Recap of the story so far: A young Anastasia befriends a gigantic black panther while lost in the forest, and is currently hurrying home. Lords Hurney and Rivera, with Sir Chudz and Sir McDermott, conclude that they need more knowledge regarding draft prospects, free agent prospects, and the best 'fix' for the situation at quarterback. They have dispatched three "Scout Knights," chosen by Sir Connor and Lord Rivera's wife for their "sharpness." Unfortunately, while they could be considered sharp looking, even sharp dressed, their average Wonderlic score is in the low single digits.
Link to Chapter 1
Link to Chapter 2
Chapter III, Scene 1: Sir Ulrich and the Angry MobAuthor's note: This scene was co-written by Revshawn, whose substantial contributions are much appreciated.. Props to Rev...
Despite the valiant efforts of King Richardson and Lord Hurney in assembling the greatest circle of Coach Knights to be found, a great disaster would strike not only their realm, but realms throughout the land. Soldiers all over the world had begun to throw down their arms in rage! "We have had enough of fighting!" They said. "We are tired of war! We are not paid enough and we are ill equipped! Our bums hurt and our panties are soiled!" Were they justified in their complaints, or simply cowards? Or did they have a darker agenda? As is always the case in such matters, the truth becomes the sacrificial lamb to the Spin gods. In any case, with their security blankets clutched tightly to their chests, the soldiers had returned to their homes and abandoned their posts.
The rebellious soldiers, beloved Knights and practice fodder alike, were united in their cause; although, they preferred the term "associated." In any case, whether viewed as traitors or patriots, the Association became known as the "Higher Influences Putting Pervasive Information into our Edited Soldiers..."
"Hippies" for short.
And so it came to be that Lord Rivera was patrolling his particular fiefdom with a glum look and furrowed brow, for chaos has reigned ever since the failed negotiations. Each night was filled with looters, nasty tweeters, and overall anarchy, and each day was filled with fear-stricken individuals doing meaningless tasks. Fortunately, he had foreseen these dire days coming, and a wry smile appeared, for he had a plan.
Meanwhile, far to the West (or maybe South ... not really sure...
As it happened, Sir Ulrich, Scout Knight of the realm, arrived at a small village. Having been utterly lost for days (as was his habit), he reluctantly decided to do the unthinkable; ask for directions. Entering the village, he happened upon a group of peasants discussing the current crisis. They were settled around an ancient magical artifact known as the Cooleris Waterus, whose soft blue glow drew disturbed, worried, and angry souls towards it like mosquitos to the torchlight, providing a forum for heated conversation to be had, and impotent arguments to be made in times of crisis.
"Burn them! Kill them! Crush the unbelievers! Heretics!" cried the townspeople of the village.
They were covered in filth and a great stench arose through the midst of all of them. Some of them held pitchforks and others were waving torches. Off to the side, Ulrich spied a single townswoman hard at work using a cat to beat the dust from a filthy rug. A loud ‘reooooow’ rang out with every swing of her hand.
Sir Ulrich (stupidly approaching the mob): "Hey, hey now! Just calm down now! What’s all this about?"
Villager (in thick Scottish brogue): "Oh ey, lookie here! Another ignorant walks among the brains of the dead!" Anodher crossboard face, stone-brained nitwit who can barely tie his own shoes much less talk in an intelligent manner! What foul hole have you crawled out of to grace us with your presence today? And what’s more, do you have any real reason to be here, or have you just come to stick out your bum so we can watch you scratch?" The man paused briefly to take a long drink of grog.
This man was renowned even beyond the village borders for his abiliy to curse out people in long-winded rantings, a practice he relished nearly as much as his bonny, bonny grog. His name was Oddbark. His breath was foul, yet his words had a certain sense to them.
Ulrich: "Now see here my good man. I mean no offense and seek no trouble with thee! I simply want to know what you all are doing before you go off in your merry, peasant rabbling way! Oh, and perhaps, if I might inquire, wouldst thou know the way to BOA Castle from here?"
(Snickers and manhood doubting insults from the rabble)
Oddbark: "Are you daft mon? Have ya nawt opened yer eyes? Zeh soldiers from our kingdoms have unified under the Dark Lord Demoron Smith and they…."
