northumberland,” Percy echoed quickly, nodding.
“Precisely,” Edmund continued. “Or as I shall be known from now on – the Black… Vegetable!”
“Um, my lord,” Baldrick whispered. “Wouldn’t something like ‘the Black Adder’ sound better?”
“No wait,” Edmund shook his head, looking into the distance dramatically. “I have a better idea. I shall be known as – the Black… Adder!”
The sound of hoofbeats cross the glade
Good folk, lock up your son and daughter
Beware the deadly flashing blade
Unless you want to end up shorter
Black Adder! Black Adder!
He rides a pitch-black steed.
Black Adder! Black Adder!
He's very bad indeed.
Black: His gloves of finest mole,
Black: His codpiece made of metal,
His horse is blacker than a vole,
His pot is blacker than his kettle.
Black Adder! Black Adder!
With many a cunning plan.
Black Adder! Black Adder!
You horrid little man!
Good folk, lock up your son and daughter
Beware the deadly flashing blade
Unless you want to end up shorter
Black Adder! Black Adder!
He rides a pitch-black steed.
Black Adder! Black Adder!
He's very bad indeed.
Black: His gloves of finest mole,
Black: His codpiece made of metal,
His horse is blacker than a vole,
His pot is blacker than his kettle.
Black Adder! Black Adder!
With many a cunning plan.
Black Adder! Black Adder!
You horrid little man!
---------------------------------
This is my new AAR. I am playing the 1066 Expanded scenario and the latest beta, with just a little editing whence the Duke of Northumberland is now Edmund, eldest (but bastard) son of King William. This is a new writing style for me, and of course I could not hope to match the great Rowan Atkinson, hence I shall borrow where I can and attempt to stay true to the Blackadder spirit.
The main goal of Edmund (or his descendants) is, of course, to become King of England, as they were meant to be. In the meantime, time shall be passed by killing Scots, Irish, Frenchies, and any others standing in the way of English greatness. And, of course, hatching (and perhaps even executing) a multitude of cunning plans.
I am also hoping to make this AAR a somewhat cooperative effort. Hence, should any of my readers have a cunning plan for Edmund, they are free to share it with him, he may just decide to try it.