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Author Topic: Fog in Albion-Part 7  (Read 3871 times)

Offline Alexander de Wissont

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Re: Fog in Albion-Part 5
« Reply #25 on: March 26, 2008, 05:23:01 PM »
Next part wil be full of!



Well, actually not, but there's some .
« Last Edit: March 27, 2008, 12:19:37 PM by Alexander de Wissont »
Everything in one way or another references Monty Python
Rufas the Eccentric.RIP

Offline Alexander de Wissont

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Re: Fog in Albion-Part 6
« Reply #26 on: March 27, 2008, 12:20:00 PM »
It was like a small-sized Imperial cathedral. It was completely imperial in style; descent sculpts all around the wall, a tower with a clock on it and brownish stone as raw material. Although, it wasn’t a great building, even our Principal Palace was better looking. Soldiers in silly bear-furred hats were standing the guard around it, wielding second-hand handguns and old-fashioned imperial swords. I knew that Eva was inside, so I prepared myself to enter.
‘Hey, you!’ I heard from behind. I didn’t concern with it, but now, my dear masters, I know that was a fault.
‘Hey! Yes, you, you Sartosan scum!’ the voice shouted. I turned around and found ten spearmen in rugged Nordlander uniform aiming at me.
‘You’re researched in the whole World Sea, pirate!’ said the sergeant.
‘Oh, I should be surprised?’ I replied not without sarcasm in my voice.
‘Hold your tongue behind your vampiric teeth, buccaneer!’ hissed the champion. ‘You have no right to offend us! We are the mighty Nordlander 45th Spearmen Unit!’
The 45th...I’ve heard about them.
‘Oh, the one that was annihilated by Harkon’s zombie handgunners?’
‘No, that one was the 54th.’ answered now a slim, elderly spearman with binoculars.
‘So, not so famous’ I said cynically.
‘WE’RE THE BOUNTY HUNTERS! THE PIRATE SLAYERS! THE SIGMARITE SEAINQUISITION!’ cried the sergeant, now with a dramatically aggressive tone.
‘Oh, then I’m in big trouble’ I abused him.
      Their reply was clear and fast. All of them charged me shouting Sigmar’s name. I had no other choice, but to prepare to the fight. My dear masters, you see that I had no other choice. I never liked to kill the Emperor’s soldiers, but in some occasions, I was forced to do it.
   Although outnumbered, I always was an excellent duellist, capable to fight more than one enemy at a time. I drew my sword and fought.
  The first wound was on a tall, elfish-looking man, whose index finger was cut off. Then followed a silly-bearded warrior, whose bald head has been since decorated by a nice injury made by my sword. The musician had his ear cut down, while the standard-bearer lost several teeth due to a meeting with my fist. Beatrice, my crow, also did what she attacked the small man with binoculars.
   I now prepared to fight my next opponent; the sergeant. All his soldiers knew that this is going to be a duel, so no one stood between me and the champion.
  He was tall and bearded. His shoulders were as wide as rhinoxen. Actually, the whole man looked like these horned beasts of the Ogre Kingdoms. Hairy, savage, fierce with small, incredibly stupid-looking eyes. No fat was present on the warrior, only bones, skin and muscles everywhere. His teeth were yellows and at least half of them were missing. A nice Sigmarite twin-tailed comet tattoo was designed next to his ears, on his hairy head.
 He shouted Sigmar and charged.
  I parried his spear with ease, telling him that his god seemingly was busy helping other, more important people.
‘Everybody is in the same importance in Sigmar’s holy eye’ he replied angily.
Now he tried to stab towards my heart, but, of course, my blade was much faster.
‘Go home! 500 golden crowns are not enough for your life, and believe me, one day they’ll pay more for my head.’ I said.
‘Coward!’ he yelled.
Now he tried to jab my right arm. My dear masters, maybe I forgot to mention it, but I was always fighting with my left hand. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t defend my right limb in need.  On the contrary, I easily turned out of his spear’s way. That started to be rather boring...
 ‘I say for the last time: Go home! I’ll only cost more if I kill you’ I told him.
‘No, if I’ll kill you!’ he shouted and prepared to attack.
   But he couldn’t attack. It was my turn and I did my best; I knocked his pole arm out of his hands and cut his throat. Blood split everywhere. His men ran in cowardice, seeing their champion slain. The passer-byes didn’t look on us; they only walked to their job, dodging my enemy’s blood-puddle.
‘Oh man! That’s what I call a flesh wound!’ said a known voice behind me. It was Toni, my second-in-command.
‘What?’ asked Kahisi, the Southlander.
‘Didn’t you see the Monthias Pithoner’s Holy Grail-parody? It’s about Gilles le Breton who...’
‘Toni, please shut up.’ said my wife, now appearing from behind my unit. ‘Alex, bravo! We’re here to discuss in the political way, you know. Not killing as barbaric orcs, but talking as civilized humans...’
   I always hated when she told me off, but I needed to admit she was right. However I couldn’t lose my face in front of my soldiers!
‘So you would prefer an imprisoned or dead husband’ I said coldly.
Her face went blank.
‘No, I’m not saying that...’ she started, but I interrupted:
‘Yes, you’re saying that.’
‘No! But you shouldn’t have to make a bloodbath in front of the assembly!’
I felt I’m losing, so I asked:
‘By the way, how did the politics gone inside the Parliament?’
‘Mediocre. Half of the chieftains were in accord with me, half not. At least, two of the three great clans’ chief is with us; Willis the Bruce, who was converted to Sigmarism and is bald as a priest, and Mel “Braveheat” Mac Gib.’ she replied, seemingly forgetting our discussion, but her eyes showed that she retained it in her memory. ‘But the leader of the hugest and richest tribe is against the alliance, Master Mortiaris of the Mac Laggen-clan.
Her last phrase drew my attention:
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘The Mac Laggens. Silly name isn’t it?’ replied Toni instead of Eva.
‘No, I asked the patriarch’s name.’
‘Mortiaris, why?’ answered  my wife surprised.
Everything in one way or another references Monty Python
Rufas the Eccentric.RIP