"Yeah that Demoron Smith is the hole of an arse!" A peasant named Burning Bob spoke up, shaking his pitchfork angrily.
"Yeah that’s right! BURN HIM! ARRRRRGH!" The other peasants raged in anger, looking like they were going to burst out in an angry, feverous rage.
Oddbark: "…Have declared themselves an association of soldiers! Those dark-hearted, flea-brained scum care nothing about protecting our own lands! They just want a bigger cut of the royal treasury for themselves! And they be living in war-time like Kings and Queens themselves!"
"I thought they were a Union…." Another peasant named Behind the Times Bill spoke up. He wore a big cone on the top of his head.
Oddbark: "Whassat ye say...?"
Behind the Times Bill: "You know. A Union. One of those thingies where you raise the little signs and protest and all."
Oddbark: "Well they were a Union ye daft fool! Don't ye read the blogs? That reminds me (takes a huge swig of grog, wipes his mouth with his filthy hand, and continues). They were a Union so that they could participate in the great meeting of bargaining with the Kings throughout the land and their hired representative: Big Guns Goodell. But then they decided to not be a Union anymore because they didn’t like Big Guns Goodell and his fancy dresses! They deemed him too annoying and not worthy of their time."
Bill: "I don’t understand. Why would they do that?"
Oddbark: "So they could appeal to God."
Behind the Times Bill: "That's the first I've heard of it. The wife's been on me arse to pay her more attention."
Villagers (nodding in understanding): Aaaahhhhhhh.
Mayor Jaxon gives Bill a heartfelt pat on the back.
Behind the Times Bill: But I don't understand... I mean, if it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck..."
Villagers: Then they're WiTCHES. BURN THEM ALL!!!
Burning Bob: BUUUURRRRRNNN THEM!
Pictured: Front right - Burning Bob, Center - Behind the Times Bill, Front left - Loudmouth Lamearse
Oddbark: "They are mad, but not witches, you ignorant slutmongers! Mad I say, each and every one of them! When our blessed realms are at the height of their glory the soldiers have decided that it’s time to screw it up! We mean nothing to them! They couldn’t care less for the commoners like us! Demoron Smi….
….BURN HIM! HERETIC! RAWR!" The peasants screamed.
Oddbark: "…Has made it very clear that he wants the most from our Kings, and he couldn’t care less about bargaining. Association of soldiers ... right. Association of what? Association of annoying the hell out of the realm! Association of pretending not to be a Union but actually executing all the functions of the same thereof! They still have all the same people running the Association! None of them have lost their jobs! They are all still there! They’re plotting to interrupt the sacred Soldier Selection Party where the Kings all over the realm select the greatest men in the world to join their armies! They’re not even a part of the army yet! What is the difference between a Union and a Trade Association? WHAT?"
Oddbark chose this time to turn and start bashing his head against a nearby table, his face in agony. It was at this time that one of the decertified soldiers walked up in his suit and armor. His name….was Vohnson Charles.
Vohnson Charles: "Well I think King Richarson is full of bs.
"BURN HIM! TRAITOR! DESTROY HIM!" The peasants cried.
Sir Ulrich (backing away stealthily): Ummm.... you might want to keep it on the down low. Just a suggestion.
Silver-Tongued Michael: Wait, wait! He has a point. The way I see it, there are many similarities between the oppressive Kings and the folks in charge of Soviet-bloc governments between World War II and the fall of the Berlin Wall.
Villagers (collectively): GET THEM!!
Vohnson Charles: "What! No!"
The next few moments were a blur to Sir Ulrich. It was a spectacle of confusion and chaos. A veritable maelstrom of rocks and scat fell upon the soldier, and Vohnson Charles fell under the rain of debris. The next time Vohnson Charles was seen, the spikes of a pitchfork were sticking out of his bum. Ulrich shuddered to think of where the rest of it’s wooden handle was stuck.
Sir Ulrich was left looking over the town, shaking his head at the crowd of peasants whose militancy was rising. Silver-tongued Michael was being tied to a stake, no doubt in preparation for a blogger barbeque. Ulrich turned his horse and began to trot away.
Sir Ulrich: "I’ve got to get out of here….this is a silly place. Oh well, on with my quest. If only I knew where I was, and could remember what I'm supposed to find out."
Cat (now fading into the distance):