Offline Alexander de Wissont

  • Posts: 500
  • Missing our most Eccentric member, a great man
Re: Fog in Albion-Part 6
« Reply #27 on: March 27, 2008, 12:22:38 PM »
Small update with Monthy Python's Holy Grail,
Bruce Willis who will reappear
Mel Gibson I think he too
all in front of the Big Ben
 :biggriin:
Everything in one way or another references Monty Python
Rufas the Eccentric.RIP

Offline Obi

  • Posts: 6228
  • Rest in peace Nate
Re: Fog in Albion-Part 6
« Reply #28 on: March 27, 2008, 07:07:33 PM »
Nice part, I really like the way you write.
I don't get the Mac Laggen thing, but that may be just me. Also, I like how you slaughtered our elfblood friend.
Hello Athiuen and welcome to the Back Table.

caveat lector
I killed a duck with a spear, can't read train timetables though
"To be is to do"-Socrates;
"To do is to be"-Sartre;
"Do Be Do Be Do"-Sinatra

Offline Alexander de Wissont

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  • Missing our most Eccentric member, a great man
Re: Fog in Albion-Part 6
« Reply #29 on: March 27, 2008, 08:11:13 PM »
I had no other name to come up with... :blush:
I think a guy in Harry Potter is named like this, and there a singer (actress?) named McLachlan
Everything in one way or another references Monty Python
Rufas the Eccentric.RIP

Offline Alexander de Wissont

  • Posts: 500
  • Missing our most Eccentric member, a great man
Re: Fog in Albion-Part 7
« Reply #30 on: March 28, 2008, 12:33:42 PM »
 ‘Nothing, nothing.’ I answered, while trying to not look in her eyes.
 ‘How was the detective?’ Toni asked.
‘He was simply mad; paranoiac, drug-addicted coward.’
‘G’eat’ assumed Lobellyx, the ogre, speaking for the first time since we were in Albion.
I heard that his friend, Jean-Marie, the Standard-bearer explaining silently:
‘It wasn’t a compliment, but a criticism, Lobellyx. Mad means stupid, you know.’
           We were walking to the bar where we were accommodated. The streets were dirtier and muddier than those of Sartosa, and the permanently falling rain didn’t help it very much. Beggars and mendicants attacked every passer-byes. A Westerlander merchant in Reiklander uniform could only pass by referencing on his three children. They did not molest us, maybe fearing my nineteen excellent halberdiers.
We arrived to the Drunken Deer Inn. It seemed to be okay, but I have since learned to not believe in the first sight in this cursed island. Three soldiers, exactly the same looking as those guarding the Parliament were standing at the door.
Their captain, a thin man with a neat beard, asked if I was A. M. de Wissont?
‘Of course, I’m.’
‘Than you’re arrested, man. Do not resist, if you kill us, all my clan will swear vendetta. You have a great word for vengeance, you Tileans. Great word.’ he added with a wink.
‘Okay. But what’s the crime?’ I pried while letting my hands to be fettered.
‘Homicide, of course.’
‘For that stupid imperial soldier? He was a bounty hunter and if my husband doesn’t kill him, he would cut down Alex’ head and brought it to his count.’ said Eva in my defence.
‘Who cares about imperial bounty hunters, milady? My clan’s member, Sherlock Mac Conandoyle was found dead two hours ago. An information left us without discredit that your husband saw him last.’
   My dear masters, I always repeat that I was surprised. But now, I wasn’t surprised. My dear masters, now I was shocked. Sherlock is dead? I am suspected? That was like a nightmare of the worst kind.
 I let the soldiers take me away to the infamous prison of Albion guarded by the mysterious Beasteaters. 
While going away, I heard Toni’s voice:
‘Boss, do not forget to always look the bright side of life!’
  I prepared myself to vow his advice, but without success
  The prison was a thick- and tall-walled rectangular building, presumably used to be a palace before being converted to a jail. But now, not even a ghost wanted to chose it as home. It was dark and smelly. Rats ran under your feet. The Sun, a thing long-forgotten under the clouds of Albion became only a dream. Not even clouds were visible because of the billions of crows rotating around the prison. My dear masters, I can tell you that I’m not a coward, but I panicked inside. Everybody would panic inside, behind the bars. I was only here for one night and it became one of my worst memories.
While passing on the corridors, some prisoners shouted at me:
‘Hey, pansy boy!’
‘Look! It’s her majesty the queen!’
But some were only chatting with their cellmate:
‘Michael, you’re simply dumb. No, dumber. Why did you tattoo the delineation of the prison on your chest? We all know how the prison looks like: it’s rectangular and...’
‘Hey, the Schofelds! Shut up or I feed you to the rats!’ yelled the gaoler assigned to their cell.
My Beasteater and I arrived to one of the darkest cells I’ve ever seen. He searched its key and opened it:
‘Catrazzan!  Here you are, another Tilean!’ he told the man living inside.
He was tall and elderly. His blue eyes sparkled angrily to the jailer and his voice, spliced in a calm tone, was full of fury.
‘I’m Estalian...sir.’ he said.
The gaoler, not taking the fatigue to answer, pushed me inside and went away.
The old man stared at me and asked:
‘So, you’re Tilean, right?’
‘Yeah. I’m Sartosan.’ I replied.
‘Okay, kid. My name is Franco Morriso. I’m sentenced ‘til death because of theft.’
‘How did it happen?’
To my greatest astonishment he answered without problem:
‘I was a soldier. My colonel, Big Gio was against it. It was my idea. We robbed a bank hosted by imperials while fighting them here. Unfortunately, I was caught.’ he explained.
‘Okay, scum, it’s curfew! All lights out!’ cried a voice on the corridor.
 Franco blew the room’s candle, and then, without any word, he went asleep. So did me.
           My night was terrible. The plank bed was very uncomfortable, so I didn’t really sleep. But when I slept, nightmarish pictures came in my mind of my dead wife, the crows eating her.
      Morning arrived. The cell’s door opened and the Beasteater called my name.
‘Where do you bring me?’ I asked. ‘To the judge?’
‘Somebody paid your bail, Sartosan.’ he told me in a terrible accent.
 Eva? The druid? Who?
  The answer stood in the gate: a tall, intelligent-faced man with long, brown hair.
‘Who’s he?’ I asked.
‘Braveheart.’ answered the gaoler.     
Everything in one way or another references Monty Python
Rufas the Eccentric.RIP

Offline Alexander de Wissont

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  • Missing our most Eccentric member, a great man
Re: Fog in Albion-Part 7
« Reply #31 on: March 28, 2008, 12:36:15 PM »
Soth, Prison break, Clint Eastwood, Tower of London.
Everything in one way or another references Monty Python
Rufas the Eccentric.RIP

Offline Obi

  • Posts: 6228
  • Rest in peace Nate
Re: Fog in Albion-Part 7
« Reply #32 on: March 28, 2008, 03:47:27 PM »
You're quite right about the MaclLaggen thing. But where is Soth?

-EDIT-
:eusa_wall:
We should get more people in here, so they can see there in it too! Maybe they're just lurking...
« Last Edit: March 29, 2008, 09:12:29 AM by Obi »
Hello Athiuen and welcome to the Back Table.

caveat lector
I killed a duck with a spear, can't read train timetables though
"To be is to do"-Socrates;
"To do is to be"-Sartre;
"Do Be Do Be Do"-Sinatra

Offline Alexander de Wissont

  • Posts: 500
  • Missing our most Eccentric member, a great man
Re: Fog in Albion-Part 7
« Reply #33 on: March 28, 2008, 05:31:22 PM »
  A Westerlander merchant in Reiklander uniform referencing on his three children.
Westerland=Benelux states.
Reiklander colours=His army.
three children.
Everything in one way or another references Monty Python
Rufas the Eccentric.RIP